Patience, Olivia felt, but not for long. She just stood there in front of her townhouse, continuously checking her watch while hitting her stiletto back and forth from the ground, making this click and clacking sound a little annoying to the people crossing along the street.
She's ten minutes late to work because her assistant felt sick and had forgotten to remind the driver about her adjusted schedule for today to an hour hours earlier. Of course, she is furious. Only if she can just throw things and lash out at someone to ease her anger, but she can't, or maybe didn't.
For her, it would be unbecoming for a glorious woman who had put on a sharp-looking and well-fitted dark plumbeous suit she hand-tailored to look stunning, just to be seen ugly-furious. Olivia Arsenn Wolfe removes her coat and hangs it on her shoulder, revealing a fancy yet glittery tube she wore underneath and her high-waisted pants with a gold belt worn that shapes up her curves and the bust of her front. She sports it with a small string of diamonds hanging around her neck paired with the same earrings. Her then wavy shoulder-length chestnut hair is now dyed to white.
It was an uncanny choice of white as her hair color. To her employees, a significant change in her appearance meant either something terrible or great is coming or has happened. But to her, she was just that. Unpredictable. A little bit elegant. Simple. Confident. Glorious.
Two more minutes later, she hops in the back seat of a Tuscan sun convertible with Emmett driving in the front.
He gulped, looking at the rearview mirror that flashes Olivia's darting eyes that causes him to sweat a little. "I'm sorry, Miss Wolfe. I thought-"
"No, no. I don't want to hear your thoughts. Get me there in five minutes." Olivia commands with the lack of warmth in her voice as she grabs her sunglasses inside her coat pocket and wears them, staring at the vast streets of Blue Bell, one of the cities that breeds fashion.
Emmett nods nervously. It was impossible to get there in five minutes, so he just sucked it up and stepped on the accelerator indefinitely, forcing himself to be a racer rather than losing his job.
Success. Emmett thought when they arrived in front of the Ross Graham building or mainly called RG publications. He felt relief as soon as Olivia left the car without a word. It felt to him that he did something right.
Olivia enters the building wearing a devilish smirk as she fabulously puts her coat back on like she was walking on a runway, and every single soul was looking at her. She liked it anyway, all the attention.
Everybody was whispering.
"White hair, the farewell hair."
"She's leaving? We needed that. Someone new can have a fresher take on things."
"Hope her vacation was permanent."
"Vacation? she's not fired?"
"It's after the ball, right?"
"That's her. Boss bitch walking."
Olivia doesn't give a damn about what people say. She liked it more how she was also feared and loved. It thrilled her to be known as a legend in the fashion industry, a woman with excellence, power, and leadership. Yes, she can indeed be ruthless sometimes, especially when expectations are not met. That's how accomplished women are in her case.
Every person she crosses along the way takes three steps back, paving the way. People exit the elevator when she comes; what's even funny is that the building knows when she's in it, the elevator ushers her to her office at the 60th, and it doesn't stop on any floor to collect other people.
There she goes, entering across the hallway with the gigantic letters F A M E engraved in the walls. Momentarily, Grace welcomes her in a tense posture carrying a pen and a pad, ready to write down any order from her boss.
"Miss Wolfe, I'm sorry for the delay."
"There's no room for incompetence here, Grace, darling." Olivia's voice fades, and she stops at the front door of her office, surprised. There were roses, dahlias, carnations, and camellias in all sorts of colors and sizes.
Flowers. She never accepted them, not that she disliked them. She just thought they were objects to bring out her vulnerability, like for some girls on with their oohs and aahs, flattered with such flowers. She thought that was silly. A compliment like food and words of affirmation can possibly flatter her.
She stood there at a sharp angle, exhaling noisily. Then she walked over to her desk and inspected a basket full of white carnation with a note on it. It says: 'Dinner, after the ball. I'll be waiting for you. ~Ross Graham.'
Olivia shrugs it off. Her boss is a gentleman, sweet, and others may say he has a huge heart, but she didn't submit to any orders she disagrees with.
Grace stutters. "It's from-"
"I know that already. Get this mess out of here. I'm allergic. You should know that by now."
Grace kept nodding her head like a good schoolgirl, aware that Olivia's not really allergic to flowers. Her assistant thought those flowers were gorgeous, a woman like her would fall on her knees in awe, but Olivia was just different. Cold. Uninterested. Or she just hasn't met her waterloo, yet.
"Sorry, Miss Wolfe. It won't happen again."
"It won't when you're not here anymore." Olivia relaxed on her swivel chair with her hands intertwined, resting on her stomach. She purses her lips while nodding as a sign of disappointment.
"Strike two already, and it's not even half of the day, darling. Awesome. Wow." she muttered, opening the draft book of their September issue.
Grace was statued to her spot without any word uttered. Olivia's intensity felt like a group of professors were grilling her thesis with questions. She didn't have to speak back at this point. She was nervous, thinking about every possibility of Olivia firing her. Good thing, Olivia is not in the mood of dismissing someone at work today.
She exhaled. "Okay then. Go to the art department and ask them to send me the list of photographers, illustrators, stylists, and journalists involved in our September issue. Tell Ramona the layout of the cover is not attractive yet, and the model's eyes are uneven. Did plastic surgery go wrong or something? Tell them to look at another angle. Is it really that hard to choose a perfect photo? No. Are people inadequate with their jobs these days?"
Grace listened intently while writing everything down on her pad.
