From Dictator to lover

The impossible deadline

I finished the last email of the day, hit send, and leaned back in my chair, letting out a sigh of relief. My to-do list was finally empty. I glanced at the clock on my laptop—9:37 PM. It was late, but at least I was done.

“Thank God,” I muttered, shutting my laptop with a satisfying click.

But the universe, or rather Nicholas Maxwell, had other plans. My phone buzzed on the desk, and the notification lit up the screen. New Email: Nicholas Maxwell.

I groaned, already dreading what awaited me. Clicking it open, I read his brief, cutting message:

Subject: Urgent Project

Body: Draft a comprehensive plan for the proposed merger with Sutton Corp. Deadline: 3 days.

I stared at the screen, my jaw tightening. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered, my voice dripping with frustration.

I wanted to scream, to march into his office and demand to know if he had some sort of vendetta against me. But instead, I pulled my laptop open again and got to work.

“Okay, Harper,” I whispered to myself as I opened a new document. “Three days. You can do this. Start with a structure, break it into phases. It’s just another project. You’ve handled worse… haven’t you?”

The office was eerily quiet, the hum of my laptop the only sound. I rubbed my temples, forcing myself to focus as I started sketching out a rough plan.

An hour later, I was deep into logistics, trying to calculate realistic timelines, when I heard footsteps.

Looking up, I saw Nicholas heading for the exit, his coat draped casually over his arm. He wasn’t in a hurry. No, he was strolling, completely at ease, like he wasn’t leaving a mountain of work for me to finish.

As he passed my desk, he paused briefly, his piercing gaze meeting mine. And then he smirked.

That damn smirk.

My stomach twisted, equal parts rage and something I didn’t want to name. “Of course he’s smirking,” I muttered under my breath after he disappeared. “Why wouldn’t he? He gets to go home, probably pour himself a glass of expensive scotch, while I’m stuck here drafting his stupid project plan.”

Hating him was easier than hating the fact that I cared too much about getting this done perfectly.

Hours blurred together, the building empty and silent around me. By the time I glanced at the clock again, it was well past midnight. My eyes burned from staring at the screen, and my back ached from sitting for so long.

Dragging myself home, I dropped my bag by the door and kicked off my heels, too exhausted to care where they landed. I looked longingly at the bathroom but knew there was no way I had the energy for a shower.

“I’ll get up early,” I promised myself, collapsing onto the bed. “Meeting at eight. Plenty of time…”

Sleep swallowed me whole before I could finish the thought, my body heavy with exhaustion.

But in the back of my mind, I was already dreading the morning—and facing him again.