Chapter 8

The woman was, in fact, the renowned, wealthy actress Camille DeValle. She was the leading lady in several high-grossing films and had a personal net worth of 300 million dollars.

But Mr. Raemon Kentworth showed no sign of recognition in his eyes and shrugged off the delicate hand that Camille placed on his arm.

“Is there something I can help you with?” Raemon said curtly.

Camille blinked. She exchanged the coy, seductive look that she had been giving him for one of confusion.

“Raemon…I…what happened? You never called me back,” she said.

“And why would I?”

While Camille’s face drooped, Raemon maintained his look of indifference.

“After the time we spent together, I…I don’t know…I thought we were…,” Camille started.

“If this encounter proves anything, Camille, it’s that you’re not all that skilled at thinking.”

Camille’s eyes widened, and Octavia’s jaw dropped. But Raemon only impatiently looked down at the watch on his wrist.

“In the future, I expect you to know better than to inconvenience me in this way again. If you need to contact me for whatever trivial reason, leave a message with my secretary.”

Mr. Kentworth left the famous Camille DeValle standing motionless, a blush creeping up her high cheekbones and a look of utter humiliation seeping through her dark lashes.

Octavia could only shoot an empathetic glance her way before scurrying after her boss.

She kept her unfavorable opinions of her boss bottled up until she was able to vent to Gracie and Sierra at the end of the day.

“I think he just gets a thrill at watching other people suffer,” Octavia said.

“Like a supervillain,” Gracie commented.

“Seriously!” Octavia insisted.

“Yesterday, we were at this really expensive restaurant, and I had missed breakfast, so I was sooo fucking hungry,” Octavia said, “and there was a whole plate of appetizers just sitting right there.

“But he wouldn’t let me eat! He was all like, ‘Take down every word spoken at the meeting, assistant, and don’t you dare miss a single one.’

“Then as soon as we get back from the meeting, he’s like, ‘Write up a summary of the meeting minutes and have it on my desk in half an hour.’ Which I did.

“When I asked for a fifteen-minute break just so I could, you know, EAT something and not STARVE to death.

“He was all like, ‘No. I have a business meeting with international investors in the next fifteen minutes. Compile all the software reports for the new project.’ Can you believe it?

“Asking me to sort through one hundred and sixty-two reports to find the only TWENTY that he needed for his meeting? IN FIFTEEN MINUTES?”

Octavia stretched her hands to the ceiling. “What. The. Actual. FUCK?!?!”

“At least he hasn’t fired you yet,” Gracie said.

“I wish he would,” Sierra muttered.

“It’s only a matter of time,” Octavia groaned, “and if he doesn’t, I’m going to quit. Or kill him.”

Sierra scoffed. “You can’t kill him. He practices jujitsu and was a national boxing champ in college. How do you think he got all those abs?”

Octavia frowned. “How do you know he has abs?”

Sierra rolled her eyes. “Of course, he does. Look at his body. And anyway, there are pictures.”

She jumped up and waddled across the room, balancing on her heels to avoid messing up her pedicure. She brought a magazine over, turned to a page, and then stuck it in Octavia’s face.

Octavia saw pictures of her boss in different places. The pictures were grainy and far off, clearly taken by paparazzi. In one, he was exiting a club holding hands with a willowy blonde.

In another, he was on the deck of a yacht, grasping a willowy brunette by the ass, and in another, he was on the edge of a beach, arm around a willowy raven-haired girl.

Sure enough, the beach picture revealed rows of perfectly chiseled abs.

“Isn’t he perfect?” Sierra swooned. “God, I could eat off his stomach.”

Octavia made a face. Gracie craned her neck to glance at the pictures.

“Looks like he has a certain type,” Gracie observed.

At that, Sierra’s face fell. “Mostly famous models and actresses. And he’s been with a lot of them, but it never lasts long. Last anyone heard, he was dating Camille DeValle.”

“Not anymore,” Octavia mumbled.

Sierra sighed wistfully. “Can you imagine how amazing it would be to date Raemon Kentworth?”

Octavia’s thought, ~I can imagine how humiliating it would be to be dumped by Raemon Kentworth.~ She said aloud, “God help the poor woman who’s dumb enough to date him.”

“I would!” Sierra protested hotly. “I’d happily be dumb enough to date him!”

“There’s no question about that,” Gracie remarked.

Octavia handed the magazine back to Sierra. “Abs or not, the man is a tyrant. A demanding, rude, oppressive tyrant. There’s no helping it, I have to quit.”

Sierra suddenly became complacent. “Oh well! If you must, you must.” She shuffled back to the table and settled down to apply another coat of polish.

Octavia sighed and placed her hands behind her head, staring at the ceiling fan listlessly.

“So that’s it, then?” Gracie said.

“What do you mean?” Octavia asked.

“That’s it. You’re going to quit,” Gracie said.

Octavia glanced sideways at Gracie. “Yes. That is what I said.”

