The meeting was in full swing when Nicholas’s new executive assistant decided to make her move. She snatched the iced latte from the conference table and, with a swift, vicious motion, flung its contents squarely in my face. The sticky cold shocked my skin. “You think a useless leech like you, who hides in her office playing games all day, has any right to question my proposal?” Her voice was a shrill, grating sound that cut through the silence. Then, she pointed a perfectly manicured finger toward the door. “You’re fired,” she snarled. “Get the hell out. Now.” I rose slowly from my chair, dabbing at the sticky brown mess on my face with a napkin. My eyes found Nicholas. He deliberately avoided my gaze, a frown creasing his brow, but he said nothing. His silence was his answer. He was letting this happen. A small, humorless smile touched my lips. I pulled out my phone and tapped the speaker icon. “Dad,” I said, my voice calm. “I assume you heard all of that?” A pause. “Yeah, someone just told me to pack my bags and get out.” 1 It had started on Monday, as most terrible weeks do. I was deep in a raid, my focus entirely on the screen, when a sharp rap sounded on my office door. “Ms. Ashford? Suzanne asked me to inform all department heads that there’s a mandatory meeting in ten minutes in the main conference room.” It was Maria from Admin, looking flustered. I didn’t look up, my fingers a blur across the keyboard. “Not going. I’m busy.” In the six months I’d been an employee here, I’d made a point of skipping every single meeting. It wasn’t that I couldn’t go; I simply didn’t want to. “But…” Maria hesitated. “Suzanne was very specific. She said no one is excused. It’s an order from Mr. Blackwood himself.” My fingers faltered. On the screen, my character was instantly annihilated by the final boss. As the screen faded to a dismal gray, I cursed under my breath and snapped the laptop shut. The conference room was already packed when I arrived. As soon as I walked in, conversations died down, replaced by a wave of whispers and curious stares. “What’s Olivia Ashford doing here?” “I thought she didn’t do meetings.” “Who knows. Must be Suzanne’s doing. She’s been gunning for her since day one.” “This should be good.” I ignored the gossip, found a seat in the farthest corner, and pulled out my phone to respawn in my game. A full thirty minutes passed before Nicholas Blackwood and Suzanne finally graced us with their presence. Suzanne clutched a stack of files, a triumphant, self-satisfied smirk plastered on her face. “Thank you all for taking time out of your busy schedules to be here,” Nicholas began, his gaze sweeping the room. It flickered over me for less than a second before moving on. “Suzanne has a major new proposal to announce.” Suzanne cleared her throat and launched into a long-winded speech about her “revolutionary” new marketing strategy. I continued playing my game, half-listening, and the more I heard, the more ridiculous it sounded. The budget was astronomical, and the entire concept was completely misaligned with our company’s market position. “…and so, I propose we immediately invest eighty million dollars to dominate the luxury market within the next three months!” Suzanne concluded, her voice ringing with passion. A few scattered, obligatory claps echoed in the room. I couldn’t help myself. Without looking up from my phone, I said, “For eighty million, you could just throw cash off the roof of this building. You’d get more buzz and better press for your money.” The room went dead silent. Nicholas’s brow furrowed. “What did you just say?” Suzanne’s voice shot up an octave. I finally lifted my head, my expression bored. “I said your proposal is a train wreck.” I ticked off the points on my fingers. “First, your target demographic is wrong. Second, your chosen media channels are ineffective. Third, your entire ROI calculation is a fantasy.” I leaned back in my chair. “That eighty million might as well be flushed down the toilet. At least then it would make a sound.” Suzanne’s face turned a shade of crimson I didn’t think was humanly possible. She grabbed her drink, stormed across the room, and stood looming over me. “You—a lazy, good-for-nothing freeloader who does nothing but play video games—you dare question my work?” she shrieked. And then… splash. The icy, sweet liquid drenched my face, dripping down my neck and soaking the front of my white dress, staining it a sickening brown. The room held its breath, a collective, silent gasp. “Olivia Ashford,” Suzanne bellowed, her chest heaving, “as the CEO’s executive assistant, I’m telling you you’re fired! Get out!” 2 Suzanne glared down at me, a queen banishing a peasant. I stood up slowly, pulling a handkerchief from my pocket and methodically wiping the sticky residue from my skin. Then I looked at Nicholas. He frowned, shifted his weight, and looked away. He chose silence. I actually laughed. A real, genuine laugh. I held up my phone, the call still active on speaker. “Dad, you get all that?” I asked into the receiver. “Someone’s telling me to get lost.” After two seconds of silence, a deep, powerful voice came through the line. “Understood. I’ll make the arrangements.” The only reason I was working here in the first place was