Your Office Obsession Novels & Stories

“People do crazy things when they are upset.” “I’m not people, I’m not upset,” He started. “And certainly I don’t need you to check up on me, that’s not your job.” "Fair point." I sighed and an uncomfortable silence settled around us. I should have just stayed in my room instead of making a fool of myself here. My gaze drifted across the office from the bookshelves that had a number of awards, thick philosophy and business books and documents, the giant wall of windows overlooking the city and furniture. Everything screamed Theodore. Expensive, organized and dull.

"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."

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.

Paperwork, neatly stacked but endlessly generating, littered the floor and scattered across the wide, mahogany expanse of my desk. My office, occupying the entire top floor of the CazoS tower, felt more like a cage of steel and glass than a workspace. I was busy, finalizing documents that secured a hostile takeover—the kind of work that demanded precision and ruthlessness.

Slipping my long grey coat off my shoulders, I draped it over my chair before plopping myself into it, my fingers interlaced on the table as I waited for my consigliere to speak. My home's office was just as big and as spacious as the rest of the rooms in this mansion and I could work from here anytime instead of going through the hassle of going to my company like a regular CEO every week to face those stack loads of files, shit I only kept doing for the fun of it. And the thrill of banging an employee or just a random whore in your office and having all your employees bicker about the rumors of how good your dick is and have them drool for a taste of it.

~ Cole ~ The office doesn’t smell like anything. No oil. No smoke. No sweat. Just cold air from the AC and polished wood that reflects too much light. I don’t like it. That’s how I know I need it. The guy across from me keeps adjusting his tie like it’s choking him. He’s been talking for the last five minutes—numbers, returns, risk. I stopped listening halfway through. Not because it doesn’t matter, but because it does. Too much.

Calvin’s POV The office is buzzing with its usual controlled chaos. Phones ringing, keyboards clacking, the hum of focused conversations—all of it blending into the background noise I’ve grown used to. My desk is littered with reports and contracts, each one demanding my attention, but I can’t seem to focus. Because I’m smiling like an idiot.

This atmosphere was in stark contrast to the usual busy days where the office was always filled with working employees, even those staying late. The office, which was usually tidy and comfortable, now appeared chaotic. Papers were strewn across desks, and several chairs were out of place. A sense of anxiety began to cloud my thoughts. Was something happening that I was unaware of? Negative thoughts raced through my mind: the possibility of internal issues, or worse, perhaps someone was trying to damage my reputation.

James followed closely behind me, his steps polite, steady and professional—thank the goddess—but my body was still tingling from the intensity of Alaric’s stare. When we reached the office, the moment the door opened, my stomach sank. Just as expected—no, worse than expected—the desk was piled so high with documents, complaints, petitions, proposals, reports, anonymous grievances, and budget sheets that it looked like someone had tried to bury the furniture alive. A mountain of chaos. A physical manifestation of Bryan’s negligence.