Page 6 of His To Unravel
With Olivia, subtlety is key.
The thrill lies in the strategy, the calculated pacing of every interaction. I’ll lay foundations she won’t even notice. Let her become comfortable with my presence, till I become the one she reaches for. The awareness is almost intoxicating, like a game unfolding in slow, perfect motion.
The last of the coffee slides down my throat, and I set the cup aside, already feeling the satisfaction settle.
It’s early, but I can feel the day stretching ahead of me, marked by steady steps forward. I’ll find her, seek out another conversation, inch closer.
For now, there’s no need to rush.
The hallway fillswith students spilling out of classrooms, their voices overlapping in a constant hum as I wait just outside the lecture hall where I know Olivia will emerge any moment now.
I lean against the wall, relaxed, as if I’ve simply stumbled into this moment—just another student passing by. But I’ve chosen my spot with care, and the way I position myself allows me a clear view of the doors.
When she steps out, I catch her eye almost instantly.
Surprise flickers briefly before she smooths it away, pulling up the reserved professionalism I’ve come to recognize as her armor.But it’s there—that moment of recognition, her guard slipping for just a heartbeat.
I greet her with a small nod, stepping forward with enough ease to suggest that this meeting is purely incidental.
“Olivia,” I say, tilting my head, voice carefully modulated. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
She manages a polite smile, and I fall into step beside her as we navigate the hallway.
It’s subtle, the way I maintain the perfect amount of distance, close enough to suggest familiarity but not enough to make her pull away.
“I’m glad I ran into you. I realized we haven’t set up our next meeting,” I say. “Want to figure out a regular schedule for the project? Might be easier to keep up with everything now that the semester’s getting busy.”
She glances over at me, considering, and I watch her weigh the suggestion. There’s a small spark of relief in her eyes, like structure is exactly what she needs.
“That sounds like a good idea,” she says, her voice soft but decisive.
“Glad to hear it. How’s Tuesday, late afternoon?” I suggest casually. She nods, a small smile of agreement, and I sense her settling into the ease of it, of a plan already mapped out. “I’ll shoot you a message to confirm the time, if that’s all right?” My tone remains even, easygoing, though beneath the surface, every part of this is purposeful.
“Oh, sure,” she replies. I watch as she reaches for her phone, waiting for me to do the same.
As I type her number into my phone, I can’t help but feel a rush spread beneath my calm exterior. This is another step, another piece of her life becoming accessible to me, woven seamlessly under the guise of professionalism.
I keep our conversation light, the casual notes of our projectand classes, mindful not to stretch this moment beyond what feels natural.
I sense her comfort growing, her body language easing as she speaks. And when we part ways, she’s the one who walks away first, phone in hand, glancing back once, a brief, barely-there movement that doesn’t escape my notice.
I savor it; the steady integration into her life, one small suggestion at a time.
Tuesday afternoon comes soon enough,and we find ourselves back at the library, cloaked in an afternoon hush, save for the rustle of pages and the occasional murmur from scattered tables.
We’ve taken a secluded corner—ideal, I thought, for a “study” session that’s less about textbooks and more about peeling back the layers of the girl across from me.
Olivia’s attention is focused as she pores over her notes, her pen tapping lightly against the paper. The steadfast determination she exudes is alluring, unassuming but compelling.
She’s not just intelligent; she has a drive that feeds a flickering fire within her. One that I intend to turn into something all-consuming.
Between discussing market analysis and potential strategies, I steer the conversation just enough, weaving in innocuous questions, letting my tone stay gentle, genuinely curious.
“You mentioned you’re thinking of consulting roles,” I say casually. “Ever consider something outside Boston?”
She pauses, her gaze lingering on the book for a moment before lifting to meet mine. “Yeah, actually,” she says, a hint of wistfulness coloring her voice. “I’ve been applying around Boston,but…I don’t know. Sometimes I think about leaving. Maybe going to the West Coast. Or abroad.”
The way she says it—an almost reluctant confession—strikes something deep inside me.Leaving the East Coast entirely?That would mean detaching from the plans I’ve already started building around her.
