Page 55 of Hate to Love You
My mouth has gone numb, and I feel as though my heart has stopped beating, and time itself is standing still, the room around us buzzing with electricity. If I couldn’t smell her floral perfume, I’d be certain that I’m having some sort of hallucinatory episode.
Holy shit. It’s her. It’s actually really, really, her. Here.
“Excuse me?” she asks, offended by my comment.
A comment that I’ve already forgotten, because in an instant I’ve forgotten my words all together. All of them. And even though I realize I’m staring at her, I can’t tear my eyes away.
How? How is any of this possible? And why?
I’m not sure if my brain is working too quickly, or it’s completely short-circuited, but no words have come out of my mouth, a fact that is making her slightly uncomfortable.
Come on Roman, say something.
“Who are…I mean…what are…” I say before clearing my throat. “What?”
The Brunette stares at me, appraising me with her eyebrow raised, confusion and annoyance written on her face.
“Well, that’s what I was asking you?” She bites back. “It sounded as if you were saying something about me being unhirable.”
Then she shoots me a semi-reproachful look, crossing her arms across her body.
“...And desperate?”
Fuck.
“No, that’s not what I said,” I say, trying to buy myself a few seconds without eye contact to think of something else to say instead. “Perhaps you misheard me.”
“Oh, so now I’m just unhirable, desperate, and delusional?” She says, glaring at me.
Well, this is going great…
First words I’ve ever said to the woman I’ve secretly pined after for years, and I’ve insulted her. I need to pull it together, and fast, or I might fuck this up again.
“Look, Miss—” I say, grabbing the file in my hands and opening it. “Abigail Wayne, we seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot here.”
“Perhaps that’s because you’re the one who stepped in here being an ass so…”
I snort, semi-impressed by her catty remark snapping back so quickly.
Remember who the fuck you are and get it together.
“Well, that’s just who I am, unfortunately,” I shrug, trying to hide my grin, and also trying to stop my eyes from drifting down the front of her blouse. “I’m an asshole. It’s part of the job description, so I hope that’s not going to be a problem.”
“Depends on how much you’re paying,” she says, a sly smile spreads across her face, as she gently bats her lashes at me, nearly making me cave on the spot. “I don’t do ‘ass’ for minimum wage.”
But that’s the moment her confident little facade falters, and her eyes immediately go wide, realizing what she just said.
“Is that so?” I say, raising my brow at her.
“Wait…no…I didn’t mean I do ass or anything,” she blushes. “I don’t do ass!”
“No?” I ask, locking my face to stop myself from smirking, staring her down, finding her flustered expression adorable.
“Not that I have anything against it,” she says, flustered.
“That’s a relief,” I say, clicking my tongue inside my mouth, and looking down at her resume in my hands to keep from chuckling. “It’s good to have an open mind.”
“It is?” She asks, her jaw dropping slightly before she shakes her head, putting her hand up. “I’m sorry, do you normally ask your interview candidates their sexual preferences, Mr. Antonov?”