She cocks her head to the side, one brow arching in disagreement. “Have you seen him, Annika? Of course, the sun shines out of his ass. It shines out of his pores.”
Her eyes flicker past my shoulder, her jaw dropping as she practically drools. “I mean…just look at him.”
The air shifts, a soft passing wind pulling my attention in the direction she’s gawking, and against my better judgment, I find myself meeting Mr. Ralph’s eyes as if he’d been staring at the back of my head, as if he knew I’d been dreaming about him last night.
My breath catches in my throat, and no matter how many times I’ve seen him, it’s nearly impossible to resist the urge to keep my eyes glued to the stunning Adonis walking into the lobby from the elevator. He steps out, and one long stride brings him halfway across the hall, his shoulders squared and broad, tapering into the tiny waist where one button fastens his black blazer. One hand is casually tucked in the pocket of his tailored black pants, the expensive fabric hugging his powerful thighs and leaving little to the imagination.
I’m not even breathing by the time my eyes flit across the prominent bulge at the apex of his thighs, and when I tear my gaze away with guilt, I find his eyes still stuck on my face, as if he’s accusing me of a heinous crime.
I’m guilty as charged, and feel my cheeks burning with shame as I recall the dream I had last night. Luckily, my highly melanated flesh doesn’t betray me by displaying a blush so easily, but it’s as if my boss can see right through me, not removing his eyes from my face.
Was that…a smirk I saw crossing his lips? I’m pretty sure I just saw the evidence of a dimple in his cheek—something that’s usually unnoticeable because of the dark beard framing his face, and his stoic and cold demeanor.
As briefly as it was there—unless I imagined it—it’s gone, and he returns to his ruthless coldness, walking past us without a nod or any acknowledgment as he continues strutting toward his office like a model on a runway.
That’s where he belongs—not as the director of a multi-million-dollar pharmaceutical company that actually helps people.
How can someone so cruel be the reason for so much healing?
How can someone so cold have such a distinctly human and intoxicatingly masculine scent? The air is filled with it, wrapping me in tendrils of invisible chains that keep me bound to the spot, intrusive thoughts of last night's dream flashing through my mind like I’m reliving every moment of a nightmare.
Sauvage…
He wears it like a medal, like the savage of a human being he is.
Perks of being his personal assistant include ordering his cologne when it runs out…
“Annika…?” Melissa snaps me out of my daze, her voice a lifeline in the unwarranted thoughts and fantasies, springing me back to life.
“Yes. The meeting,” I say matter-of-factly, clutching the file to my chest as I straighten my spine and square my shoulders, even as a cold shiver passes through me. I don’t even flinch, marching forward with my chin lifted defiantly, unfazed, as I walk toward his office door.
I lift my hand and give a tight, firm knock, then wait for the response that never comes.
“Three…two…one…” I count down before I turn the handle and step inside, keeping my eyes bolted to the painting of the Eiffel Tower behind him.
Romantic?
Pfft!
He keeps that painting there only because it was a gift from an investor.
“Good morning, Mr. Ralph,” I greet as I walk toward his desk, opening the file and taking out the first page from the binder, then holding it out to him. I only briefly catch the details of the meeting as the page drifts from me to him, but I’ve already clocked them by the time it lands in his hand. Over the years, I’ve learned to be efficient while working for him. I’ve never been caught slipping, because I’ve seen how he treats anyone who does.
“You have a meeting scheduled for 10 a.m.”
Mr. Henry Ralph doesn’t even look at me as he sits at his desk and skims the content of the page. He holds the page out to me again, his eyes returning to his computer screen.
“Get me my usual,” is all he says.
There’s no point in arguing with his cold dismissal, or reminding him that I’m not the one doing the coffee runs for his double-shot espresso. That’s Melissa’s job, and while the images of the dream continue to flash in my mind, I need to get away as quickly as I can.
At least I have two hours to go before I need to be in the same room as him again, and until then, I can drown myself in other work to keep my mind distracted.
He doesn’t offer even another breath as I turn on my heel, making the escape painless until I’m at the door. Just as I’m reaching for the handle, he speaks.
“About last night…” he says with a pause, as if he’s expecting me to turn and give him my attention.
I do—reluctantly, begrudgingly—doing everything in my power to keep a straight, unbothered face while I’m mentally fuming.
