Page 19

I fall asleep several times, only to wake up with a start a few minutes later. My phone display still shows nothing new. I start to regret my impulsive behavior. If I were to be honest with myself, I’d call it an act of desperation.

He’s going to think I’m some crazy woman who’s going to harass him in the middle of the night for the rest of his life.

He’s going to complain about me to Human Resources.

Get me fired.

Call the police.

Hire a lawyer.

Tell my parents everything.

Make fun of me to the woman who’s in his arms right now.

Grace is going to call me and threaten me, and she’d have every right to.

My inner monologue finally reaches its limits, and emotional exhaustion lulls me back to sleep. It’s 4:48 a.m. when a vibration shakes my pillow. I open my eyes, my breath catches in my throat, and I panic. I unlock my screen, and Vadim’s reply appears.

[Vadim

Are you trying to hurt me? Dammit, what do you want, Alma,

besides messing with my head?]

I type a reply.

[Alma

To make you understand that I love you…]

I erase it right away, before I can send it. I can’t write those words to him. I have to say them to his face.

Or maybe I should just not say anything.

Overwhelmed by his message, I struggle to find the right words, as fear twists my stomach. His sincerity has stunned me. After drafting and deleting a dozen replies, I finally give up. I toss my phone onto the rug, far enough away that I won’t reach for it, and try to fall back asleep, burying my head beneath the pillow.

I don’t know what awaits us. What Vadim is feeling. What he wants from me. All I know is that this war of egos has to stop. None of this is a game.

It never was.

9

Alma

I should have answered him. Just a few inconsequential words, a simple sentence that wouldn’t create any confusion. I should have told him that our reunion had affected me, shaken me even, but that the shock has passed. That I ask nothing of him. That I want only one thing: for us to be able to work together harmoniously without letting ourselves be overwhelmed by past feelings. That once I closed my memory box, I was ready to look ahead instead of losing myself in his eyes. That I am perfectly willing to keep things strictly professional. He is my boss, and I am his deputy director, nothing more. Simple, right?

Except I didn’t reply at all. And I don’t believe a word of that mature, rational spiel. Seven endless days and six restless nights have passed since that message. Vadim King hasn’t left my thoughts—nor my dreams. I can’t close my eyes without seeing his familiar face appear, his unsettling smile, his feverish gaze.

He has left Paris for an indefinite period, and already, the ache of missing him is eating away at me. The result? My brain is in tatters.

For a week now, I’ve been seeing him everywhere. On the patio of a café, at my gym, at taxi stands, in the supermarket. I know it makes absolutely no sense. Vadim King isn’t the type to have a drink at the local bistro, frequent trendy gyms, or make do without his driver, much less browse the yogurt aisle. But I fall for it every time.

And whenever my eyes and my reason betray me, the same pattern repeats itself. I feel a suffocating rush of heat. My body becomes feverish. My pulse races. My legs tremble. I crash back down to earth when the man in question turns around and it’s clear he has nothing in common with Vadim, not even a passing resemblance. Then, I go back into hiding, as disappointed as I am ashamed.

Still no sign of him at the office. What if he left because of me? Niels would say that I think everything revolves around me, and he’d be right, but the possibility isn’t completely absurd. That photo of us might have unsettled him. He might have distanced himself to think things through, to avoid getting carried away. Yes, that makes sense. And now I’m facing another day without him at the production company that bears his name.

“Alma, did you get all dressed up just for me?”