You Changed My Story

Chapter 9

STORMME

*A week later*

Jacobson crossed his arms over his chest, eyebrows tightly knitted. "You're telling me that she's going blind."

I took a deep breath, my voice unsteady, "Yes. I was shocked."

He stared at me as if he was calculating algebra in his head. "This is quite problematic. If you replace her now, it will affect your public image."

My hands are clammy, unsure if it was nerves or the thought of replacing Olivet. "I don't plan on doing that."

The man scrutinized me, rubbing one finger against the scruff on his chin. "I can get someone to fulfill the contracts' requirements, you don't have to worry about public image. A friend of mine who works with the media can smooth that over for you."

Despite the pain and uncertainty that lie ahead, I don't want another woman to replace her. "That's unnecessary. I'll work something out."

"The girl is disabled." He waves me off dismissively, "It will be difficult for you."

"She's not disabled." I snarled. A muscle in my jaw ticked and my glare darkened. My blood was boiling.

"I have given you the best options Mr. Sylvan. Don't be stubborn." He checked his watch and grabbed his briefcase. "I'll be on my way."

I spun on my chair to gaze at the pinkish sky, enjoying the solace of my glassy floor to ceiling office. I've admired Olivets' strength and resilience from afar.

Memories of the moments we spent together flooded my mind, a tapestry of moments woven into timeline art. I kissed her and it left the reaction I'd expect, left me breathless, stopped my heart, caused my whole world to tremble, and scared the living shit out of me because all sorts of feelings surfaced. I shouldn't have kissed her like that, it's unfair to her.

She's the cause of my cold coffee mornings, my sleepless nights, counting fallen leaves on the cobbled pavement while the rain poured. I watched life behind a broken glass, the fog too thick, too heavy to picture anything. Only shadows and muffled voices. Nothing gets through. I left her when she needed me the most. I'm a terrible person. I didn't even f—king help her when she fell.

I unbuttoned the top of my shirt because now my damn lungs refused to perform their function. She hates me without a doubt, after storming out on her like that, why wouldn't she?

Even if she has a slither of feeling toward me, I don't deserve it. I'm a sinner, I wear the cross. Not because I'm worthy of it but because I need it more than anyone else.

My phone buzzed and I fished it from my pocket. Madeline, why is she calling?

I connected the line, "I'm at work about to leave for a meeting with the Russians. I've told you —"

"Olivet was taken to St. Paul's hospital," she rasped.

My heart thumps hard, almost painful, "What happened to her?" It felt as if someone shoved my head underwater, refusing to let me come up for air.

"She instructed me not to tell you anything," Madeleine sniffled on the other end. "But I was worried so I went behind her back."

Her vague response worked on my anxiety, building a whole mountain of worries.

"Is her condition severe, answer me."

She disconnected the line and I cursed under my breath. I dug through my desk drawer for my car keys, a thousand bad scenarios going through my head. Strands of hair stuck to my forehead while I ransacked the entire thing.