Page 9 of Damaged Enemy Next Door

I can’t help but feel a sense of relief wash over me knowing that Olivia will be there to handle any potential issues that may arise. She’s smart, articulate, and knows how to handle herself in tricky situations. I have no doubt that she’ll be an asset to me as my paralegal during this event.

“Great,” I say, standing up from my desk. “Meeting adjourned. I’ll see you all tomorrow night at the event.”

"I'll have your outfits sent over for tomorrow," says Susan.

As Susan leaves my office, I linger behind, waiting for Olivia to grab her coat. She looks up at me, and I can see that she’s trying to read my expression. She clears her throat. "So, Susan sends outfits?"

"Susan sends outfits," I say. "Susan is a lifesaver."

"I can see that," Olivia giggles.

Are we both buying time? Trying to just get one more word in, a second extra?

I'm not sure about her. But I sure am.

“Thank you for agreeing to help me tomorrow night,” I say, my voice low. “I appreciate it.”

Her eyes flicker up to meet mine, and her breath hitches. We both know what’s happening, the palpable tension between us growing more intense with each passing moment. I can feel her body heat radiating toward me, and I can smell the sweet scent of her perfume.

“I’ll do my best,” she whispers, her voice husky. “I won’t let you down.”

The moment hangs in the air for a few more beats, and then she takes a step back, breaking the spell between us.

“See you, Adrian,” she says, her voice regaining some semblance of professionalism as she grabs her coat and leaves.

"We'll leave straight from here tomorrow," I say. "Don't forget you'd have to get dressed at work," I yell behind her.

The next afternoon, I wait, pacing in my office. Susan informs me that Olivia is running fifteen minutes late. "Tell her to meet me in the car," I say, heading out of my office.

Fifteen minutes is a lot of time to just be wasted like this when I could be using it for something like packing and moving into my residence instead of waiting for her.

Needless to say, I am annoyed beyond belief when I learn just how late she's running. I reach the curb, open my door, and get in before the chauffeur can even unbuckle his seat and exit the car to assist me.

Ten minutes later, she arrives. I don't look up from my phone when the driver opens the door for her.

“If you were anyone else, I would have them replaced from your office,” I say as the driver closes the door behind her. “You wanted professional. Is this what you call professional?” I chide her, finally settling, casting my phone aside, and turning to face her.

And suddenly, it makes sense. She looks like a work of art, and to create that must take time. I want to whistle, to tell her how fucking gorgeous she looks, but I refrain.

Instead, I soak in her beauty. Her skin glows softly with its natural hues. Her auburn hair is tied in a low bun, several strands draping gracefully over one shoulder while she stares intently back at me. She’s wearing the designer gown Susan sent, silvery-white cascading down to the floor, clinging to her figure and making her look nothing less than a sex symbol. I make a mental note to tell my secretary that the next time around to make sure the dress doesn't have such a high slit. I also make a mental note to congratulate her on the jewelry she sent Olivia. Around her slender neck sits an extravagant necklace made of diamonds and rubies, their sparkle radiating down to her clavicles, drawing my attention to her beautiful figure.

This woman was born to be a queen.

“I’m sorry,” she says, “I didn’t know what to do with my hair.”

“It’s looking fine,” I respond, turning away coolly. I don’t want to let on just how freaking beautiful she looks. How I desire her to pull out those pins, shed off that gown, and walk away from me naked, watching that auburn hair cascading down her back. She looks beautiful naked, especially when she has her back turned to me. I want to reach out and slide my hands up her legs, up her thighs, up that slit that’s teasing me like an annoying playmate holding a toy I can’t have.

But I can’t say any of those things because I know Olivia. She’d run in the opposite direction.

I explain her role on the way. She nods, understanding her position, “So basically, you want me to stay quiet about the real estate project and ask hypothetical questions?”

“Yup,” I say. “Ask them what they think the dangers are of real estate development near freshwater sources. Hypothetically. Better not to get them angry right now; better we release a statement once we have every possible criticism managed in advance and not give them a chance to attack us. If we don’t create that first problem, or address it in advance, then they can’t hold us back.”

She nods.

We reach the gala and exit. Immediately, there’s a hoard of paparazzi. “Mr. Carter, is this someone special?” they ask, clicking Olivia’s photos. I watch Olivia to see how she’s holding up. Surprisingly, she looks unperturbed. She’s not smiling at the cameras, nor is she looking for attention. She keeps her eyes down and walks through them.

“My paralegal,” I say, walking through without answering any other questions, but addressing just the one so it doesn’t give rise to speculation. “We take the preservation of our environment very seriously while undertaking any construction and my brilliant paralegal, Olivia Miller, is by our side every step of the way to ensure we meet the highest standard of law and regulation while doing so.”

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