Page 73 of Hate to Love You
Well, besides me.
My heart pounds while I consider my words, but just as I open my mouth, something thuds against Roman’s door.
Great, he’s throwing things now.
“Mr. Antonov requires you immediately.”
I hang up before Oleg has the chance to respond, smashing the phone down into the receiver as my head leans against the desk.
Roman’s door opens, and I feel his eyes burn into the side of my face as my forehead remains resting on the desk.
“Is the workload that hard for you already?” he sneers, “Sleeping on the job and it's only your first week.”
“Mr—I mean Roman, it’s not exactly like I received much training or guidance on how to work for you. I’ve been winging it mostly, just thrown into this chair trying to decipher the sticky notes your old assistant left behind, in handwriting I can’t even read.” I sigh, “I’m trying.”
“Where the fuck is Oleg?” he spits, completely disregarding what I just said.
“I just got off the phone with him, which is why he’s not here yet. I didn’t know what office he was in, or what floor. Or even his last name. I had to find his contact information in the system, and for the record you have a lot of employees,” I state, rolling my eyes.
I’m not going to keep apologizing for not knowing how to do my job. After all, he just threw me in at the deep end.
However, with the mood he’s in, I’m momentarily concerned that Oleg is about to take the brunt of his anger.
He storms over, crowding me in my desk as he leans over, and standing so close that I could lick his neck.
What the fuck Abby.
As he fumbles through the folders slotted to my right, my body reacts and I inhale deeply, filling my lungs with the scent of him. Roman freezes, his body tensing above me.
I sniffed him…and he heard me.
Fuck. Me.
I feel his eyes searing into my forehead, but I refuse to look up at him. My cheeks heat, and I know how flushed I must look. My thighs clench together as I try to ignore my body’s impulsive reaction to him.
Of all people to reignite my long-dead sexual desires, of course it’s this fucking man.
I bite my lip as images flash in my head.
Images of him bending me over the desk, biting, slapping, kissing me on every inch of my skin. I swallow, my breath hitching in my throat as I squirm in my chair, crossing my legs, and bumping my knee into his.
Jesus Christ, Abby, get it together.
Desperately I try to think of something else, anything else, to distract me from my own devious thoughts and delicious desires. My legs clench together, and given how long it’s been, I almost have to fight the urge to moan at the tiniest bit of friction that provides.
With how close he is to me right now, I feel as if I can barely breathe, teetering on the edge of restraint. A part of me fears that if I look at him now, I might spiral into a loss of control, and jump on him.
Given how much I need and crave my control, a reaction like this should intimidate me. Yet, with Roman I want to surrender it.
“Here,” he snaps, suddenly slamming a notebook down in front of me, his finger tapping against the page, “This is the contact information for the Department Heads I will ask for the most.”
As my eyes meet his, I gulp, seeing his drop to my exposed neck.
“And when I say I need them immediately, I need them immediately.” He murmurs huskily.
Clearing my throat, I glance down at the notebook, my eyes widening at the scribbles on the page his finger is pressed to.
The writing is a hybrid between cursive, and lines, multiple numbers are circled in a different colored pen. Some of them are underlined multiple times.