Chapter 8: Emma’s Unexpected Promotion

Emma stretched her arms as she stepped into the break Chapter 8: Emma’s Unexpected Promotionroom, ready for her much-needed afternoon coffee. She was barely two sips in when she heard a group of employees whispering excitedly nearby.

“Did you hear?” one of them said. “We might be getting high-end massage chairs for the break areas.”

“Seriously?” another replied. “First the chairs, then the gourmet chocolates, and now this? The CEO must be on a shopping spree.”

Emma, half-listening, nearly choked on her coffee.

“Why not just give us money instead?” she blurted out, shaking her head. “A normal chair works just fine. Do we really need massage chairs?”

The group turned to look at her, nodding in agreement.

“You have a point,” one of them said. “It is kind of random.”

“I’d rather have a bonus,” another added.

Unbeknownst to Emma, a certain young woman standing at the break room entrance had frozen mid-step, her fingers still hovering over her phone.

Lena had been about to finalize the very order Emma was ranting about.

Her eyes flicked to Emma. Then to the employees nodding. Then back to Emma.

Slowly, she slipped her phone into her pocket and quietly backed away.

—Elsewhere—

Oliver was reviewing reports when his phone buzzed. A notification from the office supplier: “Massage chair request has been canceled.”

His eyes widened. No way.

Had Lena actually… stopped?

His head snapped up just in time to see Lena passing his office.

“Ah, Lena—”

“No chairs,” she said simply, then kept walking.

Oliver blinked. What just happened?

He quickly checked the system logs. The request had been marked as “Canceled by Lena.”

For a moment, he just stared at the screen in shock. Then, from the corner of his eye, he spotted movement.

Emma.

She was walking past his office, still muttering about how stupid it was to waste money on unnecessary luxuries.

…It’s her.

It had to be her.

Oliver felt something he hadn’t experienced in a long time.

Hope.

Finally—after years of struggling alone—he had found someone else who understood. Someone who saw the madness.

Emma was the key.

Now he just had to get her on board.

Even if she had no idea what she was about to get dragged into.

Emma had just returned to her desk when a notification popped up on her screen.

Meeting Request: Oliver Montgomery – 3:00 PM

She frowned. Oliver?

She barely knew the guy. Why was the CFO calling her in?

Her first thought: Am I in trouble?

Her second thought: Did I mess up a report?

Her third: Wait… did someone overhear me complaining in the break room?

By the time 3:00 PM rolled around, she had convinced herself she was about to be fired for office misconduct.

Bracing for the worst, she stepped into Oliver’s office.

“Emma,” Oliver greeted, gesturing for her to sit.

Emma sat. Stiffly.

Oliver studied her for a moment, then leaned forward.

“You have a gift,” he said seriously.

Emma blinked. “...I do?”

“Yes.” Oliver steepled his fingers. “A rare one.”

Emma had no idea where this was going.

Oliver exhaled, as if relieved. “I’ve been struggling for years, but you—you—have done something remarkable.”

Emma leaned back. “Okay…?”

“You,” Oliver said, “stopped her.”

Emma frowned. “Stopped who?”

Oliver gave her a knowing look, like she should already understand.

“The spending,” he said dramatically. “The gifts. The unnecessary luxuries. You ended it.”

Emma stared.

“What?”

“I don’t know how you did it,” Oliver continued, “but Lena actually canceled an order. Do you know how impossible that is?”

Emma was still stuck on what in the world he was talking about.

Then it hit her.

“The… massage chairs?”

Oliver nodded gravely. “Yes.”

Emma squinted at him. “So… what does this have to do with me?”

Oliver leaned forward again.

“I need you,” he said.

Emma blinked.

“To…?”

“Help control her.”

Emma reeled back. “What—control who?”

Oliver’s gaze sharpened. “Lena.”

Emma laughed.

Then stopped when she realized Oliver wasn’t laughing.

“You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.”

Emma frowned, confused.

“Why do I have to do it?” she asked.

“Because,” Oliver said solemnly, “she listened to you.”

Emma opened her mouth to argue—then paused.

Wait.

Lena had been in the break room earlier.

And now the chairs were canceled.

…No. No way.

“That was just a coincidence,” Emma said.

Oliver smiled. “Was it?”

Emma hesitated.

Oliver leaned back, arms crossed. “You’re the first person I’ve ever seen have an effect on her spending habits. I need you on my side.”

Emma narrowed her eyes. “So what, you want me to follow her around and stop her from buying things?”

Oliver nodded. “Yes.”

“That’s crazy.”

“It’s necessary.”

