Chapter 4 - Oliver

OLIVER

As Oliver took a call from a new client, his eyes fell on the woman in front of him. Less than half an hour ago, she had been a nondescript bundle of misery, tear-stained and withdrawn - now she stood there as if a magic wand had been waved: an elegant hairdo, a touch of makeup, and suddenly the unassuming figure had become a radiant beauty. It was amazing what a little makeup and a few touches could do.

He let his eyes wander for a moment, then returned to her. There was still the problem with the company. Why did she, of all the women in the mall, have to work for Alexander's company? But he had to do it somehow, it couldn't be that hard. When he thought of the last hostess and alleged girlfriend of Alexander, Tabea, she hadn't been a company owner either, but a waitress in a lousy restaurant. So job titles were rather irrelevant. And Emily wasn't really called Amelie? Oh, he could chalk that up to a misunderstanding. Someone had probably misheard. No big deal.

But... wait a minute... Emily was an accountant! He grimaced and tried to talk himself out of it. "Who says a designer can't fall in love with his... accountant?" he murmured half aloud, groaning inwardly. It was about as fitting as a cactus in a blanket. A creative designer, full of ideas and spontaneity, and an accountant who probably invented the color 'gray'. Serious, structured and certainly not receptive to his charming words. It would never work! And what if she also found out that her boss was gay? Oh dear. Oliver shuddered inwardly. "Pull yourself together, Oliver, it's not your problem, you just have to find a suitable hostess - let the journalists decide if the two are a good match." At that thought, the confidentiality clause immediately came to mind - and the contract. Of course.

"Damn!" he exclaimed, frantically pulling out his cell phone and calling the company directly. I totally forgot about the contract! Typical. Of course, this shouldn't have happened to him, but now he had to fix it as soon as possible. When the dial tone sounded, he let his eyes wander around the beauty salon. Not exactly the place where he would normally be found, but what could he do? He would do anything for his best client.

With a determined step, he made his way to the reception desk. "Do you have a fax machine?" he asked with the impatient urgency of a man whose world was hanging on a piece of paper.

The young woman behind the counter stared at him as if he had just asked her to lend him a unicorn. Did she not speak his language? Or was there something about him that made women stare at him as if he were from another planet?

"Fax machine?" he repeated, this time deliberately slowly, as if that might clear the blockage in her mind. "Here?" His eyes demanded an answer.

"Uh... no. We have a phone," she finally replied, her eyes wide and dreamy, signaling to him that she apparently thought he was the main character in a romantic drama. She licked the tip of her tongue over her upper lip, probably trying to look extra hot. When she slid her right hand from her neck to her cleavage, he just rolled his eyes impatiently.

Great. Just what he needed - an employee who worshipped him. But he really didn't have time for fangirl moments. And he didn't want to catch any new hostesses right now. He had enough stress with the one hostess who was being made up. And for that one hostess he needed the contract! Emily had to sign that contract as soon as possible. She couldn't spill the beans about what had happened with Alexander Fitzpatrick. Trust was good, but control was better. And an airtight contract? Perfect.

Finally there was an answer on the line and it was Susanne. Oliver breathed a sigh of relief. "Susanne, it's great that I got you so quickly." He glanced at the young woman behind the reception desk who continued to look at him adoringly. No time for such distractions - everything had to work now.

"Oliver, what's up? I have three e-mails here that need to go out right away!" Susanne's voice sounded hurried, which was not a good sign. She hated to be pulled out of her routine.

"Hey, I'm at the Fashion Center and I have a problem," he began, stepping out of the beauty salon and into the crowded mall. "Amelie's been sick.

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line, then an exasperated sigh. "Amelie? Today? The appointment is in, what, half an hour? And you're calling me now to tell me that?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know it's a bummer." Oliver pushed his way through the crowd, trying to find a place that might have a fax machine. "But listen, I have a solution. An Emily Saron will fill in spontaneously."

"Emily... who?" Susanne sounded visibly irritated. "Where did she suddenly come from? And why have I never heard of her before?"

"She works in the same area, it'll be fine." Oliver tried to sound calm, but he had the feeling that time was running out. "She's willing to step in right away. But... there is a small catch."

"A small catch?" Susanne repeated, her voice taking on that typical, slightly suspicious tone that Oliver knew so well.

"Yes, well... she hasn't signed a contract yet." Oliver had now arrived at a copy shop and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the sign 'Faxservice'. He entered the shop and turned to the cashier, who looked at him questioningly.

At the other end of the line, Susanne nearly exploded. "What?! How could you forget? She can't just meet with our most valuable customer without a contract! Oliver, you can't be serious!"

"I know, I know," he hastily soothed, signaling to the cashier as he asked for the fax number. "But that's why I'm calling. We need to send her the contract right away. Give me a minute, I found a fax machine here."

"A FAX MACHINE?" Susanne sounded almost as if he had told her that he was now communicating with smoke signals. "Who uses a fax machine anymore?"

"Apparently everyone at the Fashion Center," he finished. "Look, this is our only chance." Oliver wrote down the fax number and dictated it to her. "Send the contract immediately. We have five minutes before the meeting starts. This is top priority, Susanne. Without a signature, we're sitting on a ticking time bomb."

"Okay, I'll do it! But this is no small matter, Oliver. If this goes wrong, we'll be in big trouble."

"Trust me. It won't go wrong," Oliver said, although by now his heart was beating so fast that he wasn't so sure of his words.

"Trust?" Susanne hissed. "After this morning's chaos..." she sighed heavily. "I'll send you the documents. But if this doesn't work, I wouldn't want to be you."

"It will work." He glanced impatiently at the fax machine, which still hadn't moved. "It has to work."

Before Susanne could say anything, Oliver hung up and stared at the fax machine as if spellbound. The seconds seemed to drag on as he waited. His pulse was racing. "Where is the damn thing?"