"That face of his was kinda scary though," Ollie said, her fingers speedily slamming on the keyboard.
"Really?" Another lady, Opal, asked. "Was it like, disgusting and slimy?" She leaned towards Ollie.
"No no, nothing like that. It was dry, parched. Sort of like a tattoo. Just an ultrarealistic one."
"Oh." Opal leaned back. "I wish I'd seen it myself."
"Next time don't take the day off."
"I had to. My boyfriend was coming into town," She moaned, then looked over Ollie's shoulders. "Hey Rachel, was he really that scary?"
Rachel didn't answer.
She couldn't hear them.
That morning had been a nightmare for her.
Damien's words haunted her: "Oh, but everything has. See you on Monday."
What was he going to do? Fire her?
That would be a good enough revenge—wouldn't it? He couldn't do anything worse.
He doesn't have the balls, she thought. Or does he?
He did seem like a completely different man. Who knew what he was capable of now.
And would that really be enough? After everything I did to him. He'll do worse. He'll definitely do worse. HE'LL RUIN ME.
"Rachel!" Opal called loudly.
"Yeah!" Rachel jolted up.
Ollie and Opal both looked at her. She looked at them.
"Oh, it's just you guys." She sat back down. "What is it?"
"Are you okay? I've been calling your name for the past minute or so." Opal asked.
"Yeah," Ollie concurred. "Come to think of it, you've been acting strange ever since the meeting on Friday. Is it because of him?"
Rachel's eyes widened. Her shoulders rose slightly as she sharply leaned backwards.
"My God, it's him." Ollie gasped.
"Gee, is he really that scary?" Opal genuinely looked worried.
Rachel replied immediately, "No. It's nothing like th—"
"Rachel!" A man walking towards them interrupted her. "What're you still doing here? Didn't you get the memo?"
"What memo?" She asked.
"The one HR and I sent on behalf of the CEO over the weekend."
Rachel felt her soul leave her body for half a second. Her entire being immediately began shaking.
Ollie noticed. "Hey Hector, what does the memo say?" She asked.
"That's Team Leader to you, Ollie. And go read it yourself." He looked at Rachel. "Especially you."
Ollie and Opal looked at her. Then they immediately hurried to check the memo.
Rachel couldn't move an inch. Her hands felt like an anvil was strapped to them.
Opal gasped. "It says here that you're being transferred to the Executive wing, effective first thing Monday morning."
Rachel's breath labored.
"Damn." Ollie stared at the memo on the screen.
"That's weird. You're the only one being moved," Opal peered closely at the screen.
"Really?" Ollie asked.
"Yeah, no other person is being moved."
They both looked at her.
Rachel was sweating bullets.
He's going to have his revenge. He's definitely going to have his revenge.
"Hey, Rachel. Do you guys have history?" Ollie asked.
She looked up, dumbfounded. Her skin looked pale.
"Rachel!" Hector called out while hurrying back. His phone was by his ear.
"What're you still doing here?! Those guys up top are eating my ass out wondering where you are!"
"Hey! Language." Ollie glared at him. He sneered at her.
Looking over at Rachel, "Upstairs, now!" He said then continued his call.
She slowly got up. Like a wandering ghost.
Her frame looked like it'd collapse under the weight of the atmosphere.
"Rachel, are you okay?" Opal asked. But she didn't answer.
"I'll follow you up there. You look like a corpse right now." Ollie said then got up.
"No, it's alright," Rachel spoke up. "I'll be fine."
She couldn't risk them finding out anything.
They insisted on having someone go with her, but she refused. She wanted to leave there as soon as possible, while also not wanting to leave at all.
The walk to the elevator seemed endless. It felt like everyone was staring at her—because they were. She could hear them murmur.
They had all seen the memo. They were all wondering why she was the only one that got moved, and to the Executive wing at that, the top floor.
She felt every glance like a pinprick against her skin.
They all think I slept with someone. Or bribed someone. Or blackmailed someone.
Maybe she did. Not this time, but once… a long time ago. But still, this felt worse.
The elevator door opened with a ding that made her jump. She stepped in. Alone.
As the doors shut, she stared at her reflection in the chrome panels.
Same face. Same woman.
Why does it feel like I'm walking into my own funeral?
The numbers blinked upward—2… 5… 9… 15… 22.
It kept going until she reached the top floor, it stopped with a chime.
When the doors opened, she was met with silence.
No chatter. No buzzing phones. No desk clutter or hallway traffic.
Just polished marble, tall plants in pristine vases, and a long corridor lined with glass offices.
A receptionist at a sleek black desk looked up. "Miss Kilmer?"
Rachel froze. "...Yeah."
"Mr. Hathaway is expecting you. Third door on the right."
She nodded and walked, heels echoing sharply with every step. The carpet was thick near his door. She paused, took a breath, and knocked.
"Come in," his voice came through, low and controlled.
She opened the door and entered. The office was huge. Floor-to-ceiling windows behind him, a sprawling view of the city, and walls decorated with minimalist art and company awards.
Damien sat behind a glass desk, flipping through a folder. He didn't look up.
"Sit," he said simply.
Rachel obeyed, swallowing hard. She perched on the edge of the leather chair like it might bite her.
"You got the memo?"
"Y-Yes."
"Then you understand that you'll be working directly under me from now on."
A pause.
"Okay..." she replied slowly, cautiously. "What would you like me to do?"
He finally looked up, eyes cool and unreadable.
His scar sent shivers down her spine.
"Your first task is simple."
He slid a thick file across the table.
"Summarize this by the end of the day. Prioritize inconsistencies in the regional branch audits."
Rachel blinked at the file. There were over a hundred pages.
"This—this isn't secretarial work."
"You want to make something of yourself? Consider this your shot."
She stared at the folder. Her hands trembled slightly.
This asshole!
"And if I can't?"
"Then I'll have to reconsider your position here."
He stood. The message was clear: conversation over.
As she got up, she dared one last jab.
"So… is this your revenge?"
He raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
"I mean… flame face orders his former bully to do grunt work? Classic. You could've at least tried to be creative."
He gave her a look so cold it cut through her.
"Don't flatter yourself, Rachel. This has nothing to do with you. I just need someone useful."
He returned to his desk. The file sat in her arms like a weight.
"Meet the floor secretary to find you a work station," he added.
She said nothing. Just turned and walked out, stunned silent.
She sat in a small corner office they'd given her. Silent. Alone. Corporate walls bearing down on her.
She flipped open the file and stared at rows and rows of numbers, reports, audits. None of it made sense.
From beneath her breath, she griped:
"Useful, huh… I'll show you useful, flame face."
But her voice cracked as she said it.
She slammed the file shut.
Then opened it again.