The Ex Factor
681 Words
Olivia was halfway through a meeting when it happened.
The conference room door opened mid-presentation—without knocking—and in walked her.
A tall brunette in designer heels, a silk blouse Olivia could never afford, and a diamond necklace that looked like it had its own insurance policy. She smiled with the sharpness of someone who knew they didn’t need to introduce themselves.
But she did anyway.
“Hi, everyone. I’m Victoria. Nathaniel’s fiancée.”
The room went silent.
Even the copier in the hallway stopped.
Olivia’s mouth went dry.
Nathaniel—who had just walked in behind her, looking furious—rubbed a hand over his face.
“She’s not,” he said flatly. “Not anymore.”
Victoria ignored him.
She looked directly at Olivia. “And you must be the new… assistant.”
Bitch, Olivia thought.
But she smiled. “Secretary, actually. But we’re all team players here.”
Victoria smiled like she’d just bitten into a lemon. “Of course.”
Nathaniel stepped between them. “Victoria, you need to leave.”
“Oh come on, Nate. I’m just saying hi. I heard there was a little office romance happening. Wanted to see for myself.”
Olivia’s ears burned.
He took her arm, guiding her to the hallway. “We’re done.”
“Are we?” she said sweetly. “You didn’t seem so sure last night when you called me.”
What the hell?
Olivia stood frozen as the glass door closed behind them. All she could see was Victoria’s smug expression and Nathaniel’s tight jaw as they argued outside. She didn’t want to listen. But she did.
Because it hurt.
And because the sick twist in her stomach told her: He hasn’t let her go yet.
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Later that night, he showed up at her door.
No knock.
Just walked in like he owned the place—because, technically, he did. He’d bought the building she lived in last month.
“You called her?” Olivia snapped before he could say a word.
“I didn’t. She called me. She’s trying to get me back.”
“Well, she made it very clear she thinks she already has.”
“I told her we’re done. Years ago.”
“And yet she still calls you ‘Nate.’”
He stepped closer, voice low. “Do you want me to tell you every woman I’ve slept with, Olivia? Because I promise you—there’s not enough time in the damn day.”
She flinched.
His face softened instantly.
“I’m sorry. That came out wrong.”
“No, it didn’t.”
She turned away—but he caught her arm. Spun her gently to face him.
“I haven’t touched her. I won’t touch her. I don’t even look at anyone else the way I look at you.”
She swallowed hard. “You don’t do feelings, Nathaniel.”
“I didn’t.”
He leaned in, cupped her cheek.
“But you ruined that for me.”
Her breath hitched.
“You make me feel like everything else in my life is just… background noise.”
And then he kissed her.
Not hard. Not rushed.
Just real.
But when he pulled away—she was crying.
He froze. “Liv…”
She grabbed his shirt, pulled him to her, and kissed him back like she was trying to swallow every word, every doubt, every ghost of every woman who’d ever touched him.
When he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bedroom, he was silent.
But the way he undressed her—slowly, reverently—said everything.
The way he went down on her like he worshipped her.
The way he f****d her—face to face, hands laced, forehead pressed to hers—spoke volumes.
No roughness. No games.
Just skin. Sweat. Soft moans.
And when she came, whispering his name like a vow, he followed her over the edge with a low, aching groan.
“Olivia,” he gasped. “You’re the only thing that makes sense anymore.”
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