Y/n was in limerence. She was eternally infatuated with Oliver Blanch. Who wouldn’t be? He was sexy. He was rich. He wasn’t just a man, but the man men aspired to be. If only he were hers. She’d do right by him. Keep him happy. Make him feel good. No one would love him like y/n. But he’ll never know because she’ll never get the chance. Stacy Dubois. He said her name like he was Edgar Allen Poe and she was his muse. Her voice, soft and sweet like a perfume that lingered in the air for a moment too long. Y/n would find golden hairs around his office because he used to brush her hair. He was too far gone for Stacy. Y/n hated it. The way his face and voice softened when she was near. The way he’d kiss her palm like no one was watching. The way he’d bite his lip as he’d watch her walk away. It was the love and attention y/n deserved from him. But she never got it. Besides, who picks the PR agent when the personal assistant is right there?