Chapter 24 Zatanna #3
He looks like he wants to say at least six things to that and discards all of them. Then his eyes drop to my screen.
His eyebrows rise. “You arranged all three?”
“Yes.”
“For today.”
“Yes.”
A beat.
Then, dryly, “Ambitious.”
I glance at the calendar, then back at him. “I’m on a deadline. Apparently, my emotional well-being must yield to operational efficiency.”
The corner of his mouth moves upward. “Still dramatic,” he says.
“Still impossible,” I shoot back.
Instead of replying, he does something deeply unhelpful.
He perches on the edge of my desk.
Just like that. Like he has no idea what this looks like. Like he isn’t six-foot-something of expensive menace sitting far too close to me in the middle of an open office.
I glance around instantly, heat surging up my neck. “Oh my God.”
He follows my gaze, then looks back at me, all false innocence. “What?”
“Get off my desk.”
“Why?”
“Because people can see you.”
He leans back one fraction, clearly comfortable, clearly enjoying himself. “They’ve seen me before.”
“Not sitting on my desk.”
His mouth curves now. Definitely a smirk.
That bastard.
I lower my voice. “Mr. Vasiliev.”
He tilts his head, like he’s listening to a particularly entertaining presentation. “Ms. DeLaurentis.”
My pulse is all over the place. I can feel Lina’s stare from somewhere to my left. I can feel Owen’s soul astrally projecting across the room to watch this disaster in real time.
“If anyone sees this,” I hiss, “they’re going to think something weird is happening.”
His gaze drops briefly to my mouth, then lifts again. “Something weird is happening.”
I open my mouth. Close it. Because annoyingly, yes. That is the problem.
His eyes flick to my screen again. “Three dates.”
“Three opportunities,” I correct. “You only need one bride. I’m increasing your odds.”
“And exhausting yourself in the process.”
“I’m fine.”
“You look tired.”
I narrow my eyes. “Do not start.”
That finally gets a real smile out of him. Small, but real. It does stupid things to my insides.
He lowers his voice just enough that it turns private, despite the office around us. “Did you sleep at all?”
My traitorous body remembers his hands immediately. “Some,” I say.
He studies me for a beat. Too long. Like he’s taking inventory. Like he notices everything. Then he says, very softly, “You came in anyway.”
“I told you. I was bored.”
“No,” he says. “You were restless.”
The accuracy of that annoys me far more than it should.
I cross my arms. “And you are currently making it worse.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
He glances around theatrically, then back at me. “Because I’m on your desk?”
“Yes.”
“That seems fragile.”
“I am trying to preserve at least one professional boundary.”
He looks at me with open amusement now. “A little late for that.”
I want to be furious. Instead, I can feel myself blushing again, which is honestly becoming a serious inconvenience.
Before I can come up with a cutting reply, my phone buzzes with another text. Camille.
Do you think he’s the type to appreciate red lipstick or is that too much?
I groan out loud before I can help it.
Aleksei glances at the screen, then back at me. “Problem?”
“Yes,” I say flatly. “Your dating pool is high-maintenance.”
He looks entirely unbothered. “That sounds like your problem.”
I stare at him. “This is your fault.”
“Also, true.”
Another buzz. This time Adriana.
Please settle a bet. Is he emotionally available?
I actually laugh.
Aleksei hears it and immediately looks interested. “What?”
I turn the screen slightly away from him. “Nothing.”
He reaches for the phone.
I pull it back to my chest. “Absolutely not.”
That only makes him more interested.
“Show me.”
“No.”
“Zatanna.”
“No.”
He says my name in that low, warning tone and I feel it all the way down to my knees. Which is ridiculous. Entirely unfair.
Then, before I can brace myself, he leans in slightly, bringing his face close enough that I can smell his cologne, feel the heat of him, hear the quiet amusement in his breathing.
“You know,” he murmurs, “for someone arranging my marriage, you’re remarkably territorial.”
I nearly choke on my own air. “I am not territorial.”
“No?”
“No.”
He glances meaningfully at the phone still clutched to my chest. Then at the calendar. Then back at me.
My brain short-circuits.
Because yes, okay, maybe the phrase dating pool had been a little revealing.
His smirk deepens. And for one terrible, wonderful second, sitting there at my desk while the whole office breathes around us, I forget there’s anyone else in the room.
Then Owen walks by and says, much too brightly, “Wow. Casual.”
I jerk back so hard my chair nearly rolls away from the desk.
Aleksei, of course, does not move.
He just turns his head, gives Owen a look so flat it could freeze fire, and says, “Don’t you have work?”
Owen evaporates.
I slowly turn back to Aleksei. “See?”
He lifts one shoulder. “What?”
“I told you someone would see.”
“And yet,” he says, sliding gracefully off my desk at last, “you survived.”
Barely.
He straightens his cuffs and glances once more at my screen. “Cancel the gallery walk.”
I blink. “What?”
“Sienna.”
I stare at him. “You haven’t even met her.”
He looks down at me, utterly calm. “She asked whether to be intellectual or flirtier, didn’t she?”
My silence gives me away.
He nods once, deeply pleased with himself. “Cancel it.”
“How did you—”
“You have expressive eyebrows.”
That is not a real answer.
He turns to leave, then pauses just long enough to add, “And keep the red lipstick.”
I freeze. Slowly, I look down at my phone.
Then back up at him.
He doesn’t turn around again, just keeps walking toward his office like he didn’t just peek into my messages, psychoanalyze a woman he’s never met, and absolutely wreck my ability to function before lunch.
I stare after him for a full five seconds. Then mutter to myself, “I hate him.”
From somewhere behind me, Owen’s voice floats over in a stage whisper. “Girl, no you don’t.”
I don’t dignify that with a response.
Mainly because I’m too busy trying not to smile.