Part of me is relieved. Maybe we can pretend it never happened. If we agree on that, then I can walk into that office and be nothing more than his assistant again.
The other part of me is utterly and completely devastated.
“Professional,” I say to my reflection. “You can do professional.”
Spoiler: I cannot do professional.
I’m a crumbling ruin from the second I step foot on Akopov property. The office feels different today. Or is it just that I’m the one who’s different?
Diane doesn’t even deign to nod in greeting as I pass her desk. Does she know? Can she tell just by looking at me what happened? Am I drowning in a cloud of eau de pathetic?
“He’s in a meeting,” she says before I can even say hello, eyeing me warily over her reading glasses. “Should be done by ten.”
I mumble somethi
