Chapter 11: Attention Unwanted (part II)

*Brooke *

“It's not just my back that's hard as granite.”

“Yes, it's better to keep that in mind…” I choked, letting out a scandalized scream, as soon as I digested the double meaning of his recommendation. “What did he say?”

Farrow turned his back to me and I noticed he was laughing softly.

“I suspect you misunderstood.”

“I? But you don't think so…” he contradicted, pretending to be certain he didn't feel.

“Good!” He opened the door to his office and stepped aside to let me enter first. “It would have been embarrassing to have to repeat myself.”

I felt my cheeks heat up and I ran past him, eager to escape his vaguely mocking gaze.

“Coward.” I heard him murmur.

I straightened my shoulders and bit my tongue. Four chairs were placed in front of me, behind which stood the long glass table on which Mr. Farrow's things had been placed. I found myself hesitating, remembering that the one time I was in his office, he argued about where I chose to sit.

“Where do you want me to sit?”

A flash pursed his lips, half hidden beneath his beard, but it disappeared immediately. It was difficult to understand why my question amused him so much.

“Grab a chair and come next to me. We only have one computer and we will have to share it.”

“Do I have to work here with you?” I asked myself.”

With a jolt, he looked at me and then back at the computer screen.

“Didn't you have a visit from Mr. Malloy this morning?”

I shook my head and for a moment I wanted to sink. Even though there was a panel between my shoulders and the open space, I felt the curious gazes of all my colleagues burning into me. What would they have thought? What would they have told me when I left here? It was obvious that that evil language would start and sow several hypotheses here and there because, despite everything, being promoted like that, at the time, was also horrible for me.

“So you already know that I chose you as an assistant for the new wildlife conservation advertising campaign. Therefore…” he raised his cold gaze to me again. “I wonder if your question deserves an answer.”

This man's arrogance made me clench my fists in anger. I was born in a house where gender equality was the cornerstone on which all family stability was built, I grew up in a neighborhood where individuals were not distinguished by sex, but by their virtues. They educated me about bread, milk, and female emancipation.

An education that went out the window in front of this man. His arrogance was rooted in an inner confidence that only a leader could feel, and I didn't have much life experience to compare myself to. I started at a disadvantage, with no chance of emerging victorious in a possible verbal clash.

On the one hand, though, it put pressure on my pride. He was almost at the end of his life, crushed by the heavy self-confidence that this man had, but he was struggling to find a foothold, claiming a victory that would never belong to him.

It was precisely pride that gave me the courage to respond.

“Perhaps my questions may seem silly, Mr. Farrow, but one question remains unresolved that I hope you can unravel: why did you choose me among so many qualified people?”

“Is your self-esteem that low?” he responded quickly, catching me off guard.

“It's not about this. But his choice is risky. I have no experience and I don't know where to start when creating a project for this new campaign.”

Mr. Farrow swiveled in his chair and leaned forward, crossing his fingers between his parted knees.

“Come sit down.”

I did as he ordered and placed the chair in front of him, still trying to remain a safe distance away.

“Do you think I want to bite you?” he teased me, noticing the safe distance I continued to maintain.

Then he reached out, grabbed the arms of my chair, and pushed me forward, forcing me to squeeze my thighs together so I could slide between his spread legs. My breath caught in my throat.

“Brooke, I'm a world-famous photographer who's getting down to photograph some small trees in the local forests.” he sang slowly. “I only accepted this campaign to return a favor to Sergeant Malloy and I need someone who knows their way around the forest. Dimitri told me that you love walking and that's why I immediately thought of you. However, if that makes you uncomfortable, I can replace you with Connor or the one with curly hair who always wears green sweaters.”

“Ally.” I reminded him of my colleague's name.

“I don't give a damn about his name.” he was irritated by my interruption. “I only care about having an assistant who doesn't start complaining at every step and who doesn't show up on set in high heels. You are the one I was looking for.”

I shook my head with conviction. His explanation was logical and dispelled any possible misunderstanding I had.

“Now I hope you are the one who answers my question.” he surprised me, pulling my chair a few centimeters forward.

I felt my knees hit his solid thighs and I instinctively opened my mouth in a gasp. Mr. Farrow's expression remained serene and I hoped he hadn't noticed how I had reacted.

“Tell me, please, why you don't have the strength to look me in the face,” he said seriously.

It took me a few seconds to find the courage to look up and when I did I was faced with two dark irises in which red halos could be glimpsed. Mr. Farrow had unusual eyes.

“You make me uncomfortable, Mr. Farrow,” I admitted.

“Why?”

“I assume it's for the flowers.” I was starting to get nervous and my voice was shaking.

“You didn't like them?”

“Yes…” I answered quickly and immediately corrected myself. “I want to say no! I mean... you're my boss and it would be very inappropriate of me to accept such a compliment.”

His cheeks lifted into a smile and, planting his heels on the floor, he slid the chair back.

“Now that we've cleared our doubts, can we focus on work?”

He didn't justify himself. He just changed the subject in a hurry, but I made it work for me.

I closed my eyes and let out my breath slowly. Illogically, being so close to Mr. Farrow destabilized me and made me feel sensations I had never felt before. So now that I couldn't find a name for it, it was strong enough to upset me and make me feel strange.

“Malloy gave you the plan with the campaign requirements, right? he asked at one point.”

I handed him the crumpled paper Malloy brought me at breakfast and waited for Farrow to calmly examine it. As he read, I took some time to observe him. He sits casually on the back of the chair, one leg raised on the armrest. The arm stretched against the back prevented me from sitting comfortably, forcing me to balance with my buttocks on the edge of the chair.

It was beautiful. One of those men who managed to be seductive without the slightest effort, with every movement, even the most insignificant, without the need for tiresome creations or strategies. The same eyebrows, arching when reading something that wasn't clear to him, managed to transform his entire expression into something fascinating.

The beard hid most of his lips, but it wasn't enough of a screen to hide his expressions or those cocky half-smiles he often directed at me. His high cheekbones were tanned and now that I looked closely at him I noticed that the one on the right, beneath his beard hair, was crossed by a thin scar.

His forehead was the only indication of his age. Crossed by some wrinkles that, I was sure, were less evident a few days before. Perhaps he had been working late and that was a clear sign of his tiredness, as were the very fine lines that stretched from the corner of his eye to his temples.

“There are few sketches, right?” he turned to me out of nowhere, without even taking his eyes off the paper.

Caught in the act, I felt myself blushing and tried to come up with an excuse to justify the way I was stunned looking at him.

“I was just waiting for you to finish reading Malloy's requests.”

Farrow wet his lips and, I was sure, he did it only to suppress an irritating smile. He didn't believe me, that was clear, but at least he had the sense not to answer.

He tossed the paper into the center of the table and swiveled his chair toward mine. The arm he had rested on the back of my chair slipped a few centimeters forward and I instinctively compensated the distance by placing myself even more balanced on the edge of the chair.

My movement didn't escape him and this time, unlike a few moments before, he stretched the right corner of his lips into a smile.

“Why don't you ask me?” he spoke softly, monitoring my eyes with unnerving attention.

I made an uncertain line.

“Ask what, Mr. Farrow?”

“The reason I gave you those flowers.”