Chapter 5
1002 Words
Chapter 5
Sebastian Hale passed the receptionist. Only for a second her brown eyes met him and darted away. He hardly heard her greet him, mumbling a greeting. Already his mind was elsewhere, with the girl who was about to enter his office.
She was here.
His mind was going round that night; he could not forget, and his finger tapped the armrest as he leaned back in his chair. The kiss of her lips, the frozen time when she had been suspended between retreating or leaning forward. The memory would not go away.
Keep calm. Don't look eager.
"Sir?"
Some voice called him back to himself. One of the employees was at the entrance fidgeting.
"Yes?" His voice was smooth, his back erect.
The new assistant has arrived. Should I let her in?"
At last.
"Yes. Send her."
The employee shook his head and walked away. Sebastian turned his eyes back to the screen facing him, but no words there came into his mind. Thoughts whirl round his mind of Clara Whitfield—her face, her name, how she fainted that night. He had all the details of her now. With a single kiss, he had uncovered her history, her problems, and the fact that she needed this job.
She might need the position. But he needed her more.
A knock on the door. His pulse ticked faster.
"Enter," he said in an almost bored tone.
The door clicked open. Footsteps were traversed. He didn't look up. His fingers scanned the keys, but he typed nothing that was of importance.
"Good afternoon, sir." Her tone had been low and wary, as though she were not quite sure that she was at home.
"Sit." His head was tilted towards the chair, but his eyes remained on the screen.
Clara sat. There was a silence. The slight movement of cloth signaled her moving in the chair, probably looking about her at the framed pictures and shelves that lined the office.
At last Sebastian shut down the laptop.
Clara's gaze snapped to him. She twitched her eyelids quickly, lips open, as though she wanted to say something, and closed. One near her cheek slipped loose and caught his eye. He lingered on it too long.
He stood. She stiffened instantly.
His footsteps grew louder and louder as he approached. She sank back in the chair, fingers clawing at the end of her dress. She was sweating the drops of water in the air, though it was cold.
"Your name?" he asked.
"Clara Whitfield." Her voice trembled slightly, gentle but smooth enough for him to notice.
He already knew her name. He was aware of all that about her. But it was another thing to hear it dropped upon her lips.
Sebastian was too close. Clara moved back till her back was against the wood of the chair frame. She inhaled his odor with a sudden lifting of her chest.
"Position?" he asked.
"Assistant."
"Personal assistant," he said, extending the pause to the beginning of the first word.
She nodded her head and swallowed hard. She started to breathe shallowly, raising her chest against the thin material of her blouse.
Her gaze moved across his face, searching for the memory that was teasing her, as if trying to pull it back into her mind. Did she know? Was it in the fact of that night that she felt the truth?
He leaned forward again. Clara pulled away too violently and found herself with her hands on the desk, her body agonizing to find its balance.
Their faces were a few inches above each other.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
"Relax," his voice intruded the silence, but it was not very warm.
"I... I wasn't—"
"You were."
Her lips were tight with the battle in her immobile face.
"Why did you take this job?"
"Because I needed it." The language came tumbling out of her.
"Needed or wanted?"
She blinked, unsure. "Both, I suppose."
Sebastian very slowly moved round the chair, circling until he was behind her. Hands knotted together in her lap, Clara sat.
You understand how it works being a personal assistant, do you?
"Yes, sir. I'll... I'll manage."
"Manage," he said, trying out the word as a challenge.
She nodded, and her shoulders stiffened.
"What do you think? I will give you the first work," he asked.
"Scheduling? Calls? Maybe—"
"No." His voice cut off her conjecture.
She blinked in surprise. "Then... what do you expect?"
"You'll learn."
The quiet grew heavy. Her fingers were trembling against her skirt, which betrayed a storm within Clara. Probably, she wondered why she had taken this job. Maybe she considered the amount of money at home andthe family that was depending on her salary.
Sebastian walked up again. Clara turned her head away a little, as though she were protecting some part of her neck with his gaze.
"Scared?"
"No." It was a word that was too quick, too keen.
"Yes, you are."
Her lips shook, but she made no further remark.
Sebastian almost smiled.
"Look at me."
Her eyes lifted, meeting his. Still tremulous, but firm enough to show the elements of rebellion under the fear. Something in him was awakened by that.
The silence was so great before she said, Are you ever this intense?
"Only when I want something."
"And now?"
"You'll figure it out."
She swallowed, and her throat jerked.
"I... I should start my work. Where do you want me?"
"Here."
"Here?" Her brows knit together.
"Yes. Right here."
Her gaze ran over to the desk and then back to him, her face full of suspicion.
I guess I know, she said.
"No. You don't. Not yet."
She did not need to be told.
The memory must have been repeated in her mind—the kiss, the mist of lights, the moment she had become weak and lost. At that time she had not known who it was. She still didn't know now.
But she would. Soon.
- Writer
