OLIVIA
I can feel the eyes on us, hear the buzz: Senior staff losing control. Violence at the retreat.
Fantastic. Absolutely fantastic.
I plaster on a tight smile, but inside, I'm seething. My victory? Gone. The first-place win we earned? Gone too, thanks to the spokesperson's righteousness. And all because Mike decided to play caveman with his fists.
I glance at him, and he's still fuming, chest heaving like he's just gone ten rounds in a boxing ring.
And all I can think is: Congratulations, Olivia. You picked the hottest i***t in the room.
Back in the hotel room, Mike is pacing like a caged animal. His jaw is tight, his fists are still balled, and I swear the carpet's about to catch fire from how hard he's stomping.
And then...crash. He punches the lamp off the nig
