Page 23 of Grumpy Orc CEO

"Lucy," he begins, his tone direct and commanding. "I need clarification on these figures for the newest project."

I glance up briefly, avoiding his gaze. "The projections are based on last quarter's performance," I reply briskly, pointing to the relevant section in the report.

He leans in slightly, examining the document. "And these adjustments?"

"They account for market fluctuations," I say, keeping my voice steady but curt. "It's all detailed in the appendix."

He nods, but I can feel his eyes on me, searching for something beyond the professional facade I'm trying so hard to maintain.

"Good work," he says finally before turning to leave.

For a split second, as he walks away, I want to call him back; to tell him how much his acknowledgment means to me. It's a fleeting, almost desperate urge that I quickly smother, pushing those feelings down deep where they can't hurt me.

Keeping things strictly business is the only way I know to protect myself from getting hurt again. It's safer this way, or at least that's what I keep telling myself.

CHAPTER 13

Jarvin

Ilean against the doorframe of my office, my eyes fixed on Lucy as she efficiently organizes files and answers calls. Every movement is precise, every action purposeful. She’s a powerhouse of competence, but her demeanor remains frustratingly professional. A wall of formality separates us, one that I can't seem to break through.

Why can’t she let her guard down, even just a little? I feel a surge of frustration, clenching my fists to keep from storming over there and demanding she acknowledge the spark between us. Her guardedness isn’t just professional; it’s personal, a fortress built brick by brick.

Taking a deep breath, I turn back to my desk. The familiar chaos of contracts and reports greets me, but my mind isn’t in it. I have to respect her boundaries; it's the only way to keep from pushing her further away. Still, it gnaws at me. I’m not used to feeling this powerless.

Settling into my chair, I force myself to focus on the work in front of me. My fingers drum against the polished wood as I scan through emails, but my thoughts drift back to her. Each laugh shared at the airport bar, each stolen glance in the office—it all replays in my mind like a damn broken record.

I draft another email and then delete it. No words seem right when my mind is elsewhere. She’s become an unavoidable distraction, infiltrating every corner of my thoughts.

Through the window in my office, I see her moving with practiced ease. She handles everything thrown her way without missing a beat. Her resilience draws me in even more. But how do I get past that shield she’s put up?

I push back from my desk and rub the back of my neck, feeling the tension build. Respecting her space is crucial; I've told myself that countless times. Yet every day it gets harder not to close the distance between us.

Damn it. How long can this go on?

I don’t have time to dwell on it, another meeting is about to begin. As I walk into the conference room, the hum of pre-meeting chatter filling the air, my eyes immediately find Lucy.

She’s seated at the far end of the table, her pen already moving swiftly across her notebook. Others around her are laughing and exchanging stories about their weekends, but she remains an island of focus amidst the sea of distractions.

She doesn't look up as I take my seat at the head of the table. Her attention is fixed on her notes, a barrier between us, one I can’t seem to breach. The sting of her avoidance hits harder than I’d care to admit. I grit my teeth and force myself to stay composed.

"We have a lot to cover today. But first, What did one egg say to the other before starting the meeting?" I say, my tone is authoritative yet neutral. The room quiets down instantly, all eyes turning towards me. "Alright, let’s get crackin’!” I quip, laughter filling the room. As it quiets down, I’m in my element as I dive into the agenda.

I can't help but steal glances at Lucy. Her dedication is admirable; she’s meticulous in her notetaking, capturing every detail with precision. She doesn't look up once, not even when I make a point that would normally warrant eye contact.

"Lucy," I say, addressing her directly for the first time in the meeting. "Can you update us on the client outreach progress?"

She looks up briefly, just long enough to acknowledge my request before diving into her report. Her voice is clear and professional, each word carefully measured. Yet there’s an undercurrent of distance that I can't ignore.

"Thank you," I respond when she finishes, trying to keep my tone even. "Excellent work as always."

She nods curtly and returns to her notes. The momentary connection is gone as quickly as it appeared.

As the meeting continues, I find myself battling an internal struggle. I admire her professionalism but this distance she maintains feels like a personal slight, an impenetrable wall she's built specifically for me. She doesn’t act this way with anyone else.

I wrap up the meeting with a summary of our next steps and dismiss everyone. The team begins to file out, but Lucy lingers behind for a moment longer than necessary.

I watch her leave, feeling both admiration and frustration swirling within me. Breaking through those walls is looking more challenging than any business deal I've ever negotiated.

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