Emma exhaled. “Look, I—”

“Don’t decide yet,” Oliver interrupted. “Just… be aware. Watch her. If you notice something off, intervene.”

Emma stared at him.

Oliver held out a folder.

“What’s this?” she asked, not taking it.

“A list of her past spending offenses,” Oliver said grimly.

Emma eyed the folder warily. “I feel like opening that would change my life forever.”

Oliver simply pushed it closer.

Curious—despite herself—Emma took the folder and flipped it open.

Her eyes scanned the list.

She froze.

Slowly, she looked up at Oliver.

“…She bought three table tennis sets?”

Oliver’s expression darkened.

“Yes.”

“…And ten golf clubs?”

Oliver’s mouth was a thin line.

“…And why did she bulk order mini espresso machines?”

Oliver pinched the bridge of his nose. “We don’t know.”

Emma inhaled sharply.

She had so many questions.

But the biggest one was:

What the hell is going on with this woman?

---

Emma closed the folder, feeling like she’d just stumbled upon a classified document.

She stared at Oliver.

Then back at the folder.

Then back at Oliver.

She inhaled deeply. “So… Lena.”

Oliver nodded.

“She’s… someone important?”

Oliver’s expression barely shifted. “Yes.”

Emma frowned. “Who exactly is she?”

Oliver hesitated. “That’s… complicated.”

Emma’s frown deepened. “Complicated how?”

Oliver looked like he was trying to find the right words. “She’s…”

Emma leaned forward expectantly.

“…Not just an ordinary employee.”

Emma blinked. “Well, duh. She’s spending money like she owns the place.”

Oliver’s mouth twitched.

Emma exhaled. “So what is she, then? Upper management? Some rich investor’s daughter? The secret owner of the cafeteria?”

Oliver coughed.

Emma narrowed her eyes. “That wasn’t a joke. Is she?”

“No,” Oliver said quickly.

Now that she was really thinking about it…Lena had been at that private meeting.

With executives.

High-ranking executives.

Yet, she was always around, randomly appearing in places where normal employees hung out.

She had access to everything.

And then there was the fact that Oliver—the CFO—was personally concerned about her spending habits.

Emma’s stomach dropped slightly.

“…She’s not your secret lover, is she?” she asked, horrified.

Oliver actually looked horrified at the suggestion.

“NO.”

Emma exhaled in relief. “Okay, good.”

She paused.

Then gasped.

“Wait. She’s not—the president’s secret love child or something, right?”

Oliver gave her a blank stare. “What?”

“I mean, she’s clearly someone’s kid,” Emma said, motioning vaguely. “Rich, connected, doing whatever she wants. Are we talking corporate dynasty?”

Oliver sighed. “You’re thinking too hard about this.”

Emma scowled. “Of course I am! Because no one is telling me anything!”

Oliver hesitated again.

Then, carefully, he said, “Let’s just say she’s… closer to the top than you think.”

Emma folded her arms, unimpressed. “That’s not an answer.”

Oliver rubbed his temples.

Emma narrowed her eyes again.

She glanced at the folder.

At Lena’s ridiculous purchases.

At the way she somehow always knew things before others did.

A suspicion crept in.

“…She’s not, like, secretly a high-level manager, is she?” Emma asked slowly.

Oliver said nothing.

Emma squinted at him.

Oliver sighed.

Emma sat up straight. “Wait. WAIT.”

Oliver looked tired.

“Emma—”

“She’s—she’s not—”

A crazy thought struck her. Emma leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper.

“…She’s not the CEO, right?”

Silence.

Oliver’s expression remained carefully neutral.

Emma stared.

Oliver remained silent.

Emma’s smile faltered.

“…Wait.”

Still, Oliver said nothing.

Emma felt her stomach flip.

“Wait.”

Oliver checked his watch. “I should get going—”

“WAIT—”

Oliver stood up.

Emma shot up too. “No, no, NO—Oliver—don’t you walk away—”

Oliver, very casually, walked to the door. “It was great talking to you, Emma.”

Emma scrambled after him. “OLIVER. OLIVER, YOU GET BACK HERE—”

Oliver slipped out the door.

Emma yanked it open—only to see him already halfway down the hall.

Oliver, not even looking back, waved over his shoulder.

“Have a great day, Emma!”

She stood there, fuming.

Then, slowly, she turned back toward the desk.

Toward the folder.

Toward the ridiculous list of purchases.

She inhaled deeply.

Then exhaled.

“…Oh my god.”

Lena.

The strange, casually-dressed, mildly socially awkward woman she had been talking to like a normal person.

Was the CEO.

“What the hell is my life?”

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