8. Olivia

Chapter eight

Olivia

L incoln already has the next client lined up. It’s not unusual, but he usually waits around six weeks to make sure there aren’t any big bugs that need to be worked out. I know it has to do with Ansley being in Atlanta and him trying to keep his mind busy. Caroline will be the lead on this project. I take a look at the project board to see what responsibilities they assigned to me.

The usual ones, but it’s something to keep my mind busy and not think about Victor bringing me lunch later. There’s a knock on my door, so I glance up.

“Hi, Lincoln.”

He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the doorframe. He’s in his usual suit. I offer him a small smile that he doesn’t bother to return. Part of me feels bad for him, but another part of me wants him to man up and go after what he wants. He does it in every other aspect of his life. Why is Ansley any different?

“This new application we’ll be building. Well, mainly you.” He chuckles and I shake my head. “It’s going to be for the city.”

I squint at him. “Really? Did the city council approach you?”

He pushes away from the doorframe and walks further into my office. “No, they announced it at the city council meeting. They said they wanted it to be a local company and would accept submissions.”

I nod and close my laptop, so I can take it into the meeting. “What kind of app do they want?”

We walk out of my office and toward the conference room. “They want it to be interactive. On historic landmarks, there will be a QR code people can scan and be shown a short history video or give them an article of what happened in that spot.”

I’ll work closely with Derrick, our lead IT guy. He hired Derrick first and me last on that first round of hires. Lincoln has been a driven man from the beginning. It never bothered me when he’d get upset about things not working properly, or if something wasn’t happening as quickly as he wanted it to.

Others labeled him an asshole. I knew a real asshole and Lincoln wasn’t one. Lincoln cared. He was determined to make this company into something and he’s done that. With this new application, it could become statewide or even national news, putting him in circles with powerful men and women.

My heart beats rapidly at this realization. It means I become easier to find. Maybe I should start looking for another job. I shake my head as I flick my thumbnail over the cut on my finger. The tightness in my chest has been so unbearable lately I ran a piece of paper along the cut again this morning.

Nothing else is working right now to release the pressure. Tending to my garden isn’t working. Neither are my workouts or therapy. Granted, Rose doesn’t know everything, but every time I open my mouth to tell her, or anyone for that matter, I lose my voice. Nothing comes out.

I wish someone could read my mind. I wish someone was so in tune with me they could tell. And I wish that someone could fix me. Because I am broken and I have no idea how I’ll ever get to a point I don’t feel this way. I take one more deep breath before entering the conference room. This will keep my mind busy. For a few hours at least.

We get out of our planning session thirty minutes before Victor is supposed to bring me lunch. Walking to my office, Caroline falls into step next to me.

“Are you going to lunch?”

I shake my head. “No, I’m going to eat here.”

“Okay. I’m meeting Sebastian. I was going to offer to bring you something back.”

I offer her a small smile. “Thanks, but I’m good.” She gives me a slight wave and heads to the elevator.

I stop at my office and place my laptop on my desk. The planning session gave me ideas for the app I’ve been working on. Derrick answered quite a few of my questions I’ve wanted to ask, but haven’t. He said there was a way to use the phone camera to point at a distinct landscape and get information about a historical event.

I want to create an app where users can point at a specific flower, plant, or herb and the app will tell them what kind it is, its benefits, or harms, and when it’s best to plant. I glance at the clock and walk to the bathroom to freshen up before going downstairs. Just in case, I pocket my pepper spray.

Staring at myself in the mirror for a few seconds, I wonder if he’ll like the outfit I picked out today. I rub my hands down my pants before turning the cold water on and running my hands under it. Taking a few deep breaths, I try to calm my racing heart.

I hope he kept his promise. I hope he hasn’t told Donovan he found me.

He said he wouldn’t, and he’s never given me a reason to not trust him. But Victor could be a different man from the one I used to know. The only regret I had when I decided to run away was cutting off communication with him. He’s the only person I’ve missed.

Turning the water off, I dry my hands quickly. Looking at myself one more time, I leave the restroom and walk down the hall toward the elevator. When I enter the elevator, I press the lobby button and force myself not to fidget as I watch the number for each floor light up as I descend.

