Page 9

This word seems to be following me around ever since Vadim used it to put me in my place. Just this morning, the irony of the situation started to work to my disadvantage. Wilson sent an email explicitly stating that Mr. King would be absent until Wednesday. It’s Monday morning, I look awful, my morale is at rock bottom, and I chose to wear an oversized, shapeless, gray pantsuit that reflects my mood, thinking I wouldn’t run into him.

And yet there he is, smirking, the moment I step into the elevator. My stupid pulse quickens, and I just know my pasty skin will be blushing bright pink. He, on the other hand, looks completely unfazed—effortlessly sharp in his elegant suit, with his hands buried deep in his pockets.

I deliberately avoid his gaze and vow not to start a conversation this time.

The journey to the eighth floor seems endless. I clutch my funding files to my chest, forcing myself to breathe deeply. I can feel his eyes boring into me from the other side of the elevator. When he eventually lets out a little laugh, I snap.

“Do you have something you want to say?”

“No, absolutely not. But your discomfort is so palpable, it’s as if your silence is screaming something at me.”

He still has that irresistible American accent, but I had no idea he spoke French so well.

Of course, he also flashes me his trademark smug smile.

“My discomfort? I don’t see why I’d be uncomfortable. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“If you say so,” he says as the doors open.

On the sixth floor, Maximilian Finn, his assistant, enters the elevator and greets us energetically.

I purse my lips and berate myself silently: I’m dressed like a shapeless blob, I reacted like a kid, and Vadim, still impassive, is convinced he’s won the game. As if there were even a game being played.

When we reach the eighth floor, the coast is clear. I make my escape without looking back. But my good manners compel me to wish them a good day.

***

I’ve always been clumsy. It’s no secret, even after just one month here. I’ve bumped hips, torn tops, jostled coworkers, spilled coffee, soaked my pants: one accident a week is my average. But this flaw proves surprisingly useful just as I’m about to head into an impromptu meeting called by Mr. King. I open the closet in my office and take out my “emergency” outfit.

There isn’t time to second-guess myself. I slip on the dress, which is a bit sexier than I remembered, then gather my loose, unstyled hair into a high bun. A swipe of red on my lips, and I feel ready to take on the world. Sometimes confidence comes down to the smallest things. “It’s all in your head,” Clem would whisper to me.

Joseph Wilson devours me with his eyes the moment I walk into the vast conference room with its floor-to-ceiling windows. Sophie does the same, greeting me with an admiring “Almaaa.” Then, Clarence lets out a low whistle in my direction, which I silence with a dark glare. I hadn’t expected them to react like this and reveal who I truly am: a woman who never makes an effort with her appearance unless she has to. I sit down as casually as I can and blot my lipstick on the back of my hand.

Vadim arrives a moment later and takes his seat at the head of the table. He quickly scans the room, then pauses when he sees me. His expression tightens, his gaze darkens, and the faintest trace of a bitter smirk tugs at his lips. Then the meeting begins, and so does our little game.

Wilson launches into an interminable speech, then quizzes us about ongoing projects and flatters his boss, but Vadim doesn’t seem particularly focused. Not on budget negotiations, shooting schedules, or communication campaigns, anyway. Our eyes seek each other out, meet, dart away, and find their way back. I pretend not to care, but I’m burning up inside. No one seems to notice the tension that has started to fizzle between us, or the silent sparring matches taking place.

“Miss Lancaster, the action is over here!” Wilson barks suddenly. “Do you have the shooting dates for the next Larry Water or not?!”

I sit up with a start, like a child who has just been scolded, and hold my breath as I rummage through my file to find the information. Luckily, I find it fairly quickly. My boss calms down. I can breathe. Vadim, on the other hand, savors the moment. His gray eyes sparkling, he gives me a mocking, almost vengeful smile, and I can’t help but mirror it.

Click.

The old Vadim is in front of me. The real one—the one I know and have never forgotten.

The idea makes me shiver.

I never should have left you…

I repress this unspeakable thought when King vanishes, mere moments after the meeting ends. That doesn’t come as a surprise. Arcadi was always the first one to bolt when the bell rang to signal the end of class. I’m struck by the realization that he and his evil twin might just have more in common than I thought, just as Sophie Adam comes hurrying over to walk with me to my office.

“Alma, I want to know everything!”

“What are you talking about?”

“This dress, this bun, this attitude! Do you really think that sleazy, old Wilson was the only one who noticed?”

“It’s my spare outfit. My suit was… stained.”