Sometimes she brings tea, other times it’s a document only she could have processed.
Sometimes she’s shameless enough to simply linger, long enough to be noticed.
The staff warms to her too quickly for my liking. They admire competence, especially when it comes in a package that looks like a blonde sex doll. Secretaries beam when she compliments their work. Junior analysts stand a little straighter when she asks for their input.
She knows exactly how to gather loyalty: offer attention wrapped in flattery, wrapped in beauty, wrapped in the illusion of safety.
I watch the admiration spread and feel the resentment coil inside me. She knows how quickly she’s working her magic here. She glances at me sometimes when the staff laughs around her, a flicker of calculative triumph in her eyes.
She’s testing borders with fingertips instead of knives.
“Mr. Ignatov, you seem to be far more stressed than necessary. Is there anything that’s been particularly troubling? I’ve been taking special care of your instructions, of course.”
I glance sharply at her, trying not to grind my teeth.
No matter how hard I try to put off her flirtation, she doesn’t catch a hint. The problem is, it doesn’t sound suggestive the way she says it. But I see the curve of her eyes when she says those words.
The problem is that Harper sees it too. She stands by the door with a stack of reports in her hands, her copper hair tied in a loose knot that looks like it’s barely holding together. Those brown eyes are shadowed with the perpetual exhaustion that no amount of sleep seems to erase.
My mouth parts right as I’m about to call out to her.
“Oh, Mrs. Ignatov! Lovely to meet you. I’ve been curious about you since the day I joined,” Inessa greets her with a billion-dollar smile, and Harper replies with a far smaller, disingenuous one.
“Just had a few things to discuss with Damian,” Harper says lightly, but I know all her tics by now. The twitch in her brow, the flattening of her mouth.
She’s pissed.
“I’ll leave Damian to you.” Inessa nods with a small smile and wanders out.
Fucking Inessa.She’s never addressed me as anything but “Mr. Ignatov,” and now all of a sudden it’s “Damian.”
Harper dumps the papers on my desk, but she doesn’t sit down like I expect her to.
“Long day?” she asks flatly. “We can discuss this later in your office.”
Wait, is she… jealous?
She’s trying to swallow it before it becomes visible.
And it hits me like a brick because she is the one person in this building I cannot bear to misunderstand me. She’s theonly one whose misinterpretation feels like a wound instead of a tactical inconvenience.
“It’s been—” I begin.
“Busy,” she finishes for me in the same flat tone.
My jaw tightens.
Harper isn’t one to be affected by shit like this. She shouldn’t care in the first place—after all, aren’t we married but only on paper? Then what do I make of this—
“You’ve company,” she says lightly, as if the words don’t matter. “Inessa seems… helpful.”
There it is.
She won’t voice the insecurity. She won’t accuse. She’ll just stand there, burning silently, pretending it’s fine.
How could she doubt everything we are?I hate that she thinks I could be tempted by someone like Inessa.
“I’m not interested in her,” I say, voice a little sharper than it should be.
