Page 9 of His Dark Pull

He nods, his hand brushinga littletoo forcefully against a delicate, hand-painted porcelain vase perched precariously on a nearby shelf. It wobbles, threatening to topple over, but he catches it just in time, a flicker of something sharp flashing in his eyes before it’s replaced by a mask of apologetic embarrassment. “S-so sorry,”he stammers, his cheeks burning crimson. “Clumsy as always.”

I chuckle as I watch him go, his clumsiness endearing rather than annoying. Still, Alexander’s face pops into my mind’s eye, etched with a blend of vulnerability and raw desire. I can almost feel the warmth of his hand on my cheek, the way his touch set me on fire. The memory of his kiss replays in my mind, making it impossible to focus on the taskat hand.

The art gallery website stares back at me, the blank canvas mocking my inability to focus. I try sketchingoutideas, but the lines feel lifeless, the colors dull. My mind is a battlefield. On one side, Tyler, with his steady gaze and promises ofa normallife.On the other, Alexander, a storm of blue eyes and a touchthatsets my soul on fire.Am I a fool for even considering him? For wanting him? The office, with its usual hum of activity, felt suffocating, the walls closing in on my secret desires.

A sudden wave of longing for simpler times floods my mind as the screen stares at me. I think back to my childhood, to the day my parents gifted me my first computer. Their faces, beaming with pride and love, are etched in my brain. They sacrificed so much to nurture my creativity, to give me the tools I needed to pursue my dreams.

I close my eyes, allowing the memory to wash over me.It feels good.My parents,always my biggest supporters, the ones who believed in me even when I doubted myself. They are the reason I am here, a successful graphic designer,living a life they would be proud of.

But the memory is bittersweet, tinged with the pain of their sudden loss. The car accident, the knock on the door, the news that shattered my world.

I push the thought away, forcing back the tears that threaten to spill. I can’t afford to fall apart, not now.

A sharp voice cuts through my thoughts, bringing me back to the present with a jolt.

“Ava, I need that project done by tonight,”Cole Cohan, my boss, barks, slamming a thick folder onto my desk.His arrogance is evident, and his styled hair and tailored suit do not matchthe creative chaos that reigns in our office.The other designers glance up from their desks, their eyes filled with sympathy.

I stifle a groan and nod. “I’ll get right on it,”I say, already dreading the mountain of work that awaits me.

“Of course you will,”he says with a smirk, his eyes raking over me in a way that makes my skin crawl.

“What’s it about? Who is it for?”I ask, trying to ignorethe wayhis eyes linger on my body.

“If you open your eyes and read the damn folder, you’d see for yourself, wouldn’t you, hun? There’s a USB inside, too,”he sneers, his tone dripping with condescension.

“Right, of course, sorry,”I mumble, feeling a flush creep up my neck.

“You should be,”he says with a smug grin before turning on his heel and striding out of my office, his presence leaving a trail of tension in his wake.

The office falls silent momentarily, then the quiet murmur of conversations resumes. I can feel their stares on me.

With a sigh, I reluctantly open the folder, my heart sinking as I’m confronted with the overwhelmingvolume ofwork awaiting me. My eyes catch sight of the USB drive and the accompanying paper. I skim through it and realize that it’s a request for me to handle the program stored on the USB drive. As I plug it in, I’m greeted withpages uponpages of indecipherable code.

Oh, come on, Cole!

I’m not a programmer, yet Cole expects me to handle this complex task. I tap my fingers on my desk, rubbing my temples.

Damn it.

This is just another challenge, I tell myself. I’ll figure it out, just as I always do. But as I stare at the code, a feeling of unease creeps in, a sense that something is amiss, that my life is about to take a turn for the worse.

I start sweating as I stare at the cryptic lines.Programming is a foreign language, ajumbled messof symbols and commands that makes my head spin. I need help and fast.

My gaze darts around the office, searching for a friendly face. But my colleagues are all engrossed in their own projects. Their brows furrowed in concentration as they navigate their screens.

Then, like a flash of lightning, I remember Sarah. Of course, why didn’t I think about her? I slap a hand across my forehead.My best friend is a tech whiz, a coding sorceress who can decipher the most complex algorithmswith ease.

With trembling fingers, I grab my phone and scroll through my contacts, my heart pounding as I find her name. I press the call button, praying she’ll answer.

The phone rings a few times before her cheerful voice fills my ear. “Hey, Ava! What’s up?”

I take a deep breath and explain. “I was hoping I could pick your brain about something. Cole just dumped this massive project on me, and I’m stuck on the programming aspect. Would you be able to help me out?”

I hold my breath, waiting for her response. Sarah is always busy with herownprojects, her life a whirlwind of tech conferences, hackathons, late-night coding sessions, and the occasional yoga retreat.

“Of course!”she replies without hesitation, her enthusiasm as infectious as ever. “Send over the files, and I’ll take a look.”

“Today?” I ask, surprised.

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