"Then go to the content department and speak to our Trend Analyst, tell him we're crossing out any article concerned with celebrity style. We'll focus more on runway looks, not those from previous years' designer collections. Darling, people are sick of it. Get me forty dresses from 365 Apparel, accessories from Sunglow and Fab Avenue. I need them by tomorrow lunch."
"Is there anything else, Miss Wolfe?" Grace flashes a smile, unbothered by the chunk of instructions handed to her. However, inside her head, she's really questioning her job; why she has to do all errands instead of just sitting down at a table checking Olivia's expenses, schedule, and answering calls. Tough job that doesn't pay enough.
Olivia shakes her head. "First, send someone to get rid of all these. It's making me nauseous," she instructs, circling both her fingers, pointing at the flowers.
Grace nods and turns her back to see Frankie walking in. They exchanged glances, and goes back to work.
Frankie bounces in with his arms extended, wearing a big smile on her face as he gives a peck on Olivia's cheeks.
"Honey! You look stunning! What you did to your hair, still fabulous. You do you, honey." He spoke with joy as he sits on the desk facing her
Olivia shakes her head and laughs timidly the way her friend crosses his legs. She sits down to entertain him.
"So, who is the secret admirer?" He asked, looking around and inspecting the whole room.
She took the note from the basket of carnation and showed it close to his face. "Not really a secret."
Frankie narrowed his eyes, reading the note out loud, and suddenly, he exaggerates his gasp, placing one palm on his heart. He screams. "Oh my Lord, give this guy a chance already! He's been on you for two straight fucking years! I wish I were that straight honey, but no. I like me. All of my rainbow per-so-na-li-ty." then he smacks his lips.
Olivia was thrilled with his energy, as always. She trusts him with everything. Frankie was not just the fashion editor of Fame. He was her right hand, companion, almost close to being a best friend, but Olivia kept everything professional. She was very private, but Frankie knows when she's frustrated, lonely, keeping secrets, but he never knew the details. Olivia kept it to herself.
"Come on, Olivia. Ross Graham is a good man! Rich and handsome."
Olivia crosses her arms, relaxes on the swivel chair, then rubs her nape, disapproving Ross in her head. "Right. Behind his perfect man persona, he only wishes to sleep with me. No."
"When was the last time you get laid? Hmmm?" He raises an eyebrow. "Oh, wait. You haven't had any after Harry's death. You haven't. and that was five years ago!"
Out of embarrassment, Olivia buries her face on the desk as she covers her ears. "Oh god, make him stop."
She had thoughts running around her head. She didn't have time to have sex when she was raising her children without the presence of her demised husband. It was a work-life balance for her, and she got through it, barely. She didn't want to be reminded by that, but she didn't want to be mean and drive him away. She liked his company even if it meant to be annoying and below the belt sometimes.
Frankie kept blabbing and discussing nonsense and such stuff about Olivia's sex life.
"Oh god. Put this minion of yours to silence. Not death, but silence." She repeats twice in whispers, soft enough not to be heard by anyone but herself.
Finally, Frankie notices how disinterested Olivia is, and he finally shuts up. He clears her throat, signaling her to face him because he's done with the long speech. He tilted his head to the side and mouthed okay while Olivia just replied with a smile.
"Are you ready for the ball?" He asked.
She nods her head. "Yes. Aren't you all excited? This masquerade ball for the company feels like a farewell party for me. And advance congratulations because, after tomorrow, you'll be editor-in-chief."
"Oh well, we all got a promotion then."
"Right." She replied plainly.
A train of deep thoughts occupied her head. She let out a deep sad sigh because of the idea she has to leave Fame for a while. The last issue didn't go quite well, in her opinion. It topped magazine charts, but it didn't satisfy her. She was stressed that affected her management, so Ross Graham made her choose. Either she'd be appointed to elsewhere away from her kids or take a break. Well, she chose the latter. Better than being far away from family.
Frankie saw the September draft issue, and he lifts it, waving it around. "You're worried about this? Olivia, honey, I'll take care of this from now on."
His assurance made her smile and had her hoping publishing of the magazine will run smoothly while she's gone. However, Frankie kept guessing about the real reason she has to leave Fame. He then remembers the first and hopefully the last time Olivia lashes out on two models before the runway because those two models had bad blood in the past. He retrieves a moment in his memory about the stress she had after last month's magazine issue. Those cannot be the only reason.
So, before his curiosity knocks him down, he bravely asks. "Olivia, honey." He states in a calming voice. Not too late, he notices the anxiety on her face. He already sensed something was off.
"You're not quitting, are you? Taking a break? Vacation? That's not the boss bitch I know. So, what's causing you all this shit? Have you done something wrong? Can you tell me? Is someone blackmailing you? Have you sinned again, bitch?"
Question after question sends tension in Olivia's nerves. She opened her mouth, but it was too late to speak when a few men enter the room, clearing all the chunks of flowers and Grace comes back knocking.
"Yes, Grace, darling?" she asked, feeling relieved. The bell saved her from being bombarded with questions.
Grace flashes a worried face that causes her heartbeat to rise. "Miss Wolfe, Evergreen High School called. They say Veronica got into a physical fight, and they need you there right now."
Olivia covers her face in embarrassment as she's about to go to another parent-teacher meeting because of a misdemeanor her fourteen year-old daughter commits. Of all the things she has done perfectly, it's being a mother that she's still trying to figure out. "Oh boy." she exhales.