The elevator dings and doors open. I step out and inhale deeply at the sight of Victor leaning against the counter chatting with James, the daytime security guard for the building. He turns to face the elevator as if he was expecting me. I’m not expecting the pressure in my chest to release slowly as I stare at him.

He pushes away from the counter and grabs a brown bag he had placed beside him. He tells James he’ll talk to him later as I stay rooted where I am and wait for him to make his way across the lobby to me. His outfit is different from the one he was wearing the other day at the restaurant. He’s wearing black jeans and a black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, showing off his many tattoos.

Victor has a thick brown leather band around his wrist and various rings, but my eyes are drawn to the one around his thumb. Before I can get a good look at it, though, he’s standing in front of me and lifting the brown bag.

“Your lunch has arrived.” He smiles at me and I can’t help but smile back at him.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

He motions over his shoulder with his thumb. “I feel better knowing James works here.”

I squint at him. Why does that make him feel better? “You know James?”

Victor nods, places his hand on my lower back, and guides me away from the elevators to one of the high tables and chairs in the lobby. The heat of his skin radiates through my thin blouse and a shiver works its way up my spine.

“Cold?”

“I guess so. I just got out of a meeting and they always keep it freezing in there, but I didn’t realize how cold I was until just now,” I admit.

His lips tip up slightly as he rubs my back a few times like he’s trying to warm me up. The small amount of pressure that remained in my chest evaporates at his touch. He pulls one of the chairs out for me and I climb into it as he takes his place across from me.

“I do know James. We ride together occasionally.” Victor is a member of a motorcycle club. That’s how he met my dad. They rode together and became friends. He wasn’t around as much after my dad’s accident, but he did check in on mom and me occasionally.

The visits became less frequent after mom and Donovan got married. But when she died, he made it a point to have lunch with Donovan and me once a month. It was the only time I was allowed out of the house. Donovan tried his best to make things look normal for Victor because he was afraid if Victor suspected anything, he would take me away.

I would be threatened all the way to the restaurant we had lunch at. If I did anything to cause suspicion, life for me would be even worse than it already was. By the time I was fifteen, I learned Donovan would never kill me. He was too obsessed with me. But he found ways to punish me. There were times I wished he would kill me.

The last year before I finally ran away, I used his obsession to my advantage. I’m not proud of the things I did, but I did them so I could get away. So I could survive. So I could have a life away from him. Victor’s large hand engulfs mine, and I realize I was running my thumbnail along the paper cut on my index finger.

“What happened?”

I glance from our joined hands to him. It takes me a moment to realize he’s talking about the cut on my finger. He grabs a napkin out of the brown paper bag and wraps it around the cut.

“Oh.” It’s bleeding again. “Paper cut.”

Victor is gentle as he blots the blood with the napkin, looking from my finger to my face and back again.

“Does it hurt?”

I swallow and look away. What would he say if I told him I liked the pain? What would he say if I told him the pain grounds me? Does that make me a masochist?

“Olivia?”

That name. I hate that name. I slip off the chair, the drag of the legs along the floor grates on my nerves.

Pulling my hand out of his, I say, “I need to get back to work.”

He stares at me, his green eyes looking into my soul. He grabs the bag and hands it to me. I take it and glance inside, not seeing what’s in it.

“Thank you for bringing me lunch,” I whisper.

Why do I feel like I’m going to cry? I haven’t cried in years. Not even when my mom died. Ten minutes in the presence of Victor and I feel like I’m about to break.

“You’re welcome.”

He stands and takes a step toward me, but I step back. If he touches or hugs me, I know the small amount of control I have left on my emotions will evaporate. I give him a nod, turn on my heel, and walk to the elevator. Thankfully, someone is getting off just as I step up to it. Not looking back, I get in and push the button to close the door.

Why did he have to show up in my life? Why now? I lean against the wall and close my eyes as the elevator climbs to my floor. I’m so tired of feeling like this. When will it ever get better? And how is it being in his presence for those few moments released more pressure in my chest than any of the times I cut myself?