Page 51 of Painted Truths

Hey sweet girl,

I’ve been unexpectedly and unceremoniously (thank you, CEO dearest!) sent to the Dubai office for the next month. I got the call late last night and am only just now getting around to checking in.

I’m sorry we’ll have to raincheck our lunch. I promise I’ll get you extra arancini next time.

Please run through my calendar and I’ll call soon to go over the immediate changes with you.

Love you!

Had Alex not aired his suspicions in his email, I’d have known a mile off that this last-minute transfer—that I’m the last to find out about, mind you—has Henry DeMarco written all over it.

And even so, I don’t know whether to be relieved that I’ve avoided a hard conversation or disappointed to still have that conversation hanging over my head.

Either way, I decide to join Martha for an earlier than anticipated lunch. She doesn’t make unnecessary conversation, and that’s just what I’m in the mood for right this moment.

Disembarking from the elevator, I spot an extremely pissed looking Andrea as I try to return to my desk. Heaving out the breath I didn’t realise I was holding, I brace myself for impact. She fucking hates me, and now I won’t even have Alex here as a buffer from her machinations.

“Olive! You broke the copier earlier and never reported it to fucking I.T.”

I can’t help the fleeting wish that she’d choked on Henry’s cock all those weeks ago, the thought causing one side of my mouth to turn up in a subconscious smirk.

“Do you think it’s funny? I had to spend almost my entire lunch hour fixing your cock-up!”

Her unfortunate choice of words makes me choke on the snort of laughter I almost manage to contain. Her face is nearly the same colour as her hair at this stage.

“Okay, Andi. First of all, my name is Olivia, which you damn well know. And second, you were the last person to use the copier on Friday evening, and, if memory serves, you said, and I quote, ‘tough shit for the unlucky fucker left to deal with this on Monday. I’m out of here, folks!’ So, back the hell off, or I’ll have no choice but to lodge a complaint upstairs.”

And with that, I shoulder past her and march to my desk, feeling like a million pounds. This Liv doesn’t let anyone walk all over her, least of all cum buckets like that wench.

Settling at my desk, I begin to sort through emails before one, in particular, catches my eye.

Sender: Enrico DeMarco, CEO @[email protected]

Recipient: Olivia Parker @[email protected]

Subject: Colour

It has come to my attention that I don’t know your favourite colour. Please reply at your earliest convenience.

Sincerely,

H

My earlier merriment bubbles to the surface, with fireworks beginning to explode in my stomach, extending to my trembling limbs as I type my response, nibbling nervously on my bottom lip as I go.

Sender: Olivia Parker @[email protected]

Recipient: Enrico DeMarco, CEO @[email protected]

Subject: RE: Colour

I’m not entirely sure I should be engaging you, Mr DeMarco.

But if you must know, my favourite colour is the one found just as the sun is setting after a long, hot summer’s day. It’s a mixture of fire and light, and each hue has the ability to remind me that I’m lucky that I get to witness such beauty at the end of another glorious day.

I’ve told you mine. Now it’s your turn.

Regards,