I wake up feeling utterly shattered. Last night, I tossed and turned, my mind replaying every moment of THAT kiss in the hallway. Eventually, exhaustion pulled me under, but in my dreams, he was still there, this arrogant devil haunting my thoughts.
No amount of contrast showers or strong double espressos at the office can shake off the haze. When Olya calls, her voice tense, saying the boss wants to see me and his mood isn’t good, I feel a sinking feeling in my gut.
But there’s no choice; I trudge to the boss's office like someone walking to the gallows. In the reception area, I catch Olya’s sympathetic glance, and I know what’s coming. The boss probably wants to fire me.
Why did I create this circus yesterday? Why did I strut into Khmylevych’s office, swinging my hips and flaunting my cleavage, knowing Karina, the boss’s girlfriend, was watching? I had only just restored my relationship with my dad, and now I risk everything over a moment of reckless behavior.
I knock briefly on the door, and when I hear the boss’s loud “come in,” I push the handle and step inside. Dmytro Oleksandrovych meets me with a grim look and a nod toward the chair in front of his desk.
"Good morning," I say quietly, taking a seat. His skeptical expression tells me his morning is anything but good.
"Milana," he starts sternly, ignoring my greeting. "Honestly, if it weren't for my acquaintance with Anatoliy Viktorovych, we would have parted ways today. Your little stunt yesterday cost me a lot."
"Please, Dmytro Oleksandrovych, it was an accident," I plead, trying to keep my desperation at bay.
"Enough, Kraievska!" he snaps, switching to informal address as if to emphasize his irritation. He loosens his tie, his features sharpening. I brace myself; I know the verdict is coming.
"You usually handle men differently," a devilish voice in my head taunts. "You’re losing your edge, Kraievska."
"I assume you understand," he gestures around the office, "that you can no longer work here."
"But why?" I burst out, shocked.
"Because my sanity is more valuable!" he snarls, revealing the real reason. "However, I've found a solution," he says with a smug look, leaning back in his chair.
"What is it?" I ask, already imagining how Karina must have latched onto him, but I don’t feel a shred of regret.
"I'll transfer you to my partner," he states flatly. At my silent protest, he adds, "Especially since I hear you got along well. Mykolaivych asked for your address yesterday."
Heat rushes to my cheeks as I process his insinuation.
"And if I refuse?" I challenge.
"You’ll be thrown out without a reference, and Anatoliy Viktorovich will get a full report on all your ‘achievements’," he replies triumphantly.
I narrow my eyes in anger. Damn you, Khmylevych! You know where to hit. I’ve only just rebuilt my relationship with my dad, and I can’t let that slip away again. I grind my teeth in silence.
"What if Andriy Mykolayovych refuses your generous offer?" I ask, pushing back.
"Why would he refuse?" he smirks. "I just spoke with him; we’ve already agreed on everything." He adds maliciously, "By the way, he should be here any minute. You might want to express your gratitude."
A storm of emotions surges within me. I rise from my chair without a word, ignoring his shout of "Kraievska! I haven’t finished!" as I storm out.
I march to my office, grab my purse, and head for the exit. I need fresh air, anger clouds my thoughts, leaving only a raw rage. I feel cornered, trapped in a situation I can't escape.
Just as I reach the glass doors, they swing open, revealing a familiar figure. My heart races. "It’s HIM! Damn him!" My fury doubles, and I can’t stop myself. If I paused to think, I might recognize that this mess is all my fault from the provocative way I acted to my near-miss with his lips.
But the emotions from yesterday bubble over, and I pounce on Andriy Mykolayovych. I crash into his solid chest, jabbing a manicured fingernail into the fabric of his jacket. "So you’ve already settled everything? If you think this will get me into bed faster, you’re sorely mistaken!"
He looks momentarily disoriented before grabbing my wrists, pulling me closer. "Calm down," he says sharply, shaking me slightly but holding me in place.
I glare up at those infuriating turquoise eyes. Why didn’t I notice how tall he is before? I dismiss the thought; it’s irrelevant right now.
He steps forward, not loosening his grip, forcing me to back up until I hit the wall. My stubbornness only intensifies the tension.
"I’m not planning to drag you into bed," he says hoarsely, and I can’t help but glance back into those captivating eyes.
"No?" I breathe, a twinge of disappointment washing over me.
"No," he smirks, leaning in closer and whispering, "But you’re practically begging for it with antics like that."
My rebellious nature ignites, sparks flying as he grins with that maddening smile. He releases my wrists, wrapping his hands around my face, and crushes his lips to mine.
This kiss is nothing short of hungry, passionate. I forget everything: the cameras, the boss, the risk, lost in the moment. I respond eagerly, caught up in a whirlwind of desire.
But then a thought crashes into my consciousness. "No!" I panic internally. I haven’t acted like this in ages, and I don’t want to lose control. I pull at his hands, trying to break free.
He senses my struggle and stops, but doesn’t remove his hands. Instead, he presses his forehead against mine, breathing heavily. And despite everything, I revel in his closeness.
After a moment, he steps back, slipping his hands into his pockets, trying to regain control. "You bring out the worst in me," he rasps, his gaze lingering on me. "So I suggest you don’t add fuel to the fire. One day, I might forget to hold back."
That’s a warning, and I realize it. Yet, my foolish heart interprets it as a thrilling promise, igniting something wild within me.