UN-BROKEN

CORPORATE CROSSROADS

Desmond seems to have made it his personal mission to get a reaction out of me. Whether it’s a playful jab about my dedication to work or a teasing remark about my personal life, he never misses an opportunity.

“Olivia, you do realize you’re allowed to leave your desk, right?” Desmond says one afternoon, leaning casually against my door.

I barely look up from my laptop. “I don’t have time for your distractions, Desmond.”

“You never have time. That’s the problem.” He smirks. “At this rate, you’ll be the next Charles.

You should start sleeping in the office to make it official.” Charles is one of our colleagues. There were rumours about him sleeping in the office. His love for work made him not to get a house. He was always buried in his desk and had no time to spare a joke.

I roll my eyes but can’t help the small smile that tugs at my lips. “Unlike you, some of us actually take our work seriously.”

“Hey, I take my work seriously,” he says, feigning offense. “I just don’t let it consume my life. Unlike you, I have a social life.”

I shake my head, turning back to my computer. “I have a social life too.”

“Right. If by ‘social life,’ you mean hanging out with Becca and Zoe while dodging your mother’s marriage lectures, then sure.”

I sigh, finally looking up at him. “Do you have a point, Desmond?”

“Only that you need to loosen up,” he says, flashing his signature grin. “You know, maybe even go on a date.”

I scoff. “I’m fine, thanks.”

“Fine is just another word for ‘bored.’” He shrugs. “Anyway, we’re all going out for drinks on Friday. You’re coming.”

I hesitates. Normally, I’d decline without a second thought, but something about the way Desmond is looking at me makes me pause. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I do need to loosen up.

“We’ll see,” I say, turning back to my screen.

“That’s not a no,” Desmond says, grinning. “Progress.”

Of course, work isn’t just about playful banter. There’s always some level of tension, especially in a competitive investment bank.

One afternoon, I finds myself caught in the middle of a heated discussion between Charles and another senior analyst, Wale, over a high-stakes client proposal.

“This strategy is too aggressive,” Charles argues. “We’re promising returns that aren’t guaranteed in this economic climate.”

“And playing it too safe will make us lose the client,” Wale counters. “You can’t be afraid to take risks in this business.”

I, tasked with finalizing the proposal, is forced to mediate. I carefully presents a balanced approach, incorporating elements from both perspectives.

When Mr. Adegbite eventually reviews it, he nods approvingly. “Good work, Olivia. This is the kind of strategic thinking we need.”

It’s a small win, but one that reminds me I am earning my place in this industry.

Lunchtime is often where the more relaxed, unfiltered conversations happen. I usually eats with a small group, including Desmond, Juliet (the office flirt), and Nathan (the silent genius).

Today’s topic? Office rumours.

“I heard Mr. Adegbite is considering stepping down,” Jessica announces as she joins their table uninvited.

Juliet gasps. “What? Who’s replacing him?”

“No idea,” Jessica says, lowering her voice. “But they might bring in someone from another firm.”

Desmond raises an eyebrow at me. “This could be your chance for a promotion.”

I laugh. “Please. I’m barely surviving my current workload.”

“But you’re good at what you do,” Nathan says quietly.

The rare compliment from Nathan catches me off guard, and I smile. “Thanks, Nathan.”

Juliet sighs dramatically. “Forget work. What I want to know is, when are you finally going to date someone, Olivia?”

Desmond chuckles. “I ask her that all the time.”

I roll my eyes. “Can we not?”

“Fine, fine,” Juliet says. “But mark my words, Liv. Love finds you when you least expect it.”

As the day winds down, I find myself reflecting on everything.

My career is thriving. I am surrounded by supportive (albeit annoying) co-workers.

⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕

The weeks blurred together in a haze of spreadsheets, conference calls, and endless meetings. I had thrown myself into work, using the routine of my job at the investment bank as both a distraction and a refuge.

Each morning, I arrive early, a coffee in hand, settling into the predictable rhythm of financial reports and portfolio assessments. Zoe’s wedding was really a success. She was honeymooning with her Husband in Barcelona, Spain. I’m very sure she brought the idea. She has always fancied speaking Spanish.

My colleagues had noticed the change in me. I was more focused, more determined, and less interested in idle chatter. Yet, in those quiet moments between presentations and client meetings, I found myself thinking about Desmond. Since Zoe’s wedding, our interactions had grown more natural, laced with a casual ease that unsettled me in a way I couldn’t quite explain.

