The Octolingual Girl Who Learned To Shine _ Novel

The Octolingual Girl Who Learned To Shine _ Novel

The Octolingual Girl Who Learned To Shine _ Novel

**The Octolingual Girl Who Learned To Shine _ Novel**

The Octolingual Girl Who Learned To Shine Chapter 01

I was fluent in eight languages — Italian, German, French, Japanese, Korean, Spanish, Arabic, and Russian.

However, during my three years at Nocturne Trading, my resume had only ever claimed one — fluent in Italian.

The reason was pretty straightforward. My dad was a diplomat, and my mom was a simultaneous interpreter. Growing up, we bounced around seven different countries, so picking up new languages was always just second nature to me.

But they died in a car crash five years ago. I didn’t want to use my skills to show off, and I definitely didn’t want anyone digging into my past and offering me their pity.

I just want to keep my head down as a junior translator, collect my base salary, pay rent on my tiny apartment, and take care of my cat.

Then came the annual company party. Our boss, Winfred Cade, stood up on stage and rambled in English for ten minutes before abruptly switching to German.

“Next year, I’m giving a seventy percent raise to everyone here who speaks German.”

Most of the two hundred people in the crowd had no clue what he was saying, but they clapped anyway.

I understood him perfectly.

Senior translator Anastasia Belford, the head of the German translation team, was sitting right next to me.

Her eyes lit up after Winfred finished speaking, then she turned and glanced at me. “Did you catch any of that, Bridget?”

I shook my head. “No, I don’t speak German.”

She let out a little laugh. “Makes sense. You only know Italian and make twenty grand a year. It’s a shame.”

I remained silent.

Only six people in the German translation team — plus Winfred himself — would actually get the seventy percent raise.

I reminded myself it was none of my business.

After the party, my phone buzzed with a text from my only friend, Jaylene Alford.

“Bri, you definitely understood Mr. Cade’s German just now, right? Seventy percent! Why didn’t you speak up?”

Jaylene worked in the Administration Department. She’d accidentally found out I knew French last year when she caught me reading a French novel in the breakroom.

I had sworn her to secrecy, which was always a tough secret for her to keep.

“Let it go. I don’t want to draw attention to my skills,” I texted back.

“What is wrong with you? That’s seventy percent! You make twenty thousand a year, and that raise would bump you to thirty-four. The heater in your rundown apartment barely even works.”

I walked over to the elevators, where Winfred was already waiting. He was standing next to our vice president, Hector Glisson, and the two of them were chatting in German.

“That was a smart move,” Hector said. “Only the German translation team understood you anyway. You get to give raises to the core team while the rest of the staff thinks you’re just making empty promises.”

Winfred laughed, “If I’m going to make false promises, I might as well do it with some class. Doing it in German makes me look like I have a global perspective.”

Hector chuckled along with him. “A junior translator like Bridget is only ever going to be worth twenty grand a year anyway.”

The elevator doors slid open. I stepped in behind them, keeping my face completely blank. They just kept right on talking in German.

“Who are we sending to negotiate the Eastbridge Group project next week?” Hector asked.

“Anastasia, I think,” Winfred replied. “Her German is the best.”

“I hear Eastbridge’s president, Mr. Hilliard, is a nightmare to work with,” Hector said. “When they partnered with Skyline Corporation, he yelled at their translator until she ran out of the conference room.”

“It’ll be fine. Anna can handle it.”

The elevator hit the lobby, and I walked out first. Winfred called after me in English, “Bridget, drop off the proofread for last week’s Italian contract tomorrow.”

“Of course, Mr. Cade,” I said, without even looking back.

The next day, I dropped the proofread contract on Winfred’s desk.

It was a thirty-thousand-word Italian document, and I had found and fixed forty-seven errors in the original translation.

Anastasia was the one who had done that original translation. My name wouldn’t appear anywhere on the revised document, though; it would just read, “Proofread by the Translation Department.”

Anastasia never knew I fixed her work. She honestly believed she was an expert.

I was just heading back to my desk when Jaylene drifted over, nursing a cup of coffee.

“Bri, did you hear?”

“Hear what?”

“Anastasia is heading up the Eastbridge Group pitch next week.”

“I heard.”

“Do you know who the CEO of Eastbridge is?”

Jaylene dropped her voice. “Leonardo Hilliard. He’s thirty-two, and he ranked ninety-eighth on the Forbes national list last year. Rumor has it he’s fluent in five languages and has a vicious temper. He supposedly fired Skyline Corporation’s entire translation team on their last project.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“Don’t you think Anastasia is going to bomb?”

“If she tanks, it’s not my problem.”

Jaylene sighed, “You put up with way too much.”

Once she headed off, I opened my laptop and pulled up my translation assignment for the day — a supplier quote in Spanish.

Normally, the Spanish team would have taken care of it. But Kieran Gant called in sick today, so Hector dumped the task on my desk.

“Bridget, didn’t you say you took some Spanish in college? Just do the best you can.”

In reality, I’d lived in Madrid for two years. I knocked the translation out in fifteen minutes, deliberately leaving two minor errors that wouldn’t change the actual meaning. I needed the work to look like it came from someone who had only taken a couple of undergrad classes.

Hector shot back a quick message, “It’s fine.”

Fine was good enough for me.

Later that afternoon, Anastasia stopped by my desk and dropped a stack of documents in front of me.

“Bridget, organize these Italian files for me. I need to prep for the Eastbridge Group project next week.”

I eyed the stack. It was roughly fifty pages of background info on Eastbridge Group, all in Italian. “This really isn’t my job — “

“Why wouldn’t it be?” she cut in. “You work in the Translation Department, and I’m your team leader. Do you have a problem with me assigning you work?”

She had just been promoted to team leader last month, put in charge of the Italian and German groups.

“Fine.” I grabbed the files.

Anastasia made it a few steps down the aisle before looking back. “Oh, right. The department is having a quick huddle tomorrow to go over the coordination plan for the Eastbridge project. You don’t need to be there.”

“I know.”

“You really only handle basic proofreading anyway. You wouldn’t be put on a major project like this.”

“I know.”

She finally walked away.

My phone buzzed. Jaylene had sent a string of angry emojis on WhatsApp.

“I heard that from the breakroom. Who does she think she is, talking to you like that?”

“I’m used to it,” I texted back.

“Can’t you just stand up for yourself?”

“Stand up for myself, and then what? She’s the team leader.”

“If you showed them all the languages you actually know, she wouldn’t even be qualified to manage you.”

“I don’t want to do that.”

“What exactly are you afraid of, Bri?”

I stared at the screen, not typing anything. What was I afraid of? I didn’t really have a good answer.

Maybe I was just terrified of standing out. Afraid that someone would dig into my past, look at me with that awful pity in their eyes, and say, “Oh, you’re the diplomat’s daughter. The one whose parents died in that car accident.”

When I got home that evening, my cat, Bobby, was waiting right by the door. I scooped him up, and he let out a huge yawn.

“Bobby, I fixed forty-seven of Anastasia’s mistakes today, and she doesn’t even know.”

Bobby just gave me a look, squirmed out of my arms, and jumped down to eat his food.

I opened the fridge. Two eggs and half a head of cabbage stared back at me.

Making twenty grand a year in this city meant that after rent, utilities, and cat food, I had basically nothing left over each month.

I whipped up a quick omelet and sat by the window to eat. My phone rang; the screen showed an unfamiliar number.

“Hello, am I speaking with Ms. Bridget Levins?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Jamari Manley. I’m an attorney with Kensington Law Firm. We need you to come down to the office to sign some documents regarding the liquidation of your parents’ overseas assets.”