Chapter Ten
Renata
I've barely walked through the gates of CloudFusion before the excited chatter of conversations hits me like a tidal wave.
It sails across to me the moment I pass Renata's ID card through the scanner. The buzz from the machine is so low because of all the whispers that I can barely catch it. Luckily, the security guard spots me looking like a deer in headlights and gives me a gentle nudge inside, as if saying, "Welcome to the chaos."
As soon as I step inside, the coolness wraps around me like a designer cloak, and I instantly forget the suffocating heat I just escaped. I smooth down any stray creases in the dress I took from Renata's overstuffed closet. Goodness, it's practically a boutique.
Before I can even admire my reflection in the shiny surfaces, I'm distracted by the flurry of activity surrounding me. There's a distinct tension in the air, thick with anticipation and uncertainty, or as I can see—the perfect recipe for disaster. Fluorescent lights hum above, casting a clinical glow over the bustling workspace, contributing to the sense that something's about to blow.
The atmosphere is electric, and not in a good way.
A frazzled woman darts past me, phone glued to her ear like it's a lifeline. A cascade of panic is etched on her face. "I don't care what the numbers say; we need to find a way to make it work!" she shouts, as if anyone wants to hear her meltdown. She makes eye contact with a colleague and mouths 'later' with a look that screams, "Good luck with that!"
It's clear this place runs on caffeine and thinly veiled panic.
People dart between cubicles, their footsteps a staccato beat on the polished floor, like they're all auditioning for a role in a corporate ballet. Whispers assail my ears—hushed conversations cluster around water coolers and copiers like gossiping school kids.
A snippet of conversation floats through the air, dripping with drama.
"I heard he's ruthless . . . no holds barred. . ." Someone to my left murmurs, clearly in dire need of a chill pillDaydreaminga man who decided to takeover a company will be." Her companion leans in, eyes wide, either thrilled or terrified—hard to tell which.
". . . merger, not a takeover," another person chimes in, her voice laced with enough doubt to fill a courtroom.
And then, someone joins the trio, her eyes practically bulging with worry. "Are you sure? I heard . . ."
I roll my eyes and walk away, not in the mood to hear her remaining words. This isn't a soap opera, after all; we're supposed to be getting work done, not crafting the next cliffhanger.
All around me, the rumor mill is churning out gossip like a well-oiled machine about the new boss—a man rumored to be as ruthless as he i,s handsome.
My ears and are practically ringing with h.uwhat but oh-so-detailed conversations that seem to echo off the walls. The female employees are in full preening mode, smoothing their hair and adjusting blouses like this man is about to grace us with his presence any second now.
Seriously, do they think he's coming to judge their lipstick choices?
Meanwhile, the male workers have huddled in corners, arms crossed and brows furrowed like they've just spotted a ghost. Some are grumbling about potential changes ahead, while others whisper about how this new guy might mess with their cozy little setups.
The air is thick with tension, as if everyone is operating on borrowed time, holding their breaths in anticipation of how this next chapter will unfold.
Amidst the chaos, phones ring incessantly, keyboards clack away like they're in a race, and printers hum cheerily in the background—living their best lives while we're all ready to jump at the first sign of change.
One thing is for sure: this company is on the brink of transformation, and it's going to be nothing short of a show.
I know what's on everyone's mind: who will be left standing once the dust settles.
I shake my head as I strut on, absorbing some of the bold and scandalous talk swirling around me. Honestly, the urge to pour bleach into my ears to scrub out the filth I've heard is strong, but that'll just ruin my fabulous earrings.
So, instead, I focus on my body. Each step I take makes me wince, a delightful reminder of the oh-so-pleasurable activities I indulged in last night. I got home exhausted but completely sated, a girl's gotta live her life, you know?
And lucky me, Liam was still fast asleep in front of the blaring T.V., blissfully unaware of my extracurricular escapades.
Can you believe he actually thought he'd come to "take care of me?
Please, what was I supposed to do? Just lounge around when there were far more exciting options on the table?
A twinge of regret sails through me when I remember he said he'd stay the night to help me "feel better." Pfft.
Do you know what I do to bad girls?
Words, Green Eyes said to me last night.
Warmth suffuses my face and neck, and I'm suddenly hot, even though the air is perfectly lovely. I might as well be on fire—thanks, Green-eyed distraction, for ruining me for any other man who comes after. Not that I'm looking for another man because I'm on a mission.
Day dreaming about the sex I had with a sexy stranger should NOT be on my mind.
I should be thinking of how to get my memories back.
Tell that to Renata's wayward body.
I huff to myself as I keep walking. I don't know where Renata's office is, exactly, but since she is the assistant to the product manager, it should not be too difficult to find, right?
My purse slips from my hand and drops to the ground. I bend to pick it but as I straighten, ready to keep walking, my attention becomes diverted by the open door of an office I'm directly standing beside.
I stop short when I see who sits behind a desk.
"Arlene?"
Her head shoots up from the file she's looking at. Immediately her eyes land on me, her lips curl in a sneer.
"Wh . . .what are you doing here?"
She lets out a sigh before standing and walking towards me. I will myself to move, but it's like my feet are stuck. As Arlene comes closer, I feel the animosity rolling off her in waves. She comes to a stop in front of me and even though she's at least three inches shorter, she somehow manages to look down her nose at me.
"I work here now."
Since when?
She seems to hear my unspoken words because she folds her arms and fixes me with a frosty glare. "Not that it's any of your business, but I come with the take over."
"Ah!" I say with a nod of my head, even though I still don't understand what she's doing here.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, some of us have work to do."
She gives me a once over, her gaze skittering over me with distaste before turning and walking away.
"Why do you hate me so much?" The words are out before I can stop them. Unfortunately, I can't take them back now.
