I’m doomed.
It’s the first time in years that I’ve spent the night awake.
Ever since I left the club last night, this bad feeling has been with me. By now, it’s no longer just a feeling — it’s reality.
I really locked eyes with my new boss last night... And I’m not confident that the lace mask covering my eyes was enough to keep my identity.
Argh! Why did I let myself get carried away like that?
I grip my hair, my face hidden behind the black strands, loose from the lazy hairstyle I’d done in the morning, as the deep circles under my eyes cost me a lot of effort. I rolled around in bed until my alarm clock went off, but I didn’t get a wink of sleep. And now, here I am, drinking coffee to survive this terrible morning.
But now my phone is beeping, and I’m completely frozen.
I close my eyes tightly, clenching my fingers even tighter, my fingernail scratching my scalp...
You know what? I’ll just pretend that I’m not there, that I haven’t heard, that I’m too busy... anything that might guarantee me a good excuse...
But the phone keeps beeping.
I lift my face, looking at the phone’s ID, even though I already know it.
ㅤ
*30th floor* — **CEO’s Room.**
ㅤ
Oh, damn.
I whimper, hiding my face behind my hands...
Why did I get carried away? Why?
I let the call stop with a sigh of relief...
But of course, it doesn’t last long because it beeps again, making me grunt loudly and let my hair down, slamming my hand on the table. The clink of my rings against the wood doesn’t ease the distressing sensation of this call. Because yes, he is calling me, but I have no idea why.
I sigh deeply and answer the call. I try to sound composed when I say, with the phone over my ear, “Yes, Mr. Pollock?”
“Come into my office, Ms. Morgan.” His voice sounds even huskier on the other end of the line, so serious that I find myself holding my breath.
I open my lips to answer him, but he hangs up.
He’s hung up! *I want to kill this jerk.*
Another grunt escapes out loud as I slam the phone down hard, imagining that I’m punching *him* in the face.
Honestly, how can someone be so arrogant?
Couldn’t he just ask, I don’t know, nicely?
The worst thing is that I can’t come up with any other excuses now. I shouldn’t have answered this man’s call. I’ll have to climb those five tortuous floors and knock on the door of the room that should belong to me.
Yes, I confess I’m still bitter about it. I had too many expectations, and the worst thing is that I can’t blame anyone but myself... after all, it was my assumptions that led me down this thorny path.
But this guy being chosen to occupy my long-dreamed position doesn’t help one bit. How could I overcome this crash when he’s practically rubbing it in my face? He acts all-powerful, and that really gets on my nerves.
Still, I let go of these impressions and conflicting thoughts... after all, he’s my boss — and if he’s called me into his office, I have to go.
I straighten my clothes before leaving my office, pulling my skirt down to my knees even though everything is in place. Unconsciously, I also adjust my cleavage, accommodating my breasts, and pull my hair forward from my shoulders... to finally open the door.
As I walk to the elevator, I feel the eyes of the staff on me. Today is Abraham Pollock’s first effective day as CEO and also the first day that my dream is definitely over. Perhaps that’s why most of the looks I get alternate between pity and mockery... as my suffering is a piece of cake for those who hate me.
But, of course, I don’t let that discourage me... at least, I don’t show any sadness in my serious, somber countenance... Until I get into the elevator and the metal doors close, then I can sigh and relax the muscles in my cheeks, the eyebrows that descend and weigh down my eyes.
*“This is hell...”* I mutter, sighing, hugging my own body as the numbers grow on the display so fast that I really wish it would take a little longer. However, I’m soon in the large hall that looks barren with so little furniture. The reception desk is empty, as the former CEO’s longtime secretary has also retired with him.
I walk steadily past the room where this nightmare began. My heels click loudly in this place, louder than I’d like, and I wonder if Mr. Pollock can hear from his room, the last one in the corridor. I wonder if he’s called me here to dismiss me for indecency. I mean, he was there, too, but *getting wet while being spanking and looking directly at your boss* is really something shameful.
When I finally stop in front of the door that already has his name on it, my blood freezes.
It’s happening.
It’s really happening.
I raise my fist to knock on ABRAHAM POLLOCK’s door, but I lack the courage. My conviction fails me, and I wonder if I’ll really be able to face him without any mask on my face, just make-up that hasn’t been able to cover all the insomnia this man has caused me. We’ve only met three times, and all of them were enough to bother me.
Now I’m about to meet him a fourth time — but I don’t know if I’m ready for that.
But what could I really do? I’ve dug this abyss for myself, and there’s no point crying because I’m in the bloody freefall.
Just as I’m about to knock on the door, Mr. Pollock’s deep voice sounded from the other side, freezing me, leaving my hand in the air... “Come in, Ms. Morgan.”
Taking a deep breath, I turn the knob and enter the room, immediately getting his full attention. It’s really curious how I shiver at the mere sight of him, how being under his eyes makes me feel so fragile, so weak.
*I don’t like that feeling.*
I don’t like how I react to such simple things.
And that awakens my rebelliousness, my pride. When I close the door behind me and turn fully towards Mr. Pollock, I make sure to keep my chin straight, looking directly into the impassive face that stares back at me.
In the daylight, with the blue sky and the New York landscape being shown at the large windows behind him, he manages to be even more handsome. His combed hair isn’t as messy as the night before when strands touched his forehead; today, there isn’t a single one out of place. His thick eyebrows give him a serious look, especially with his lips perfectly outlined by the beard that is starting to grow.
But it’s his eyes... That’s the real problem with this man.
“Do you intend to stand at the door, Ms. Morgan?” He says suddenly, startling me. I take a short breath, resisting the urge to hug my own body and show fragility. I may be feeling anxious and exposed, but I won’t show it.
I won’t show it, *not to him.*
So I give him a cynical smile and approach him slowly, with a soft pace that my heels can barely reveal. I notice that his eyes are on my feet, watching up over my legs and back to my face.
I stop behind one of the chairs, touching the cushion with my hand, caressing it, and feeling the softness against my palm without taking my eyes off his.
“Well, I’d like to say I have time to sit and chat, Mr. Pollock, but I’m a busy woman.”
“I can imagine...” He gives me a smirk, tucking his hands in his lap. And I can’t help looking at them, so big that each one is certainly the size of both of mine. “Considering you took so long to answer the call.”
I hold my breath, feeling anxiety bubbling in my veins, but I don’t let my frustration show on my face; I just squeeze the cushion of the chair slightly, attracting his blue eyes once again.
Did he not recognize me?
“By the way, did you sleep well?” He asks suddenly, making my heart skip a beat. “You look a bit tired.”
Of course, as usual, I speak too quickly. Is this man trying to mess with my head?
“Yes, I’m a little tired, Mr. Pollock...” I put on a sweet smile that surprised him. “There’s a lot to sort out here... after all, your arrival was... *unexpected.”*
“I imagine it was.” He gives me a sour smile that makes me almost snort.
I toss my hair behind my shoulders and notice that this simple movement catches his eye. I tuck a strand behind my ear, running my fingertip along its length until I reach my discreet pearl earring. And each one of my movements is monitored by Mr. Pollock’s sharp eyes.
“Well, since I have so much to do...” I say with an exaggerated tone, not caring about being caught in a lie, “I hope you don’t mind being direct and asking why you called me here.”
“Well, Ms. Morgan...” He tilts his head slightly, his smirk turning into a wicked grin that sends shivers throughout my body. “I need you to do something for me... Can you comply with my command?”