because of an old family pact, a betrothal arranged by my grandfather when I was a child. Nicholas Blackwood was my fiancé. I hated the idea of an arranged marriage, but my father had pleaded, pulling out every trick in the book, including the classic “you’re breaking your old man’s heart” routine. So, I’d caved. To “foster our relationship,” my father had insisted I take a position at Blackwood Corporation. For six months, I’d played the part of a slacker, spending my days gaming. But behind the scenes, I was secretly pulling strings, leveraging my family’s resources to quietly steer the company toward unprecedented success. Blackwood Corp’s profits had soared, culminating in a wildly successful IPO that had landed Nicholas a spot on the Northwood City Rich List. Despite my help, our interactions were minimal. During our handful of awkward, stilted dates, I’d realized he knew I was the girl from the family arrangement, but he had absolutely no idea who my family really was. … I sank back into my corner seat, picked up my phone, and resumed the game that had been so rudely interrupted. On the screen, my character respawned, and my fingers flew across the glass, the chaos in the room fading into the background. Suzanne’s face went from red to a blotchy purple. She clearly hadn’t expected me to so thoroughly ignore her. She slammed her hand on the table. “Olivia Ashford! What do you think this is?” she screeched. “Everyone here is working, and you’re playing games?” “I’ve already hit my sales targets for the entire year,” I retorted with a cold smile. “What’s wrong with a little game?” “If you don’t get out, I’m calling security!” “Be my guest,” I said without looking up. The other executives exchanged uneasy glances. Some buried their noses in their files, while others shot nervous looks at Nicholas, waiting for him to act. Finally, Nicholas stood. He was wearing a perfectly tailored black suit, his expression a mask of cold authority. His eyes, when they met mine, were filled with impatience and disdain. “Olivia, your performance has been satisfactory,” he began, his voice quiet but laced with an undeniable command. “But this is a company, not your living room. I need you to leave this meeting now. Do not disrupt it any further.” My fingers paused. My character died again. I looked up, meeting his cold gaze, and let a playful smile curve my lips. “Are you absolutely sure you want to kick me out, Nicholas?” His frown deepened, his voice turning to ice. “I won’t repeat myself. If you have any professional integrity, you’ll know when to stop.” “And if I don’t want to go?” “Then don’t blame me for what happens next.” Seeing Nicholas firmly on her side, Suzanne’s courage surged. She lunged forward and slapped the phone out of my hand. CRACK! It hit the marble floor, the screen instantly spider-webbing with fractures. “Don’t push your luck, Olivia!” she spat, grabbing the collar of my dress and yanking me forward. “The CEO gave you an order! What are you still doing here? Get out!” From the day she was hired, Suzanne had made it her personal mission to make my life difficult. I once overheard her in Nicholas's office, her voice just loud enough to carry into the hallway. “Mr. Blackwood, this company isn’t a charity. It’s not fair to the other employees that we pay a fortune to someone who just plays games all day.” Nicholas hadn’t responded, but through the glass, I saw his hands pause over a document. After that, Suzanne grew bolder. She’d make passive-aggressive comments in department meetings about my “achievements.” “Some people draw a huge salary but can’t even be bothered to show up for a meeting. I guess some of us are here to work, and others are here on vacation.” Soon, the rumors spread like wildfire. I was a spoiled rich girl who’d gotten the job through connections. I slept in my office all day. There was even a betting pool on when I’d finally be fired. I knew about all of it. I just didn’t care. 3 But my indifference only seemed to fuel her aggression. Now, seeing her chance, her arrogance was off the charts. I was done being patient. I caught her wrist in a tight grip and twisted. Hard. “Ah!” Suzanne cried out in pain, her hand flying open. As she stumbled back, her arm slammed against the edge of the conference table. The sound of crystal hitting solid wood was sickeningly sharp. She staggered, looked down at her wrist, and her face went completely white. A prominent scratch now marred the crystal face of her absurdly expensive Patek Philippe watch, glinting under the overhead lights. “You… you…” she stammered, her hand trembling as she held up her wrist, her eyes blazing with fury. “Olivia, do you have any idea how much this watch costs? It was a birthday present from Nicholas! It’s worth a hundred thousand dollars!” I calmly smoothed the wrinkled collar of my dress. “You were the one who lost your balance. Who’s to blame for that?” “Olivia Ashford!” Nicholas’s voice finally boomed through the room, sharp and furious. “That’s enough! You disrupted a meeting, and now you’ve deliberately damaged personal property. As CEO of this company, I am officially terminating your employment. Pack your things and leave. Immediately.” Suzanne, emboldened, shrieked, “Nicholas, don’t let her off that easy! She has to pay for the watch!” The room was silent. Every eye was on me, a mix of pity and malicious glee on their faces, all of them waiting for the show to begin. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll pay.” I bent down to retrieve my shattered phone. The screen was a disaster, but it still worked. “A hundred thousand, was it?” I was about to dial when Suzanne sneered, “What hundred thousand? I meant a million!” I paused and looked at her. “Are you sure?” “Of course, I’m sure!” she said, her chin held high. “A gift from Nicholas is priceless! A million dollars is a bargain!” She looked around the room for support. “Am I right, everyone?” She was cornering me. She knew my official salary; there was no way I could afford that. This was about humiliation. The other executives, eager to curry favor, chimed in. “She’s right. A gift from the CEO can’t be measured in money,” the CFO said, pushing up his glasses. “You should just pay it, Ms. Ashford.” “This company isn’t a charity. You break it, you buy it,” the head of marketing added with a smirk. “Though at your salary, Ms. Ashford, you’ll probably be paying it off until you retire.” A ripple of cruel laughter went through the room. They had always resented me, and now they were savoring my downfall. Nicholas stood by, his brow furrowed, but he did nothing to stop them. Their taunts didn’t bother me. I looked straight at Suzanne. “One million dollars. Final offer?” Suzanne blinked, then let out a derisive snort. “Olivia, who are you trying to fool? How much do you make in a month? You couldn’t pay that if you sold a kidney.” I ignored her and put the phone to my ear. “I need one million dollars in cash delivered to the Blackwood Corporation conference room. As fast as possible.” Suzanne rolled her eyes. “Please. Who do you think you’re fooling with a fake phone call?” I didn’t answer. I just waited. Less than ten minutes later, the conference room doors swung open. A man in an impeccably tailored suit walked in, followed by three uniformed bank couriers, each carrying a heavy-duty briefcase. The man walked directly to me and bowed respectfully. “Miss Ashford,” he said. “Here is the one million dollars you requested.” I nodded. “Thank you for your trouble. You can leave it there.” One by one, the couriers opened the cases. Stacks of crisp, hundred-dollar bills gleamed under the lights, a breathtaking sight. A stunned silence fell over the room. Every gaze was fixed on the money, the air so thick you could cut it with a knife. Even breathing seemed to have stopped. Suzanne’s face was a mask of disbelief, her jaw slack. She stared at the cash, then at the man in the suit. Suddenly, the CFO gasped, his face draining of all color. “Mr… Mr. Kensington?!” 4 It was James Kensington, president of the largest national bank in the country. A man so powerful that even Nicholas’s grandfather couldn’t get a meeting with him on short notice. And here he was, bowing to me, calling me “Miss Ashford.” Nicholas, after a moment of stunned silence, hurried forward, his hand outstretched. “Mr. Kensington! What an honor. My grandfather speaks of you often, he’s been hoping to see you again.” Kensington didn’t even grant him a full look, offering only a curt nod in his direction. His attention was solely on me. “Miss Ashford, if there is anything else you require, you need only ask.” With that, he turned and led his men out of the room, as briskly as they had arrived. Nicholas’s hand was left hanging in mid-air. His face flushed a deep, humiliating red. Suzanne’s bravado had completely evaporated. Her legs were trembling so badly she could barely stand, and beads of sweat dotted her forehead. I casually reached into one of the cases, pulled out a thick stack of bills, and lightly patted her cheek with it. “One million dollars, Suzanne. Not a penny less,” I said coolly. “Now, that watch is mine.” Before she could react, I snatched the Patek Philippe from her wrist and, in front of everyone, dropped it into the nearby trash can. “You!” she gasped, her eyes wide with fury. I turned to Nicholas, a placid smile on my face. “Mr. Blackwood, the watch is paid for. Now, I believe we need to discuss compensation for my phone.” Suzanne, after a moment of shock, burst out laughing, a hysterical, mocking sound. “Compensation?” she jeered, crossing her arms. “It’s a damn phone! How much could it possibly be worth?” I held up one finger. “You’re right, it’s not worth much,” I said. “Only about a hundred million dollars.” The room erupted. First with shocked silence, then with riotous laughter. The Head of Marketing slapped the table. “A hundred million? Olivia, did that iced latte scramble your brain?” The CFO pushed his glasses up his nose, adding with mock seriousness, “Company policy states that damaged items are compensated at market value. I’m afraid your phone’s market value wouldn’t even be a rounding error, Ms. Ashford.” Seeing the room on her side again, Suzanne’s confidence returned. She stepped toward me, a vicious smirk on her face. “Tell you what, I’ll be generous and call a psychiatrist for you. Delusions of grandeur are a serious illness, you know. They need to be treated.”
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