Desmond, on the other hand, seemed to have made it his personal mission to get a reaction out of me. Whether it was a teasing comment about my "serious banker face" or a playful nudge when he caught me staring too long at my screen, he had a way of lightening the atmosphere in a way I secretly appreciated.

"You know, Olivia, you're becoming dangerously predictable," Desmond remarked one afternoon as we prepared for an internal audit meeting. "Coffee, spreadsheets, emails, repeat. When was the last time you did something spontaneous?"

I smirked, tapping my pen against the table. "I don’t have time for spontaneity. That’s how mistakes happen."

"Or how memories are made," he countered with a wink.

Before I could respond, my boss, Mr. Adegbite, walked into the boardroom, his presence commanding instant silence. He adjusted his tie and glanced around the room before settling his gaze on me.

"Olivia, I have an important assignment for you. We need a representative for the upcoming corporate fundraising gala next month, and I believe you’re the right person for the job."

A murmur of approval rippled through the room. I straightened in my chair, caught between surprise and the weight of the responsibility.

"I’d be honored, sir," I replied with a smile, masking my nerves with professionalism.

"Good. You’ll be expected to network with key stakeholders, pitch our latest financial initiatives, and, most importantly, make sure our firm leaves a lasting impression. Make the necessary preparations."

As the meeting concluded, Desmond leaned over with a mischievous grin. "Looks like someone’s moving up in the world."

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t deny the flutter of excitement in my chest. This event wasn’t just another work obligation it was a stepping stone, a chance to prove myself beyond the confines of my daily routine.

Over the following weeks, I threw myself into preparations. I worked late, perfecting my presentation, studying investor profiles, and ensuring every detail was meticulously planned.

Amidst the late-night calls and never-ending emails, I barely noticed how quickly time was passing.

With the stress piling up, I turn to an old habit, working out.

One evening, I head to the gym after work, determined to clear my head. The rhythmic pounding of my feet against the treadmill and the burn in my muscles provide a temporary escape from my racing thoughts.

Just as I finish my set, a familiar voice interrupts my solitude.

“Well, well, look who finally decided to prioritize self-care.”

I turn to find Desmond standing there, dressed in workout gear, smirking.

I groan. “Do you follow me everywhere?”

“Funny, I was going to ask you the same thing.”

We end up working out together, exchanging playful jabs between sets. It’s a strange dynamic somewhere between friendship and something else I am not quite ready to define.

After a gruelling week of work, I decide I need a break. Becca and Zoe invites me to dinner, and for the first time in a while, I am actually excited to unwind.

The restaurant is lively, filled with laughter and clinking glasses. I sip my drink, enjoying the warmth of my friends’ company.

“So, tell us more about this Desmond guy,” Becca says with a teasing grin.

I groans. “Oh, not you too.”

Zoe leans in. “Come on, Liv. We just want details.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” I insist. “He’s just my colleague.”

Becca raises an eyebrow. “A colleague who teases you constantly? And works late nights with you? And just so happens to always show up at your gym?”

I shake my head. “You guys are ridiculous.”

⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕

Outside of work, life continued in its steady rhythm. Becca had become increasingly busy with a new project of her own, and Zoe, now settling into married life. She was back from her honeymoon, from the photos she sent on our group chat I’m sure she had a wonderful time there. She also returned and had begun to pester me about dating again.

"You can’t keep using work as an excuse," Zoe chided one evening over a phone call. "You need to live a little."

"I am living," I protest, tucking my feet beneath me as I settled onto my couch resting on my comfort pillow eating pancakes. "Just... in a different way."

"That’s code for 'I refuse to put myself out there again,'" Zoe sighed. "Look, all I’m saying is, Desmond seems nice. And interested."

I groaned. "Not this again. We work together."

"So? That doesn’t mean you can’t get to know him outside of work."

I didn’t have a response to that. Instead, I change the subject, steering the conversation toward Zoe’s upcoming housewarming party. But long after the call ended, Zoe’s words lingered in my mind.

As the fundraising event approached, I found myself growing more restless. Between the long nights at the office and the pressure of representing my company, I had to brush up on high-profile attendees, study investment trends, and rehearse talking points that will make our firm stand out.

Desmond, assigned as my co-strategist, takes every opportunity to make light of the situation.

