floating | ✓

45| epilogue

“They did not live happily ever after. That's not called ‘living’. They lived, fought, broke, cried, got hurt, apologized, learned, smiled, laughed, loved, respected, supported,shared,and most importantly, they took many many many...guitar lessons.”

- meh.

45| epilogue

I am in my office, working on my emails when I hear a commotion outside, probably at the front desk.

“No, you can’t come in,” I hear Sarah, my assistant, say.

I don’t hear what the other person says. Sarah is under strict orders not to let anybody in my office after 4 pm. That is when I finish and organize all my remaining work of the day.

“But you can’t,” Sarah says, frustrated. I call her.

“What’s going on?” I ask her, amused.

“Somebody is trying to get in, Gwen. He won’t listen to me,” Sarah says. I can almost see her tapping her foot in frustration.

“You know the rules,” I remind her. “Good luck!”

Sarah groans as I cut the call. I go back to my emails. It is currently 4:45. I do not have much work left. I have ten more emails to check today. After that, I will be done.

“Heard you don’t have time for me?” I glance up upon hearing that voice.

That voice is more familiar to me than my own.

I raise my eyebrows. “Rules are rules.”

There stands Mr. Oliver Carlson in all his glory, wearing a hoodie, a pair of jeans, and his Jordans. His hair is curly and unruly as always, at this office hour. He is the only person with the audacity to stand inside my office in that attire.

I have tried. I have tried to tell him not to dress up like the next Mark Zuckerberg, but as if he will listen to me. Oliver will never understand how good he looks in formal clothes.

“Oh really,” Oliver says.

“I told you not to—” Sarah walks in right behind him, with her hands in her hips.

She is probably thinking she is at risk of losing her job.

“Yes?” Oliver turns back and glares at Sarah.

Sarah shuts up and looks at me for further instruction. Outside, I am looking grave and emotionless (something I picked up from Oliver, which does me a huge favor sometimes) but on the inside I am laughing.

“As he has already sneaked in—” I start.

“I didn’t sneak in, Mrs. Carlson. I have important work to talk about,” Oliver interjects.

I look at Sarah. “You can go now.”

“Yes. What are you standing there for? Go now,” Oliver says, narrowing his eyes at Sarah.

Sarah nods at me but narrows her eyes at Oliver. Then she leaves.

Oliver turns to me and leans forward, placing his hands on my desk and says, “So, what’s keeping you so busy, Mrs. Carlson, that you can’t even see me?”

“I told you already, Mr. Carlson, I don’t take visitors at this hour,” I answer as I finish up writing another email.

“Aha,” Oliver moves one of the visitor’s chairs and sits down. Then he places a file on the desk. “Not even if it’s about work?”