Chapter 17
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Luna
Next morning, instead of typing up my resignation, I'm heading to the train, audiobook playing through my headphones - the same one I've been trying to finish all week.
For courage, I've sprayed on Tom Ford Café Rose - my power perfume. Something about it makes me feel invincible, at least in my head. Somewhere along the way, I abandoned the plan to disappear for a month hoping my boss would forget I exist.
The thought of moving, of running again, just drains me. And though I know my danger signals better than anyone, Roman's never made me feel physically unsafe.
Emotionally though? Maybe it'd be easier if he didn't look at me like he wanted to take away all my worries. But my scattered brain can't seem to understand that I don't need another complication - and that's exactly what Roman is. A problem for both my mind and heart.
The train packed, and I'm basically playing human Tetris to fit in. Running late means I can't wait for the next train, so I squeeze myself between this sixty-something guy reading his paper one-handed while gripping the pole and a teenage girl tapping her foot to the latest Taylor Swift. It's like both sides of my personality decided to meet up for drinks - the thought makes me bite back a smile.
When I reach the building, I don't bother with coffee because I'm again running to arrive somewhat on time, and I applaud myself for deciding to wear my UGGs today. Yes, I know, they're ugly. You can judge my fashion sense all you want, but these things were made by angels for my feet.
Period.
When I reach the twenty-second floor, Felix analyzes my outfit and raises an eyebrow.
"I can forgive that mustard yellow blouse and jeans, but what the hell do you have on your feet? Did you attack a group of subway rats and decide to make an offering of their fur?" And it's precisely his horrified tone that makes me laugh.
With all my teeth and all my soul.
"Don't be dramatic. Your feet would be in heaven if you wore something like this," I tell him while slightly extending my foot forward so he can see my footwear better.
"I prefer to roll in hell's feathers, thank you." And with that he hands me a coffee and signals me to go in.
I'm left open-mouthed at his gesture and only manage to whisper, "You're an angel."
I take a sip, and it's exactly how I drink my coffee. Lots of milk, some sugar, and the two shots of espresso that wake up my brain.
"Don’t I know it."
He's already busy typing at this computer, so I avoid asking how the hell he knows how I take my coffee. I head toward my boss's door, completely relaxed, and knock twice.
In two seconds, his voice resonates from beyond the door, and I enter. Roman is at his desk and the tapping of keys is all that can be heard.
When he tears his eyes from the keyboard, I feel his gaze scan me from head to toe, and suddenly I bitterly regret wearing these UGGs today. They're slightly hideous. But when his gaze reaches my footwear, I see his mouth curve slightly and then notice the dimples in his cheeks.
Because, of course, he has dimples too. For God's sake.
"Good morning, Luna," he tells me in that tone that I think is meant to be friendly.
"Good morning, Mr. Borisov," I answer and put a smile on my lips.
I see it register when I call him Mr. Borisov instead of Roman - that little gleam in his eyes - but he lets it slide.
“Need you to run a quick audit on the database today, check for any obvious data manipulation,” he says simply.
I nod and head for the coffee table with its two velvet armchairs.
“Anything specific I'm looking for?” I ask, wondering how long Tim's mess is going to keep me from my actual work on the monitoring system.
“Honestly? Not exactly. Random updates, missing IDs, values that don't make sense.”
I feel my eyes go wide as I take a breath. Great. That means checking everything.
Realizing I'll be stuck here all day again, I text Clara to cancel lunch. Already missed yesterday and I'd promised to make it today.
“Something wrong?” His voice cuts through the office silence, making me glance up with a slight frown.
“No, no. It's nothing,” I say quickly, turning to log into the database when he interrupts again.
“Luna.”
Just one word. But he says my name like 'Stop playing games and tell me.'
“I was supposed to have lunch with someone, but with all this auditing, I won't make it. Had to cancel,” I explain, turning back to the authentication error telling me I'm not authorized.
And this day had started so well.
“With whom?”
Now he's frowning, and I bet if I touched his face, every muscle would be stone hard. Because I apparently have a death wish, I give him my sweetest, most innocent voice.
“I don't think that's any of your business.”
I keep fighting with the laptop, trying to get into these database tables before I end up camping out at Roman's desk tonight. He focuses on his phone, dropping the subject. Thank God.
Thirty minutes and half a latte later, I've gotten through one table. Only fifteen more to go before freedom.