“So, are we getting matching outfits for this event?” he teases one afternoon as we go over financial reports.

I scoffs. “Absolutely not.”

“Come on, it would be fun. Power duo vibes.”

“I refuse to coordinate with you, Desmond.”

He leans back in his chair, grinning. “Your loss.”

Despite his usual playfulness, I can’t deny that he’s incredibly sharp when it comes to strategy. We spend late nights at the office refining our approach, bouncing ideas off each other, and even engaging in friendly debates about economic policies.

It’s during one of these nights, over takeout and coffee, that I realize something strange, I actually enjoy working with Desmond.

“Not bad, Williams,” he says, leaning back after reviewing my notes. “You might just survive this event.”

I roll my eyes but smile. “Thanks, I guess.”

⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕

At my desk, I look over files, researching key attendees of the event. The fundraiser will bring together some of the most influential business figures, philanthropists, and investors in the financial sector.

Some names surprise me because they are people I read about in finance magazines, titans of the industry whose mere presence commands attention. What am I doing in the same room as them? The thought gnaws at my confidence.

I spend hours compiling notes, jotting down key talking points, memorizing facts about the guests, and rehearsing potential conversations in my head. Networking isn’t just about showing up; it’s about making an impression, leaving a mark. I need to prove that I belongs in the room.

Desmond occasionally peeks over his computer at me. “You know, Williams, you’re going to burn a hole through those papers if you keep staring at them like that.”

I look up, exasperated. “I need to be prepared.”

He tilts his head. “You already are.”

I scoff, but deep down, his words make me feel slightly less anxious. One evening, after another tiresome workday, Zoe and Becca drag me to an upscale boutique in search of the perfect outfit for the fundraiser.

“Okay, Liv,” Becca says, rubbing her hands together in excitement. “We need something powerful yet elegant. The kind of dress that makes people stop and listen when you walk into the room.”

I sigh. “It’s just an event—”

Zoe glares. “No. This is a statement. You need to look like you own the room before you even open your mouth.”

After trying on several dresses some too flashy, others too plain I finally step out in a fitted black and purple design dress with sleek lines, hugging my figure without being too tight. The colour brings out the warmth in my skin, the cut elegant yet commanding.

Becca gasps. “That’s it.”

Zoe nods in approval. “You’re going to make heads turn. And not just for business reasons.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m going to network, not seduce anyone.”

Becca grins. “Well, if Desmond sees you in that, I doubt he’ll care about the difference.”

I throw a hanger at her.

The night before the event, I find myself sitting in my apartment, staring at the neatly pressed dress hanging on my wardrobe door.

Despite all my preparation, a familiar voice in my head whispers doubts.

What if you mess up? What if you say something stupid?

The event is more than just a fundraiser it’s a chance to elevate my career, to prove myself in a way I never have before. But deep down, a small part of me wonders if I even deserve this opportunity.

I am not the CEO of a major firm. I am not a millionaire investor. I am just Olivia Williams, a hardworking, ambitious woman who still sometimes feels like she’s pretending to belong in this world of high finance.

What if they see right through me?

I exhale sharply, rubbing my temples.

A knock on my apartment door interrupts my spiral. I frown, not expecting visitors.

When I open the door, Desmond stands there, leaning casually against the frame, holding two cups of coffee.

“Figured you might need this,” he says, handing me one.

I take it, raising a brow. “How did you even know where I live?”

He smirks. “Company records. Don’t worry, I’m not a stalker just a very resourceful co-worker.”

I step aside, letting him in. “What are you doing here, Desmond?”

He shrugs, glancing at my apartment briefly. “I had a feeling you’d be over-preparing, overthinking, and generally making yourself miserable.”

I cross my arms. “And?”

“And I figured you could use a reminder.”

I sigh. “A reminder of what?”

Desmond takes a sip of his coffee before meeting my gaze. “That you deserve this.”

I hesitate, caught off guard. “I—”

“You work harder than anyone I know, Olivia. You didn’t get chosen for this event by accident. Stop questioning it.”

His words sink in, slowly melting away the doubt that has been weighing on me all night.

I swallow, then finally allow myself a small smile. “Thanks, Desmond.”

He smirks. “Don’t mention it. Now, drink your coffee, get some sleep, and tomorrow, go show them why you were the best choice.”

For the first time in days, I believe I just might.

And then, the day of the gala arrived.