FOOLISHLY IN LOVE WITH YOU

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐱 (𝟑𝟔)

- FEIN FEIN FEIN FEIN FEIN FEIN

I find myself entranced by Oliver's presence, torn between the conviction that I only have lust towards him and the undeniable allure he exudes. He sits at the meeting, an imposing figure, shrouded in a black blazer, a crisp white shirt, and impeccably tailored black slacks. His hair, meticulously slicked back, accentuates his chiseled jawline, while his eyes, sharp and focused, remain fixed on the presenter.

The scent of his cologne fills the room, a proclamation of his commanding presence, though I hate the audacity with which he addresses me as 'love,'. It feels like a mocking jest

Our gazes lock, his eyes, a mesmerizing shade of green, seemingly detached, as though his thoughts dwell elsewhere. I struggle to contain my anger, resisting the urge to confront him about his use of the term 'love.'

A reassuring touch on my shoulder from Josh redirects my attention to the ongoing presentation. I clear my throat and refocus, but my eyes dart back to Oliver.

He stares at Josh, a seething silence consuming him. His chest heaves, and his fury burns, yet he maintains an outwardly calm facade.

Josh covers my hand with his, a fleeting, unintentional gesture. Oliver's eyes bore into josh, his anger undisguised, but a simmering intensity remains beneath the surface.

"Josh," Oliver's voice slices through the room, filled with venom yet tinged with an eerie calmness, commanding everyone's attention. Josh turns towards him, maintaining his composure

"Why don't you continue this presentation?" Oliver's words hang in the air, a silent challenge that cuts through the tension.

Josh quickly nods getting up from his seat causing him to remove his hand from mine, and proceeds to the screen, all the while Oliver's eyes remain locked on him, brimming with suppressed rage.

What has gotten into him?

After the meeting, Oliver calls me to his office. I was angered from his earlier behavior, but I comply and follow him, the soft closing of the door punctuating our entry.

As I take a seat across from his imposing desk, I sense his tall figure beside me. His cologne envelopes me, a silent reminder of his presence. I keep my gaze fixed ahead, jaw clenched, and my irritation evident.

"Is there something between you and him?" His question is more of a demand, and I turn my head to glare at him. He stands nearby, hands in his pockets, his unwavering attention focused solely on me.

"Why should it concern you? We're not in a relationship," I retort, knowing full well that my words are calculated to provoke him.

His shoulders stiffen, and he clenches his jaw. "Chloe, answer me," he grits through clenched teeth.

"I said, it doesn't concern you, Oliver," I hiss, narrowing my eyes at him.

He takes a step forward, his hand slamming onto the table, his fingers curling around it. The action flexes his forearm muscles, a display of his restraint.

"It doesn't concern me?" He echoes my words, a mocking tilt to his head, and a narrowed gaze locked on mine. "You've got to be kidding me," he adds, his voice barely above a whisper.

His gaze remains unwavering as I meet his stare with a glare. His forefinger and thumb capture my chin, tilting it upward. He inches closer, our faces almost touching, his breath heavy through his nose. "Everything about you concerns me, am I clear?" His words are dangerously low, his eyes filled with restrained fury.

I grit my teeth and manage to utter a reluctant, "Yes," as he releases my chin gently, Instead of removing himself, he leans closer, his forehead pressing against mine. His voice drops even lower. "Any man who's ever touched you," he begins, his eyes still closed, "I want them dead."