Chapter 5 #2
"I'd say that's a night worth bragging about, if you know what I mean." She didn't understand my anxiety at all. "And I'm sure you were amazing too."
"Stop." My face burned like fire.
"Looks like I guessed right."
She'd barely suppressed her grin when the office suddenly quieted. A hand with thick, stubby knuckles rapped twice on our divider. I looked up. Our supervisor stood in the aisle, clutching a stack of files, his toupee edge more obvious than usual.
"You two done chatting?"
Winnie immediately pulled her chair back. "Sorry. We'll get back to work."
The supervisor slapped one file onto my desk.
"New requirements from the Hendersons. Revise it before lunch."
I opened the first page. My temple throbbed. The entire wedding's floral design, seating chart, and reception flow had to be redone.
"Did this just come in this morning?" I asked.
"Client demands are orders." He glanced at me. "Work hours aren't for socializing. Whether you get a bonus this month depends on whether you can learn to shut up and work."
Lily's suppressed laughter reached my ears. The supervisor heard it but didn't even turn his head.
"Understood," I said.
He paused, seemingly unsatisfied with my attitude, but eventually left with his files.
Once his office door closed, Winnie messaged me.
"Lily can ramble on all morning and he won't hear a thing. But the second we exchange a few words, he can suddenly hear a pin drop."
"He's not deaf. He just knows who he can bully without consequences."
We exchanged eye rolls and put our phones away.
I actually loved this job. Wedding planner—it sounded romantic, bringing happiness to people. If circumstances allowed, I'd even thought about opening my own planning studio someday, sending blessings to couples about to marry.
But right now, I still had to deal with clients' unique requests. Like making a bouquet look like a head of cauliflower.
Keyboard clicks filled the office again. I buried myself in work.
At some point—my neck aching—I saw the supervisor rush out of his office.
He straightened his tie while his assistant switched out the meeting room's bottled water for premium brands. Our usually absent boss emerged from another office, heading for the elevator with the legal team in tow.
The printer spat out pages no one collected. Lily excitedly pulled out a compact and touched up her lipstick.
"Anyone who makes the boss personally greet them can decide whether we still have jobs tomorrow." Winnie's gaze stayed fixed on the hallway.
Before I could respond, the group reappeared outside the glass wall.
The boss walked slightly ahead, smile more cautious than when courting our biggest clients. The supervisor trailed half a step behind, nodding obsequiously. But the man they surrounded needed no introduction. I recognized Varlam instantly.
His height—well over six feet—made him tower above everyone else. When others spoke, he only nodded occasionally, yet the entire hallway's rhythm bent to his pace.
A dark suit wrapped his broad shoulders and solid chest, fabric pulling taut with each step. I knew what lay beneath—the muscles, the chest and back covered in scars and ink. Last night, my hands had traced those intersecting tattoos and marks all the way down.
But why was he here? My brain stalled.
The boss was showing off the design area. Varlam followed his gesture toward the glass wall, gaze sweeping across the rows of desks. Then it stopped on me. No searching. No hesitation. Like he'd known exactly where I sat all along.
My spine straightened reflexively. Every inch of skin he'd touched last night sprang back to life.
Those eyes pinned me down, landing first on my face, then sliding excruciatingly slowly over my lips. Just one second, but I heard my breathing stumble off-beat. I remembered this morning's resolution to get everything back on track.
Apparently, no one left without his permission.
Varlam looked away, as if that silent touch had never happened. They moved toward the conference room and disappeared around the corner.
But my chest still felt compressed, aching.
Winnie's mouth fell open, then snapped shut.
"That's him?"
No point in playing dumb.
"Yes."
"What's he doing here?"
"Why would I know?"
"The way he looked at you—like he knows what's under your skirt."
I shot her a glare. I just wanted to get back to work. But my coworkers' excited, gossipy chatter kept chasing me.
Everyone speculated about the silver-haired man. Some said big new client. Others said investor.
The supervisor returned quickly. His face still bore the creases from all that obsequious smiling, but the moment he stepped into our area, the fawning vanished.
"Seen enough?"
No one answered.
"The company pays you to work, not drool over men."
A few heads dropped. Lily slid her compact into a drawer and started typing casually.
The supervisor's gaze skimmed over her lightly, then stopped at my desk.
"Briony."
Of course. Everyone watching, but he only ever saw my mistakes.
"Stand up."
I frowned and rose. His eyes slid from my face to my chest, disgust naked on his face.
"This is an office. Who are you dressed like that for?"
I looked down. White tee and midi skirt—what I'd worn to yesterday's wedding. Neckline not low, hem below the knee. The only problem was that this outfit, on my body, could never hang as flat as it would on Lily's.
My chest filled out the fabric in obvious curves. The skirt hugged my hips.
"My clothes meet dress code."
"Dress code covers the clothes, not how some people stretch them till they're about to burst." He sneered. "You really think showing a little cleavage makes rich men look twice at you?"
My brow twitched. Fire ignited in my lungs.
"At least I earn my paycheck through work, not by humiliating my subordinates for an ego boost."
Someone gasped.
His face turned crimson. "Pack your things. You're fired."
My stomach dropped, cold flooding my back. But I didn't lower my gaze.
"Have HR give me formal notice. You don't have the authority to fire me for refusing to be humiliated."
"Hand over your badge."
"I'll wait for HR."
His hand shot toward the lanyard at my chest. I dodged, but he grabbed my collar, exposing the edge of my bra. He stared at my chest for several seconds, his gaze viscous and nauseating.
I slapped his hand away. "Seen enough?"
He seemed to snap out of it, furious with shame, and grabbed my arm to drag me out.
"Since you won't leave on your own, I'll personally escort you out."
"Let go of me!"
My other hand clutched the desk edge, resisting his violent pull. Winnie rushed over to help, but he shoved her back hard. My fingers hurt so badly I could barely hold on.
I was about to knee him when I heard his scream.
He released me. Momentum made me stumble backward. I thought I'd hit the floor—it would hurt like hell and give my coworkers gossip for days. But a solid arm caught my waist, steadying me against a familiar cedar scent.
"You all right?" The deep voice came from above.
My breath stopped. Varlam. Why had he come back?