Page 30 of Shadows of Obsession

“Sure. We start tomorrow?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

That'll give me time to figure this out. Maybe I could disappear for a month to somewhere remote, email HR my resignation from a place with no cell service...

“Actually, we need to start now,” he says, pulling a laptop from his drawer.

“I've gotten you access to the source code for the project. This isn't a small problem - better tackle it immediately.” His eyes lock onto mine.

He's waiting for me to say no.

He's expecting me to crumble at his demand, and suddenly I want to prove I'm not that fragile. That I can hold my own against him. I catch his stare, and that gray seems darker, more intense. Why does he have to have such magnetic eyes?

“Sure,” I say with my most artificial smile.

He knows it's fake - I see it in how his jaw tightens. Hope my look tells him I can play this game too.

I sign in and start walking him through my architecture design.

He turns toward me, and though we keep it strictly professional, his knee keeps brushing mine. When he leans in to point at code he doesn't understand, his hand grazes mine. They're just split-second touches, but each one sends electricity through my skin. It's maddening. His words echo —Next time you'll beg me to do it— and I have to close my eyes for a moment.

Roman acts completely unmoved by it all, while my traitorous body melts at every touch.

The next two hours drag by in technical explanations until my stomach lets out a sound like a grizzly coming out of winter sleep. I want to disappear under his carpet from embarrassment.

“Sorry, I didn't get a chance to eat before coming in,” I mumble, feeling the blush spread across my face and neck.

With a smile that's probably landed him half the Victoria's Secret catalog models, he picks up his phone.

“Get us some Asian food. Pad Thai?”

He looks at me for confirmation, and I nod. I love Asian food, and I wonder if he somehow knew or if it's just coincidence.

How would he know what you like to eat?

God, you need therapy.

Forty minutes later, the orange-suit receptionist guy shows up with several boxes, setting them on a table near the desk. He flashes me this massive grin that makes me frown - what's that about?

“Anything else?” he asks Roman.

The way he studies me makes me uncomfortable. And the casual way he addresses Roman doesn't escape my notice.

“Felix.” Roman's tone carries a clear warning.

The guy - Felix, apparently - throws his hands up in mock surrender and backs out, still wearing that knowing smile.

"Forgive him, but he's naturally indiscreet," I hear Roman saying while getting up to look at the food.

I can't avoid the smile forming because honestly? Roman and Felix are at such opposite ends of the spectrum, I'm surprised they haven't strangled each other yet.

I look up to find Roman studying me with this mix of confusion and curiosity that tells me exactly what's coming.

“I was just thinking how different you and Felix are. Didn't expect your assistant to be so...entertaining.”

It's the only word that fits. Even when Roman tries to seem casual, there's this aura of authority around him that demands respect.

“Don't let the act fool you. He's sharp as a tack when he wants to be,” Roman says, amusement coloring his voice.

He probably doesn't realize how obvious it is that he cares about Felix. But then, I'm oversensitive to feelings. Way too many feelings.

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