Gracie pursed her lips thoughtfully, then picked up her magazine. “Hmm,” she said.

Octavia groaned. “What now?”

“Nothing,” Gracie said.

“Oh no, it’s not. You want me to keep going there, don’t you? You think I should stick it out and keep suffering?” Octavia demanded.

Gracie turned a page. “Of course not. Why should you suffer?”

“As long as I work for that…that…awful man… I will suffer. There’s no way around it. I have to quit.”

“Just as well,” Gracie said.

“It IS,” Octavia insisted, feeling annoyed. “No human being could possibly keep up with all the demands he throws at me. You’d have to have a brain of microprocessors to be able to do half of what—”

Octavia stopped. A glazed look came over her eyes, and she stared out in front of her wordlessly.

Gracie raised her eyes from the magazine.

“Something wrong?” she asked.

Octavia turned to Gracie, a small grin easing its way onto her face.

“I think,” Octavia said, her voice tinged with excitement, “I think I have an idea.”

“How nice,” Gracie remarked.

In the next second, Octavia jumped up and darted for her book bag, which she had left leaning against the couch.

She pulled out her work laptop from it, flipped open the top, and began clicking away and pounding at the keys of the keyboard with an alarming intensity.

Gracie eyed her for a few seconds, then turned back to her reading. “You’re welcome,” she said.

But Octavia was buried too deep in her own world to hear.

All night long, Octavia sat on the couch. She sunk into the deep, impenetrable place that she fell into whenever she started coding.

Her fingers continually fed a string of text, numbers, and symbols to her keypad; her eyes roved across the screen, reading back the lines of code she had written.

So focused was she on what she was doing—as she created new commands and nestled them under other prompts and instructions—that as far as Octavia was concerned, the world outside of her laptop and mind had disappeared.

It was only herself and her computer, two computing machines that would merge together in the perfect symbiotic being of her new program.

She didn’t notice Sierra shuffling off to bed or Gracie walking out the front door.

She didn’t notice the blinking colon on the digital clock on the wall counting off the seconds as the hours drifted by.

She didn’t notice the mystical darkness of the outside become tinged with dashes of blue before the sky suddenly burst into the blush of pink and yellow in the early morning light.

Eventually, her phone buzzed. It snapped her out of her trance.

“Hello?” she mumbled with her phone up against her ear.

“Still working, aren’t you?” Gracie’s voice said. “Not surprised. I figured I should get you out of that so you’re not late for work.”

“Work…?” Octavia repeated, still in a daze.

In a second, everything came back to her. “Work!” she yelped. She looked frantically at the clock. 6:15. “Shit!” Octavia said, jumping up. “Thanks, Gracie. I gotta go.”

Somehow, Octavia was able to fly through the shower, through brushing her teeth, and putting on a fresh set of clothes.

She dashed out the door having stuffed all she needed into her bag, hoping she had not forgotten anything important.

At fourteen minutes till seven, Octavia hopped off the train and sprinted down the busy sidewalk already bustling with pedestrians at that early hour.

She burst through the wide doors of the building, yelling a crazed hello to the man at the front desk who only glanced up to note the whirlwind of a person flying through the lobby.

At the top floor, Octavia again burst through the elevator and sprinted for her office, nearly tumbling through the door as she made a mad dash to toss her stuff onto her chair.

She then snatched up her laptop and made a beeline for Mr. Kentworth’s office.

Just as her hand reached for the doorknob to his office, the doors slid open making Octavia jump back in surprise.

Mr. Kentworth stood over her with both hands in his pockets. He looked her up and down with his familiar cold, scrutinizing expression.

“You’re late,” he said.

Octavia was breathing hard. She looked at her watch. 6:59 it read.

“No, I’m not,” she said, “you’re early. It’s not seven thirty yet.”

Raemon Kentworth raised an eyebrow. “I arrive when I want. I own the company, after all. You, on the other hand, arrive when I tell you.”

“I’m still not late. I’m just on time.”

“A minute later and you wouldn’t have been.”

Octavia couldn’t help but grin as she shrugged. “I made it, didn’t I? Now…what would you have me do today, Mr. Kentworth?”

He eyed her silently as if contemplating if she were challenging him. Eventually he spoke.

“I have a meeting with important shareholders for brunch today. Be ready to leave at ten thirty. Also, I want the summary of the new software programs we’re rolling out in the next quarter sent to me in an hour.”

“Got it,” Octavia said.

Raemon Kentworth was quiet for a minute. He was again staring at Octavia with probing eyes as if trying to read something on her face.

Octavia looked back at him placidly.

“Is there something else?” she asked.

Raemon Kentworth abruptly shifted his gaze and turned away. “Get that summary to me immediately,” he said shortly, turning back to his office.

Octavia sighed and marched back to her desk. As she sat down and clicked on her laptop, she felt lighter. Today would be different. Today, she’d get the appetizers.