The CEO's Challenge

Chapter 23: New Normal

The next morning, I drag myself out of bed, my head pounding from last night's overindulgence. I stumble to the bathroom, flipping on the light and squinting at my reflection in the mirror. Ugh, I look like a mess.

I splash some water on my face, trying to wake myself up. I grab my makeup bag, rummaging through it for my favorite concealer. I need to hide these dark circles, need to look like I have my shit together.

As I apply my makeup, I mutter to myself. "Don't think about Damien, don't think about Damien," I chant, like a mantra. "If you think about Damien, slap yourself. Hard."

I take a deep breath, spritzing some of my expensive perfume on my wrists. I usually save this stuff for special occasions, but today feels like a special occasion. Today is the day I'm going to forget all about Damien, once and for all.

I slip on my favorite dress, the one that makes me feel confident and sexy. I add a pair of heels, wobbling a bit as I walk to the kitchen. I need coffee, and I need it now.

As I wait for my coffee to brew, I scroll through my phone, deleting old texts and photos of Damien. It hurts, but it's necessary. I need to move on, need to forget.

I take a sip of my coffee, burning my tongue in the process. "Fuck," I mutter, sticking my finger in my mouth. But even the pain doesn't distract me from the ache in my heart, the emptiness that Damien left behind.

I finish my coffee, grabbing my purse and heading out the door. I'm going to have a great day, I tell myself. I'm going to focus on my work, on my friends, on anything but Damien.

And if I slip up, if his name crosses my mind, well, I'll just slap myself and move on. It's going to be a long day, but I'm ready for it.

I arrive at the office, my head held high, my steps confident. I'm ready to take on the day, ready to forget all about Damien and his stupid, perfect face.

As I settle into my desk, I take a moment to appreciate the chaos that is my workspace. As a marketing coordinator, my job is to make sure our campaigns run smoothly, to keep track of deadlines and deliverables. It's a far cry from my old job as a personal assistant, where my main responsibility was to make sure Damien's coffee was just the way he liked it.

Now, instead of dealing with tantrums and last-minute demands, I'm dealing with spreadsheets and conference calls. Instead of catering to one man's every whim, I'm working with a team to create something bigger than myself.

It's exhilarating, exhausting, and sometimes downright ridiculous. Like yesterday, when we spent an hour debating the merits of using a comma versus a semicolon in a headline. I swear, if I hear one more person say "oxford comma" in a serious tone, I'm going to scream.

But then Karla, my coworker bursts into the office, her eyes wild and her hair even wilder. "Nova," she gasps, "you won't believe what just happened."

I lean back in my chair, ready for another ridiculous tale. "What now, Karla? Did the coffee machine explode again?"

"No, no," she says, shaking her head. "It's worse than that. It's about the Johnson account."

I groan, remembering the endless meetings and revisions we've had to endure for this client. "What now? Did they change their mind about the color scheme again?"

"Worse," Karla says, her voice dropping to a whisper. "They saw the draft of the ad campaign and they hated it."

"They hated it?" I ask, my heart sinking. "But we worked on that campaign for days, Karla. We put our blood, sweat, and tears into it."

"I know," Karla says, her voice trembling. "But apparently, they wanted something 'more edgy,' 'more modern,' 'more... millennial.'"

I roll my eyes, my patience wearing thin. "More millennial? What the hell does that even mean? Are we supposed to put avocados and man buns in the ad now?"