“Any reason my colleagues can't help with this audit?” I ask, struggling through record fifty-six in table four, fighting connection errors.
I look up to find him already watching me - and not just for a few seconds, I'd bet money on it.
“Where are you stuck?”
“How do you know I'm stuck?”
I mentally slap myself, closing my eyes for a second because I just dropped the formal act. Damn it. When I open them, I catch his satisfied smirk at my slipup. Don't get cocky.
“You bite your lower lip when things don't go your way.” He says it like he's reading the weather, not sharing a creepily detailed observation of my stress habits.
When I can't find words, his grin grows wider - apparently, my speechlessness brings him the same joy hot chocolate brings me.
I won't give him the satisfaction. I won't give him the satisfaction.
“Having database connection issues,” I finally manage.
"Hmm. And you need your colleagues to solve it?" he asks, and I detect the undertone trying to provoke me.
For a moment, I want to smack that smug grin off his face. No, I don't need help. He probably knows that too - it's why he keeps poking at me.
“You can handle it after lunch,” he says, eyes on the laptop.
“Already cancelled,” I sigh.
“Pretty sure if you text Clara, she'll still meet you,” he says casually.
“How do you know I was meeting Clara?”
My eyes are about to pop out of my head, and in another second they'll start shooting daggers at him.
“ You went through my messages ?” comes out as a hissed whisper, and I don't know why I'm not actually screaming.
Oh wait, I do know . Mom raised me to be polite and civilized. Should've taught me how to crack skulls instead. More useful right now.
“Had to verify you weren't communicating with whoever wants the prototype.”
He looks so proud of that answer, knowing I can't really argue against it. We both know I'm innocent, but somehow that's never been made clear between us. I take a breath, choosing my words carefully.
“You know damn well I had nothing to do with Tim's offer, so that excuse only works in your head. Could've just asked who I was meeting - didn't need to hack my phone.”
“I did ask and you chose not to answer. That makes me suspicious. When I'm suspicious, I don't ask permission before acting," he tells me while looking at me with those eyes that are now a dark gray.
Good. I want him angry. Because I'm furious.
This is exactly why I need boundaries. I already had someone trying to control every breath I took. I can’t let another person do it, CEO or not.
“Next time, try using your words to ask,” I tell him, standing to leave for lunch.
I need air, so I walk out without another word. The fact he sees nothing wrong with this is exactly the problem. I know he's more than just a CEO - don't know what exactly, but definitely not the kind of man you bring home to meet your parents.
I find Clara at her desk, and we head to this little bistro that serves all-day brunch. I order hot chocolate and a croque madame, hoping to eat my frustrations away.
“Finn mentioned you're wrapped up in some investigation with Mr. Borisov. You okay?” Her concern makes me want to be honest.
This morning, Gregory sent out an email saying Tim got fired for a security breach - something about giving his login credentials to a competitor. That's the official story behind my epic database investigation. Which I am doing, just not for the reasons everyone thinks.
"Yes, they want to make sure Tim didn't modify the data," I tell her but don't look her in the eyes, literally playing with the food on my plate.
It's a problem I've always had. I can't lie to someone and look them in the eyes while doing it.
"I still can't believe it. I mean, he never seemed unhappy," she tells me slightly amazed.
I try to breathe because I feel anxiety spreading through my body again.
I'm saved when my phone vibrates, but when I look to see who's messaging me, I freeze.
?
No. It can't be him . He promised to stay away. Damien made him swear. But it's an unknown number, and he's the only one who ever called me 'sweetie.'
“Luna? You just went ghost-white. Bad news?” Clara asks.
I look up at her, trying to keep my face neutral, fighting off the panic attack I feel building. I can barely breathe, and suddenly everything's ice cold.
“Yeah, emergency at home,” I manage, knowing there's no way to explain why I look like I've seen a ghost and why I'm shaking like one.
Clara's intuitive enough to see I'm done with lunch. She handles the bill while I scan the street like I'm expecting disaster from every direction.
Back at the office, she gets off at four, where our department is, while I keep going to twenty-two. The moment I'm alone, I crumple to the elevator floor, everything going blurry.
Logically, I know I'm breathing, but my head feels submerged underwater and my heartbeat's thundering in my ears. No idea how long I've been here, frozen. There's noise around me, but it's all muffled, nothing breaking through this paralysis I'm trapped in.
Just one thought loops through my mind: Aidan found me.