Page 37 of Charmingly Obsessed
What the hell are her paintings doing in an acquisition presentation?!
“I think the misunderstanding here is…” Albina continues, her voice trembling slightly, her eyes darting between me and Diana. “Diana is joining us as a marketingdesigner, Mykola. For marketing materials. You thought… you thought she was the new collection manager? Right? We closed that vacancy last month. We… we added Diana’s paintings to the slideshow so theteam could get used to her artistic style. Since she said she didn’t have a commercial portfolio to show…”
“I understand.” I stare down at the polished surface of the table, unable to meet anyone’s gaze. Especially not hers. “It’s clear now.”
“They… they aren’t for sale,” Diana stammers, her voice barely a whisper, and my heart, my stupid, arrogant heart, shreds into a million goddamn pieces. “I took them off the market. They are bad. I…”
“Diana,” I start, too loudly, desperate to explain, to apologize, to rewind time. “I thought… I had no idea… I…”
“I think we’re done here,” Albina cuts in firmly, her professionalism a lifeline in the suddenly hostile waters. She stands. “Diana,” she says to Diana, her voice gentle now, “Crosby and Aisana will show you to your workspace. Give you the tour. Let’s go.”
Diana rises from her chair. Her movements are graceful, fluid, despite the tension coiling in the room.
And as she walks towards the door, the waves of emotion crash over me again. Horror. Panic. Aching, desperate longing. Overwhelming, consuming desire. Exhilaration, sharp and painful. And fear. So much fucking fear.
I don’t even remember how I spring to my feet, how I manage to follow them out of the conference room.
But Albina’s irritated, furious face appearing directly in front of me, blocking my path in the hallway, stops me dead in my tracks.
She pulls me aside, her grip surprisingly strong on my arm.
“Mykola,” she hisses, her voice low and sharp, all pretense of deference gone. “I am about to throw subordination, protocol, and my fucking employment contract out the goddamn window. What in the hell are you doing? I know dozens of clinical psychologists with twenty years of experience, and eventheyaren’t as perceptive, as insightful, as you usually are.Usually. What the actual fuck got into you back there?”
“I got confused. I lost track of the conversation. I thought she was the collection manager…”
“That’s not the point, Mykola! You… you didn’t just critique her work. Youtore her apart. Personally.”
That sparks a completely irrational, juvenile wave of anger in me.
I would never have critiqued the paintings like that if I’d known the artist was in the room. Especially not if the artist washer. Never!
“It was a misunderstanding.” I sigh, running a hand through my hair, feeling sick to my stomach. “I assumed—”
“No, no, it’s not justthat,” she lowers her voice, but the fury is still there. “You werestaringat her, Mykola. Staring and… andlaughing. I’m sorry, but I’m in shock right now. She’s a beautiful girl, yes, but that was so far over the line it’s in another goddamn galaxy—”
No. She’s not just a beautiful girl. She’s… she’s fucking magic.
And how lucky am I, how unbelievably, terrifyingly lucky, that I realized it instantly? And how catastrophically unlucky that I then proceeded to destroy any chance I might have had with her in the space of ten minutes?
“I’ll control it,” I manage, my voice hoarse. “It was… too much. I’ll… I’ll do something. Fix it.”
“Mykola,” Albina exhales, some of the anger draining away, replaced by a weary concern. “You can see she’s insecure. Hesitant. We can’t create that kind of toxic atmosphere in this office. You completelycrushedher. The pointed questions, the insinuations, the… theanalysisof her art. She got so nervous she just… shut down. She’s humiliated, Mykola. Cornered. Scared. And—”
“Enough,” I warn, my voice like ice now. Because I can’t listen to another second of it. The litany of what I’ve done to her. The damage I’ve inflicted.
Albina watches me closely, her expression unreadable. “Just… make sure this doesn’t end in a lawsuit, Mykola. For sexual harassment. Or creating a hostile work environment. Or just… being a colossal asshole.”
I walk back to my office. The hallways, usually straight and familiar, seem to twist and warp around me.
When I reach my door, the heavy oak barrier that usually feels like a sanctuary, I stop. And turn around.
I’m fixing this.
Right now.
16
Chapter 16 That Day