Yesterday, she treated me with disdain when she saw me with Liam. I don't know why, because he and I are just friends.
She stops and turns slowly, offering me the myriad of emotions flickering across her face. "Why do I hate you?" She does a slow assessment of me, starting from the three-inch kitten heels on my feet, up to the tailored dress I have on, and finally stopping at my hair which I decided to let down. "Look at you, dressed as if you're going for a cocktail party instead of for work."
I shake my head and put a hand on my waist. "Is this about my attire, or about something else?" I make sure to coil my lips in a sultry smile as I move closer to her. ". . . or someone?"
Hatred flares in her eyes, but she stamps it down immediately, attempting a look of indifference instead. "I don't know what you're talking about. Liam will never look at you sexually."
Bingo!
I fold my arms, the smirk turning into a smug smile. "Yet, you feel threatened, I don't understand why."
The look in her eyes metamorphoses into full blown rage. Her nostrils flare and her chest rises and falls with every breath she takes. The difference is so sudden, I'm taken aback and move back to further assess her.
Unfortunately, she takes this as a sign of fear on my part and moves closer to me, a vindictive smile skimming her lips. "You walk around thinking the world is your oyster and that every man in your orbit must bow, but here's a news flash . . ." She comes so close to me, I can smell the pickles she had for breakfast. ". . . you are not special. Matter of fact-"
"Is everything alright?"
Another female voice cuts off Arlene's angry rant and she immediately walks off while I turn around to face the newcomer. A young woman, probably in her mid twenties, with long blonde hair in a sleek ponytail and a slight furrow between her brows. She looks at me enquiringly and then at Arlene's retreating figure.
"Hey, Renata." She says with a wry smile. "Everything okay?"
"Peachy!" I make sure to pop the p for emphasis. Arlene or not, no one is going to rain on my parade today. "Come on, let's get out of here."
Blondie makes small talk as we walk through a corridor leading to a more quiet area of the building. I don't know where I'm going but I don't dare ask. She'll think something is wrong with me, which won't be far from the truth.
I'm about to continue walking on when she coils a hand around my wrist. "Are you going to Greg's office?"
"Greg?"
I know it's a mistake, the moment I open my mouth.
She gives me a funny look before replying. "Yeah, you know. . ." She raises her two hands and makes air quotes. ". . . the man with the 'you can do it' slogan." She sees my blank expression and continues. "The product manager who is your immediate boss?"
"Oh, yeah, yeah. I mean, no, no. . ." I shake my head. "I'm not going to see him, I'm just -"
"Oh, great then, because you've got to see what I'm working on. Why don't we step inside your office and I'll show you."
She brushes past me and opens a door a step away.
To think I almost passed Renata's office. . .
I take a deep breath to centre myself but it does little or nothing. I shouldn't have come in here today.
No.
I shouldn't have come in . . . ever.
Period.
Pretending to be someone else is definitely not my forte.
I stand uncertainly for a few seconds in the doorway before remembering that Blondie is waiting for me, which is why I step inside reluctantly.
The moment I do, I know immediately that it's indeed Renata's office.
Her aura is vibrant.
I can see it in the floor to ceiling bookshelf propped against the wall and the myriad of books placed on it.
The office itself isn't that big. There's a desk and two chairs. As I walk fully inside, something from the desk snags my attention.
A framed picture.
I walk closer and stop short as my breath gets knocked out of me.
From the picture, Renata smiles widely, one arm flung across the shoulder of Liam. There's so close, not even a pin can get past them. I inch closer, Blondie's chattering fading into the background.
I come to a direct stop in front of it, and stare.
No wonder Arlene dislikes me.
I let out the breath I've been holding and grab the picture with so much force, my hand hits a mug, upending all it's contents onto the desk.
Spying a trash can in the corner, I throw the picture inside and dust my hands with a flourish.
Step one, over.
Step two, and note to self: Tell Liam never to stay over at my place again.
I look up to see Blondie arching a brow. "Feel better?"
I nod because there's no need to explain.
"Right, then, lets-"
Her words are cut off when a loud beep sounds off from the laptop on the desk. With trepidation, I walk towards it, wondering what is going on.
Renata must have left in a hurry for her not to have shut down her desktop, or . . . someone else has been in here.
I squint at the pop-up message which is boldly splayed in Renata's open work mail.
It reads - URGENT MEETING IN THE DIARY CONFERENCE HALL NOW!
Behind me, Blondie gasps. "Oh, my, the purge has begun."
I turn around but she's already peering at the message. Renata was either stupid, or very close to her.
Either way, the way she's breathing down my neck is not comfortable. Thankfully, she moves back and lets out a sheepish laugh. "Well, then, it's time to meet the new boss."
A shiver dances down my spine as we step out of my office, the weight of anticipation heavy in the air. The dairy conference room looms ahead on the ground floor, and thankfully, we encounter no one as we make our way there. But as we approach, the sheer number of bodies crowding the door sends a thrill of urgency through me.
The conference room is alive with energy, buzzing with whispered conversations and nervous laughter. We weave through the throng, our elbows nudging colleagues as we exchange quick, apologetic smiles, each of us caught up in the desperate dance of securing a coveted spot near the front.
Just as we slip through the doorway, an unexpected wave washes over the crowd. A collective pause hangs in the air as people instinctively take a step back. I barely register the shift; my focus sharpens on the task of finding a place to lean against the wall and absorb the atmosphere.
Finally finding a spot, I sense the silence enveloping the room. It's palpable—so thick you could cut it with a knife. Every gaze is directed towards the doorway, the tension a coiled spring ready to snap.
I turn my head, drawn by an unseen force, and there he stands—tall, striking, an undeniable presence that commands attention. My breath slips from my lungs, staring into the depths of his eyes, where something electric sparks between us.