Chapter 30 - Oliver

**OLIVER**

On his way to the agency, Oliver strolled through the bustling streets of the city, where the familiar smell of freshly brewed coffee hung in the air. As he did every morning, he stopped at Starbucks, grabbed his usual black coffee, and gave the barista a quick nod. He glanced at the people rushing by as he walked to the newsstand around the corner. It was one of his regular routines: coffee in one hand, newspaper in the other. Always informed, always one step ahead - especially when it came to the gossip that was essential in his business.
But when he glanced at today’s front page, he almost spat out his coffee. The cup in his hand wobbled dangerously, and it took him a moment to compose himself. The headline read: *Billionaire Fitzpatrick Unusually Amorous.* But it was the picture below that really took his breath away: a full-color close-up of Alexander Fitzpatrick passionately kissing a woman. Alexander Fitzpatrick, who had been listed as gay in his agency for years, was kissing a woman! And upon closer inspection, Oliver recognized his new discovery from yesterday. He blinked a few times because he couldn’t believe it.
The photo was sharp, crystal clear, and seemed to burn with passion. Their lips were pressed tightly together, their eyes closed, as if they were the only people in the world. Oliver had to swallow to get rid of the bitter taste in his mouth.
“This is a bad joke,” he muttered to himself, staring at the picture. Alexander was gay, wasn’t he? And yet in this photo he showed an intimacy that was anything but fake. It wasn’t a random pose, not a staged kiss for the cameras. Alexander held the woman so tightly as if he never wanted to let her go. Could a gay man really kiss a woman that passionately?
“He’s probably just doing it for the press,” Oliver muttered, trying to keep his composure. Below the picture was a note saying that more photos and a detailed article could be found further back. Oliver had never drunk his coffee so fast. He tossed the cup into the nearest trash can, then hurriedly flipped to the page mentioned. What he saw made him blanch. The girl was posing in a stunningly sexy dress that was low-cut and left little to the imagination. Her high-heeled shoes made her legs look almost endless, while her lips wore a seductive expression. He hadn’t expected this. The gym clothes and the tear-stained face had actually hidden everything that could turn a man on.
“Alexander Fitzpatrick is gay,” he said half aloud, emphasizing it to convince himself, while he looked more closely at the pictures. The two were kissing, Alexander was grabbing her ass, and the journalist drew readers’ attention to the wealthy designer’s bulging pants with an arrow.
This really didn’t look like a gay man. A man couldn’t fake a stiff penis, it was definitely real. But why had Marietta asked to be reassigned to another client? If Alexander wasn’t gay, as he had claimed so far, then he could have slept with Marietta - and she would have continued to play his faithful, loving girlfriend.
“Something’s not right here,” Oliver muttered, grimacing in annoyance. His plan to win the young woman over - if only for one night - was going down in flames. Of course, he didn’t stand a chance against a billionaire like Alexander Fitzpatrick, and his smart appearance didn’t help either. Sometimes money counted for more than good looks. And, he had to admit, the billionaire was damn good looking. That’s why Oliver had been so happy to learn that the designer was gay. In his opinion, all good-looking men could be gay, leaving more women for him.
Oliver sighed. Such thoughts didn’t help him in his current situation. He had to accept that Alexander had only played a role for them all these years. Because what he had played for the press yesterday, Oliver could hardly believe.
Torn between anger and disappointment, Oliver hurried to the agency, his thoughts racing. He hoped that Susanne was already there and had arranged everything with the new hostess. But as soon as he opened the glass door, that hope vanished.
“Oliver!” she shouted at him before the door had even closed completely. The familiar squeaking of the hinges that he had ignored for weeks had given him away. “Oliver, what does this mean? Since when does our best regular client not date women through our agency, but privately?”
He groaned inwardly when he heard Susanne’s angry voice and entered her office, which resembled a small newsroom. Several newspapers lay open on the table, all with the same headlines and pictures of Alexander Fitzpatrick and his latest girlfriend. The man really did seem to be the number one story of the day for journalists today.
“He doesn’t meet women in private,” Oliver countered, hoping to nip Susanne’s anger in the bud. He knew it was a touchy subject, but they had to remain professional; shouting at each other was not an option.
“He doesn’t meet women in private,” she mimicked, her lips pressed together and her eyes flashing. “The newspapers say otherwise! Look at the pictures. This is not a long-legged, doll-like beauty, but a blonde bombshell. So this can’t be the woman you found in the mall yesterday. The CEO of Fitzpatrick Designs has arranged a date for himself - maybe even with one of our competitors!” Her voice quivered with indignation.
Oliver cleared his throat and tried to remain calm. “It’s the same woman I hired. Yesterday she was wearing a tracksuit, I had no idea she would undergo such a transformation. She looked completely different with the sweaty clothes.”
“A tracksuit?” Susanne shouted, her voice almost breaking. “Are you really trying to tell me that you chose a sweaty stranger to be the hostess for billionaire Alexander Fitzpatrick? Have you lost your mind?”
Oliver’s patience was wearing thin. She was treating him like a green rookie when he was just as much a partner in the agency as she was - if not more so. Her overreaction infuriated him. He had handled the situation perfectly yesterday, and she should have acknowledged that.
“Susanne,” he said with forced calm, “I am still an equal partner in this agency, and the success of DarEnd-Agency does not rest on your shoulders alone.” His gaze hardened as he fought the growing storm inside him. “Perhaps you should remember that I am just as capable of making decisions. It is not called *Dar-End* and not *End-Dar* without reason.”
He didn’t like having to play that trump card. But the idea for the agency came from him - Oliver Daron. And she - Susanne Enders - came on board because he was able to convince her. He therefore did not find her current criticism appropriate.
“If you want to know if the super-rich Alexander Fitzpatrick is still our client, just call him and ask him how he liked the meeting with our hostess. You should have the contract with the lady somewhere between all these newspaper pages.” He turned and was about to walk out the door when something else occurred to him. “May I assume from your tone that our newest hostess has not yet reported?”
“Yes, you may assume that,” she replied in a pointed tone. “The ladies don’t talk to me on the phone anymore.”
He nodded curtly and left, thinking that she had no right to be surprised when she treated everyone so rudely. Even as he walked to his own office, an unpleasant feeling began to take hold of him. What did he know of the young woman? First, she had refused to sign the contract. Then she had said that she would call after the meeting to make an appointment to discuss the contract.
He frowned and his own private anger flared up inside him. Instead of getting back to him, she had apparently spent a hot night with a gay billionaire. Could it be that Alexander Fitzpatrick wasn’t gay? And the man hadn’t realized it because he’d been given the wrong girlfriends for years?
“The damn bastard is bisexual,” Oliver suddenly realized, his eyes flashing angrily. “He’s not gay at all!”