Your Office Obsession Name Novels & Stories

Monday morning, I'm back at my desk by seven AM. The office is still mostly empty—just the overachievers and the people running from something. I suspect I'm both. My inbox is flooded with emails about projects I should care about, meetings I should be excited to attend, opportunities everyone keeps telling me are stepping stones to the C-suite. I respond mechanically, efficiently, the way I've trained myself to operate. High performance, zero emotion. Catherine stops by at eight-thirty, coffee in hand and genuine warmth in her expression.

"Know what? That the girl who has everything wants the boy who has nothing?" "I don't want you!" She looked like she wanted to slap me, but her eyes were anchored to mine. "I hate you. I hate that you're looking at me like this." "Good," I said, reaching down to lace my fingers with hers. Her skin was ice cold, but mine was burning. "Hate is a great motivator. It's almost as strong as what's actually happening right now." "And what is that?" "Obsession." I leaned in, my lips brushing her ear. "There's a car parked behind the equipment shed. No cameras. No Sarah. No Jax. Just a dark corner and a 'disaster' waiting to happen."

She looked out the window, her mind split between the mother waiting for her in a small apartment and the man standing alone in a glass tower. The following morning, Ava arrived at the office at 7:30 AM, her eyes slightly tired from a night spent toggling between checking her mother’s blood pressure and finalizing the indemnity bonds on her kitchen table. She expected the atmosphere to be frantic, a "war room" in full swing. Instead, the executive floor was eerily quiet. When she reached her desk, she found a small, sleek tablet sitting on her keyboard with a sticky note attached: Check the updated project registry. — M.

That filling a space wasn't the same as belonging in it. I didn't let myself think about any of that. I was too busy being grateful for the pancakes. Work was the one place nothing had changed. Cole and Associates ran the way it always ran. Projects, deadlines, site visits. An architecture firm that had built its reputation on precision and delivery. I threw myself into the work rhythm, the way I always had when the rest of life got complicated . My assistant Marcus noticed before anyone else. "You good?" he asked one afternoon, dropping a file on my desk.

“What is that?” “I work in an office sitting at a desk most days. My version of exercise is running back to grab the phone if I left my desk to send off faxes or use the copy machine. I get to deal with a ton of paperwork, for the most part. The technical term for my job is executive secretary but I prefer chair jockey. It sounds more exciting than what it really is.” “I wish that was my version of exercise. We run miles a day and train all the time.”

** Spencer ** I relax inside the walls of the magnificent office, which is decorated to my taste. There is a glass demarcation with the other small space being carved out as my personal assistant’s office. Even with the sharing of space, I am satisfied with the size of my own office. This proves how much progressive my company has made over the years of my absence. I sighed in relief that things were turning out well for me in the business industry, but the untold shadows of my past were lurking around my mind. I can feel it.

Chapter 122: Olive's POV My fingers flew across the keyboard like I was trying to set a world record for fastest typing speed. Click. Click. Click. Click. The sound filled my new office, Senior Vice President of Strategic Development, the nameplate on my door read, but my mind wasn't on the quarterly reports in front of me. It was on him. One person. Precisely one infuriating, dangerous, impossible person. And I was trying desperately not to think about him.

Now I'm in so deep with this obsession, there's no way out. With a hard sniff, I force myself to stand on numb legs, reminding myself that I have a job. A Halloween party to plan. An office downtown where I go and act normal at my desk, rewarding each solid hour of work with a trip to the Firestarter website where I can see Locke's face on the CEO page. Unsmiling, serious, cleanly shaven Locke.

The living room also boasted of a wall to ceiling glass wall that allowed one partake in the hustle and bustle of the city without being physically involved. The ground floor housed Vishal's office and study. Ever since he became the General manager of The Hub, he never went to the corporate office more than once a week. He always walked from his penthouse suite and answered all correspondence from his home office. He only went out whenever he had business dealings or social functions to attend. His bodyguards also have their apartment in the second floor, right in his penthouse. Whenever he needed to summona manager, he would send for such person and have him drive down to his place.

(James’ POV) Work has this unique quality; it’s a realm where everything else fades away. No messy personal dramas, no surprise shifts in living arrangements, and certainly none of the ghosts of relationships past that sternly refuse to stay in the past. Just clean lines, blueprints, and the satisfaction of creating something tangible. The office was buzzing with the usual energy—keyboards tapping, phones ringing, and the quiet hum of voices deep in conversation. Or at least, that’s how it was meant to be.