You Belong to Me.

Olivia I hate Mondays so much. Mondays are the worst days ever in the history of worst days. Anyone who likes Mondays should be arrested. They always feel like the most challenging days in the week. As I reluctantly woke up to the blaring sound of my digital alarm clock, I couldn't help but groan and bury my face in my pillow. It felt like the weekend had just ended, and I was already back to the start of the workweek. With a tired yawn, I finally managed to get out of bed and made my way to the bathroom to brush my teeth. It's hard to believe that a twenty-three-year-old like me wakes up at five every weekday just to hit the gym and ensure I'm not late for work. But hey, that's what I do, and I'm committed to it. Have I mentioned before how much I despise Mondays? Well, let me reiterate it once more. I absolutely loathe Mondays. Today, I feel utterly exhausted, particularly after my intense treadmill session. The fatigue is overwhelming, draining every ounce of energy from my body. I find myself constantly yawning, and my muscles ache with weariness. Thankfully, a cup of coffee has the power to remedy it all. Coffee is my second lifeline, right after oxygen. Without it, I would struggle to function properly. As I stepped into the Café, dressed in a crisp white blouse and a simple black skirt, my hair cascading down my back in its natural wavy glory, I reminded myself to stay calm. Nothing can ruin your day now, Olivia. Boy, was I mistaken? Just when I believed my day couldn't possibly worsen, it did. Out of nowhere, a teenage boy comes sprinting towards me and collides with me, causing my coffee to spill all over my pristine white shirt. It was incredibly frustrating, but I couldn't bring myself to get angry at him, especially when he was so adorable and sincerely apologetic. Fantastic. Simply fantastic. Now my blouse is completely ruined, as is my coffee. "You're late," I heard the familiar voice pierce through the air. I glanced up to find Ramona, my manager, standing before me. Her voice, as always, was grating and irritating, making her presence hard to ignore. Ramona, the self-proclaimed "prettiest" girl in Adamson's Publishing House, was known for her constant need to exert control and her inexplicable jealousy towards me. Annoyed, I couldn't help but roll my eyes. "I'm well aware," I retorted, my frustration evident. Ramona hummed disapprovingly, her gaze filled with disdain as she scrutinized me. "Seems like you're showing some attitude," she remarked, her tone dripping with condescension. It seemed like dealing with her antics had become a daily occurrence. I groaned inwardly, not in the mood for her theatrics. All I wanted was to change my shirt in the peace of my office. "Look, I'm not interested in whatever you have to say right now," I replied impatiently, my desire to escape her presence growing stronger. Stepping aside, I attempted to walk away. "Hey!" Ramona's voice echoed, halting me in my tracks. She had positioned herself directly in front of me once again. "Don't forget that I am your senior here. Show some respect, okay?" I sighed, my gaze fixated on her retreating figure. The sound of her high heels echoed on the pavement as she confidently strutted away, leaving me with a mix of longing and regret. Running my fingers across my forehead, I let out another sigh and made my way towards my office. As soon as I stepped into the room, the incessant ringing of the telephone on my desk filled the air. The phone continued to ring, and I picked it up on the second ring. With a sense of urgency, I reached for the receiver and answered, "Adamson's Publishing House, how may I help you?" A familiar, hoarse voice crackled through the line, belonging to none other than my boss. "Come to my office," he demanded. I nodded in acknowledgment, fully aware of the raspy quality of his voice. Not hoarse in a seductive or alluring way, but rather the result of years of smoking and the unfortunate consequence of lung cancer. Gently tapping on the door, I patiently awaited his permission to enter before stepping inside. "You requested my presence," I uttered in the most courteous tone I could summon, disregarding the way he scrutinized me. "I was informed that you arrived late today. Is that correct?" Of course, that unpleasant woman must have divulged it to him. "May I inquire about the reason?" No, you may not. "I apologize, sir. It won't occur again," I simply responded, declining to delve into the specifics of my challenging day. He slowly rose from his chair, approaching my position. "Olivia..." "Ms. Donovan, sir," I corrected, restraining myself from saying more. A forced smile tugged at my lips. "Olivia, why won't you accept my proposal?" He asked, standing in front of me. Confused, I wondered what proposal he was referring to. However, a sudden realization hit me - was he talking about the inappropriate advances he had been making towards me? I took a couple of steps back, feigning cluelessness. "I'm sorry, sir, I don't understand." "Don't act like a little girl," he said, leaning in closer to my face. Discomfort washed over me as he continued, "You know what I want, why won't you just give it to me?" "Sir..." I began, but he interrupted me, taking a slow walk around me, obviously checking me out. Despite feeling uncomfortable, I hid my unease. "Darling, I know you want it too. There's no need to play hard to get." His words made me cringe internally, and I let out an exhalation. "Sir, I have no idea what you're talking about. May I go back to my office if you don't need me here?" I asked, hoping to escape the situation. Oh, I want you, he replied, licking his lips while his eyes lingered on my chest. "I want you so badly." As his inappropriate comments continued, I couldn't help but wonder if pushing this perverted boss of mine off a ten-story building would count as murder. I can make it look like an accident.