Page 8 of Charmingly Obsessed
He blinks, glancing around in exaggerated confusion, even turning slightly to look behind him.
“W-what?” I stammer, thrown off balance.
“Looking for thisMr.Frez fellow,” he says, his brow furrowed in mock seriousness. He points towards the taxi’s front wheel. “Is that him? Hiding behind the tire?”
From behind the chalk-streaked rubber, a fat, iridescent pigeon peeks out, puffing its chest importantly. It cocks its head, observing us with beady eyes, then waddles with immense dignity towards a discarded plastic bag near the patchy grass.
I look back at Frez. And despite everything – the chase, the fear, the raw tension – I see it. A flicker of genuine, weary amusement in his turbulent blue eyes.
Against my will, the corner of my mouth lifts. Then the other. A tiny, hesitant smile.
His reaction is instantaneous. His gaze sharpens, locks onto my mouth. He goes utterly still. “She’s smiling,” he whispers, the words barely audible, laced with a strange, intense wonder. Then, lower, almost a hum, a thread of quiet exhilaration weaving through the exhaustion, “She’s smiling… and I’m… flying…”
Sounds like lyrics from some song. One I don’t know.
The moment breaks. I clear my throat, forcing myself back to reality. “Mykola, I assure you, David isn’t just suitable candidate. He’s far more experienced, more motivated—”
“Stop. This isn’t about David. You’re the specialist I need. That’s not the issue.”
“Then whatis?”
“You could both work here, Diana. There’s room.”
“I… I can’t workhereanymore.”
“What happened?” he presses, his voice softening slightly, but his eyes remain fiercely insistent. He waits, giving me space, a rare display of patience.
“It’s… complicated. A combination of factors.”
“Then uncomplicate it for me,” he counters immediately. “One by one. If there’s a problem, we find a solution. That’s what I do.”
“Why?” The question escapes me in a whisper. I clutch my bag tighter, my fingers finding the worn fringe on the pocket, twisting it. “Why do you even care?”
“Why shouldn’t I care when one of my best employees walks out? This is mypersonal familyoffice. Not some faceless subsidiary.”
“If there was a way, I would stay,” I murmur, looking down. “It’s just… a long story.”
His eyes flicker, scanning my face, restless, unsettled. He tilts his head, his gaze drifting up towards the dark windows of my apartment building. “Is someone… waiting for you there?” he asks quietly. As if he could somehow divine the answer from the blank panes of glass. As if he could see the ghost hanging in my living room.
The image flashes, sharp and brutal: the antique wardrobe, the rope, the faint sway in the draft from the window I left open three days ago and haven’t had the strength to close.
That’swhat’s waiting for me. A nightmare made tangible. Someone will have to take the rope down eventually. Just not me.
I straighten my shoulders, pushing the image away. “I’m sorry to disappoint you,” I say, forcing firmness into my voice. “But I have a plan. I need to stick to it. This wasn’t easy for me either.”
Frez slowly lifts his head, his gaze sweeping over my face, intense, as if committing every feature to memory. The stillness is unnerving, the depths of his blue eyes like swirling galaxies. My bag strap digs into my shoulder. How do I survive the next five minutes?
“Did you lie to me back there because you intended to leave all along? Or did you change your mind… after I tried to kiss you again?”
Again.The word hangs in the air, distorting reality. Tried to kiss meagain? Back in the office today? Hewantedto? Why? What is this? Some cruel, elaborate joke?
My brain scrambles. It can’t be about my looks. I’m plain, not repulsive. Is it because I’m awkward? Uptight? Obviously inexperienced?Yes, let’s analyze this for the five hundredth time.
“I intended to leave all along. I wasn’t honest. I didn’t want to… upset you.”
“Disappointed, upset…” He takes an involuntary step closer, crowding me. My breath catches. “We need to figure out what it takes for you to stay,” he insists, the command back in his voice. “Salary, benefits, time off – two weeks, starting tomorrow? Everything is negotiable.”
A choked laugh escapes me. Bitter, humorless. I immediately regret it; it sounds dismissive. But his relentless persistence, his utter refusal to accept reality, is absurd. Maybe… maybe he feels guilty? Aboutthat day three days ago? Maybe his perfect image requires absolution, and he assumed I’d be eternally grateful, eternally silent. Well, I mostly was.
