CHAPTER FIVE — KNOWING EACH OTHER
1085 Words
Olive immediately placed the laptop on the table and stood up, facing where the sound came from.
"Sir, please—I'm so sorry for trespassing into your private and business life." She knelt down, pleading. When she turned, she discovered Wilson had spoken. She began torturing herself for acting before reasoning.
"What were you doing with my laptop?" Wilson asked, unfriendly.
"Nothing much, Sir."
"But I clearly saw you tampering with it minutes ago. Or is my vision fading already?" He added fuel to the fire.
"You know that's not possible, Sir. I was just correcting and adding some items to the design I saw there, to make it more classic and valuable." She opened up.
"Why are you trying to command the ground to swallow you? You're even sweating and shaking," Wilson inquired.
Olive couldn't respond—she was shivering, totally afraid.
What have I gotten myself into? I should have walked away when I saw it. What will happen to me now? She thought, panicking at Wilson's attitude.
"I was joking, Olive." Wilson stated, smile spreading across his face—job well done.
Olive kept staring sheepishly, not uttering a word.
"Why so serious? I was just teasing you, madam. Calm down," Wilson laughed at Olive, standing still like a lost sheep.
"Sir, this joke is expensive. Do you know I nearly fainted because of the seriousness in your tone? Please check my blood pressure to know whether I'll survive tonight," Olive lamented, her heart finally returning to her body.
"I'm sorry. I didn't know you'd overreact like that."
"You'll have to grant me a favor before I accept your apology. I just lost too much blood because of you," Olive voiced out.
"I'm sorry, my lord. Don't worry—I'll buy the whole Gucci store for you," Wilson declared sarcastically.
Olive sat down, gradually regaining herself as she emptied a bottle of water down her throat. Wilson also sat and observed the ideas she added—superb. The website was ready to launch. He was taken by her creativity and couldn't help asking.
"How did you manage this, Olive?" He asked, eyes fixed on her.
"I was just lucky to think of something. Anyone can do that—it's not a big deal." She replied politely.
"No, no, no. Anyone cannot do this. It takes a professional. So tell me how you arrived at this idea." He persevered.
Seeing Wilson wouldn't back down without the truth, she decided to let the cat out of the bag.
"The thing is, I'm actually a practitioner in this field. So I'm very creative when it comes to any area of designing." She threw more light.
Wilson widened his mouth, eyes and ears in the utmost surprise. He couldn't believe someone working as a caretaker was a graduate with such wonderful talent.
"You mean you studied design at university?" he asked, aiming for clarification.
"Something like that. But that doesn't make me special," Olive responded indirectly.
"So what happened? How did you end up as a caretaker instead of in lucrative business?" Wilson asked, inquisitiveness taking over.
"Sir, it's a long story."
"Please cut it short," he instructed.
Hearing his sincere concern, she narrated her story.
"After studying website and graphic design at university, I automatically got a job at a renowned company. But people with money bought the position for me, leaving me jobless. Devastated, I passed through your street and saw the notice on your gate demanding a caretaker. So I applied—an idle man is the devil's workshop."
"Oh my God! I'm really sorry." Wilson sympathized.
"Don't worry, Sir. I'm now earning more than some civil servants in this state, thanks to you," Olive's statement defined how reserved she was with her boss.
"Alright. Thank you so much for the assistance." Wilson expressed gratitude.
"You're welcome, Sir."
"You know what? I'll employ you as my personal assistant and manager of the design department. Your workforce will lead to higher productivity and profitability," Wilson offered.
"Jesus Christ. I'm out of words. Thank you so much, Sir. I really appreciate it. I promise to work tirelessly toward the company's growth," she assured him.
"It's okay. We'll move early tomorrow so I can introduce you to your colleagues. I hope you have corporate clothes?"
"Not really. But I'll try to look corporate tomorrow."
"No, I won't take that. Go prepare—we're buying office clothes." Wilson commanded. They went and bought numerous outfits.
The next morning, Olive was introduced to her fellow staff members and officially started working. She began earning reasonably, and life grew fairer, though she still cared for the family after work.
But Olive wasn't enjoying herself as she should. She depreciated in size and shape, her color fading. This phenomenon made Wilson concerned and worried. He asked what the problem was, but she ran away from the question. Wilson respected her decision and didn't ask again, though worry remained.
Voluntarily, Sonia came to him one night and revealed what was happening, seeing the situation eating him up gradually.
"Dad, are you aware Olive has an irresponsible boyfriend?" Sonia asked, after her father questioned why she wanted an audience.
This statement struck Wilson like a tornado, shattering his nervous and hormonal coordination. His heart bled and wept.
"What do you mean, my love?" He inquired, gathering himself.
"I saw them one day when I came home unannounced from a PTA meeting. About ten kilometers from our house, I saw Auntie Olive talking with a guy. The guy was abusing her with all sorts of insulting words, but she just said: 'I'll send the money to you tomorrow.' That's what she told him, and he angrily left. Olive has been answering strange calls lately that stress her up." Sonia reported.
"Are you sure what you're saying?" Wilson couldn't believe his ears.
"Dad, I'm very sure. I didn't want to tell you, but Olive is being hurt right now. I can't pretend anymore. Please help her." Sonia interceded.
"Alright, I've heard you. I'll help her. Thank you for informing me. You can go to your room, my angel," Wilson escorted her.
Wilson thought about the most polite way to tackle this. He decided on a deep conversation.
"Olive, I want to ask you something. Promise you'll answer sincerely."
"What's the problem, Wilson?"
"Just promise you'll speak only the truth." Wilson maintained eye contact.
"I promise. So what's the question?"
Olive's mood changed, her face darkening when she heard him inquire: "Who is Humphrey?”
- Writer
