My heart drops when I turn to find him looking up at me instead of at his computer screen, eyes soft and earthy, and leaning more toward the green hue as he meets mine. Grounded, but warm.
“Yes, Mr. Ralph…?” I ask, my voice level, not giving away the chaos in my racing heart.
How am I supposed to function when he looks at me like that? So much intensity…so much fire…especially for someone who usually remains cool. His greenish-blue eyes belie his indifference, the only part of his entire being that seems alive.
What’s worse is that meeting those eyes takes me back to last night, at the gala, when he watched me walk into the hall as if he was counting my every step until I reached him.
It was that exact moment that made me forget how much I despise him, how much I hate him, and led me to that dream in the first place.
And just like I lost myself last night, I am losing myself right now, and I can’t help it.
The man looks like the Greek gods carved him, meant to be in the pages of a glossy magazine, where his ethereal features could be photographed and studied in history books that depict natural, God-given beauty.
“Nothing,” he says coolly, and returns his eyes to the screen.
I’m left frozen on the spot, brows furrowing with confusion.
What about last night?
What the—
I’m out the door, pursing my lips in irritation as I march to my office across from his, huffing and puffing and fuming under my breath, because, “What the fuck?” I mumble the question under my breath as I set the file down, my movements not betraying the way I’m feeling since he can see me through the clear glass.
I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me crumble under the weight of his indifference or his confusing behavior.
Or that dream I had last night…
The lingering memory is as brutal as the man himself, the man I’ve hated since the first day I met him. I’ve been workingfor him for four years, and I’ve managed to keep my thoughts at bay.
Until last night.
There was certainly something in his eyes—a flicker, a glint, a drop of his guard—that made it seem like he had a heart.
But I must have imagined it, because it’s gone now. If I’m meant to get through this day without losing my sanity or the patience I’ve built like armor to deal with my boss, then I have to forget all about that dream—the one in which he’d complimented my dress, and I’d folded enough for him to slide his hand under it.
The only trouble is that my mind doesn’t seem to cooperate with the hatred in my heart, and it’s nearly impossible to stop thinking about that dream when he’s so close to me.
Dear God…
How am I going to get through the morning?
Chapter 2 - Heinrich
I sit staring at the name plaque, tracing my eyes over the embossed lines that make up my name, and a sarcastic chuckle falls from my lips, gathered under my breath.
Henry Ralph…
My eyes narrow at the plaque, my mind tunneling toward its simplicity.
It’s just a piece of wood.
Ameaslypiece of wood with a metal plate stuck on it.
Surely, I can move it. If I focus hard enough, I can flip it over. Or maybe, I can let the corner slide, just an inch. Just a centimeter…
My hand lifts, fingers pointed at the plaque as I try to conjure magic through my fingertips—the kind of magic that would have moved the rectangular wood piece by now. But nothing happens, not even when I strain my mind, face contorting as a growl rumbles from my chest.
Defeated, I hang my head, wondering if this is a sick joke of my own doing.
