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I never asked where he’s from but the women here love to gossip, so I know that he’s Italian. I could throw out comparisons to Roman Gods and angels weeping over his bone structure, but why bother? He’s stunning. That’s all there is to say on the matter.
Unfortunately, his perfect Hollywood smile, dashing good looks, and smouldering green bedroom eyes do nothing to make up for the one area he’s severely lacking in: his personality.
He knows he’s God’s gift to women, talented, great at his job, and there’s not an ounce of humility to go with it. I hate the guy. Ever since he arrived at the marketing agency where I work, around six months ago, he’s been the bane of my existence. Because of course he’s one of the best marketing accounts managers we’ve ever employed at the company. And Mr Mortimer loves him because since his arrival, he’s brought in a ton of new accounts.
He’s now my ultimate competition.
When he first started back in November, I didn’t take him seriously, but he soon proved to me and everyone else that he wasn’t here to play. Or should I say, I wasn’tjusthere to play. He seems to have plenty of fun working his way through the female staff, if the lunchroom gossip is anything to go by.
Rumour has it that the company is looking to expand by the end of the year, and a juicy promotion has been dangled over my head for months now. Last year I thought it was guaranteed to be mine, then Lycus showed up and now I’m having to compete for every big-name account that comes our way.
Including this one.
As if all that wasn’t bad enough, I have to deal with the guy in my private life too. He moved into my apartment block – granted it’s owned by the company, butstill– and he’s always bloodythere. At the ground floor coffee shop every morning before I leave for work, in the health suite during the evenings as I work off the stress of being around him all day, on the rooftop terrace after dark, when I’m trying to enjoy a glass of wine in private. It seems whether I’m at home or at work, I cannot get away from this guy.
It would be creepy if he wasn’t so damn gorgeous too. Or if, you know, he’d shown even an ounce of interest in me. I swear I’m going crazy whenever I’m around him; it feels like his eyes are on me, but I never catch him staring. He’s never really tried to talk to me or to get into my pants, so his presence isn’t stalkerish, just unnerving.
It’s like he’s trying to get into my head and mess with me, to psych me out, so that I’m off my game at work. It’s the only thing I can think of. Sabotage by subtlety.
Lycus points to some of the slides with his laser pointer and I tune out. I hate this part of presentations, when he dictates, and the sound of the words from his mouth are all I can concentrate on. All I hear is the melody of his voice, the words beginning to roll off his tongue in that beautiful, mellifluous, foreign accent. I’m so engrossed in listening to him talk about the new product launch without actuallyhearinga word, that I fail to notice he’s now staring directly at me.
My breath catches in my throat, and I feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment. I quickly look away, pretending to take notes on my notepad. But I can still feel his piercing gaze on me, and I know he’s trying to throw me off my game. Which is ridiculous because he already did that by derailing the end of my presentation. He should be more concerned with his own. Though it’s probably absolutely perfect like everything else he sets his mind to.
Ugh. I really dislike the guy.
I take a deep breath and try to refocus on the presentation again. But his voice now seems to have taken on a sultry tone, making my heart race. I must be imagining things.
Who brings their bedroom voice to the boardroom?
I can’t believe I’m getting turned on by this arrogant arsehole. I try to shake the feeling off, but I can’t help imagining what it would be like to run my hands through his dark hair, or to feel his strong arms around me. Caging me in while he?—
Suddenly, he finishes the presentation and all eyes turn back to me. I realise I’ve been lost in my own thoughts for too long. I quickly gather my things and thank the customer for their time. We all shake hands with Mr Alpine, and then he leaves and I can breathe.
When the door closes and the client is out of sight, my boss turns to me with a sigh.
“Angelica, I think you should take the rest of the day off.”
My heart stops beating at my boss’ words.
“What? Why?”
“I just think?—”
“You can’t fire me for spilling some water.” It’s meant to come out fierce, but I wince at the pleading in my tone. I mean, he can’t, right?
“I think we can all agree that it was a bit more than ‘some’, but I’m not firing you.”
“Oh.” I blink rapidly to keep my tears at bay. I would die if I cried in front of Lycus. Speaking of, why is he still here? Of course he’d stay to watch me get a dressing down from management. He lives to see me fail. He’s always nearby, lurking, watching and waiting for me to slip up. Which I never did, before he arrived. Now I barely feel capable most days. “Then why do I have to go home?”
“Today was stressful. You worked hard. You deserve a break. Lycus, I want you to go home too. I know neither of you have any urgent deadlines or other important meetings today, so go and relax. You both did exceptionally well today, jugs of water aside.”
Lycus chuckles at Mr Mortimer’s attempt at humour, but it feels cruel to me.
I pack up my things and head out of the conference room, trying to ignore the way Lycus’s eyes seem to follow me.Like always.It’s unnerving the way he has this hold over me, even when he’s not saying anything.
As I make my way down the hallway, I can hear his footsteps behind me. I quicken my pace, but he catches up easily, because his damn legs are twice the length of mine.
“Angelica,” he calls out, his voice low and smooth. “Wait up.”
