Page 19 of Charmingly Obsessed

T he hallways of Frez Enterprises are a brightly lit labyrinth.

Usually, the cool, clean light is invigorating. Today, it stings my eyes, each photon a tiny needle. I’m hunting. Prowling.

They’ve probably already shown her the damn terrace. “As an artist, pani Bilova, you’ll appreciate the panoramic city views. Best at night, of course, when the lights glitter like fallen stars…” Fucking corporate bullshit.

I pivot, heading towards the admin bullpen. Empty. Of course. I’ll find the girls – Karina, Aisana. They’ll know where she is. My new marketing designer. My Diana.

If they’ve already taken her through the west wing, then Reznikov is there.

And Reznikov looks at women like they’re appetizers on an all-you-can-eat buffet.

The thought of his leering gaze on her makes my blood boil.

I should have been the one to show her around.

Controlled environment. Me. Her. No Reznikov.

Finally. Aisana. A flurry of words. Kitchen. Boiling water. Lid. Repairman. Something about a prank for the newbie tonight. A prank? For Diana?

“What prank?” I demand, my voice sharper than I intend.

“You’re in on it too!” Aisana laughs, oblivious to the storm brewing inside me. “Hugh will fill you in. He’s right over there, by the…”

I don’t give a flying fuck about Hugh or his goddamn pranks. The only word that registers is kitchen. Because she’s there.

I spin on my heel, my steps no longer my own, pulled by an invisible, irresistible tether. My mind races, a chaotic jumble of thoughts.

Why did she take her paintings off the market? The ones I just publicly eviscerated. I’ll buy them all. Every single one. They’re… touching. Sweet. Deliberately childlike. Vulnerable. God, I’m a fucking idiot.

Rounding the corner into the brightly lit, stainless-steel expanse of the communal kitchen, I nearly collide with Aisana again.

My social graces, usually so polished, so effortless, have completely deserted me.

I can talk to women. I excel at talking to women.

This… this Diana-induced paralysis has only happened once before.

Earlier today. In that goddamn conference room.

It was nothing, I tell myself fiercely. Just an awkward conversation.

A misunderstanding. No one will even remember it by tomorrow.

A minor hiccup. I’ll fix it. The paintings.

I’ll buy them at an exorbitant price. I’ll apologize.

Grovel, if necessary. I’ll turn this whole goddamn disaster around.

Diana… she seems cold, yes, but human connection?

That’s my strongest suit. My superpower.

Aisana is still chattering about the prank, something about Hugh. I nod vaguely. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except the slender silhouette I finally spot at the far end of the kitchen.

My heart doesn’t just drop to my feet. It plummets through the goddamn floor, through thirty-four stories of reinforced concrete, and slams into the bedrock of Kyiv.

Diana. Standing by the industrial-grade coffee machine. Alone. Her back to me.

She exhales sharply, a small, startled sound, as she senses my presence, turning slightly.

Her hand flies to her chest, pressed against the white blouse that does little to conceal the delicate swell of her breasts.

“I just wanted to add… welcome to the company,” I say, my voice rough, strangled.

Blue-gray. Her eyes. That’s the color. And she smells… Christ, she smells like apple pie. Warm. Sweet. With a hint of vanilla.

She says nothing. Just looks at me with those wide, unreadable eyes. I say nothing. Just look back, drowning in them.

And then, a strange, almost serene clarity washes over me.

As if all my churning thoughts, all my anxieties, all the roaring chaos inside my head, have suddenly collapsed into a single, focused point.

Her. I’m going to kiss her. Right here. Right now.

And she’ll understand everything. The misunderstanding, my idiocy, this…

this consuming, terrifying need I have for her.

It’ll all be resolved in an instant. In that one, perfect kiss.

This isn’t a conversation for words. This is for bodies. For souls.

Her skin is soft. Impossibly soft. I’m ashamed of the way my hand trembles as I reach out, my fingers brushing her cheek. She looks shocked, her eyes widening further, but then… then she rises onto her toes, just slightly. Leaning into my touch.

I kiss her.

It’s clumsy. Awkward. A fumbling collision of hungry, desperate tenderness and untamed persistence.

She doesn’t respond immediately. In this swirling vortex of sensation, there’s no gravity.

No up, no down. I struggle to stay on my feet, to hold her, to keep us both from crashing to the floor.

It takes every ounce of my strength, every shred of my rapidly dissolving control.

My fingers tangle in her silky, golden-brown hair, and I’m lost…

because I realize, with a sudden, sickening lurch, that I know nothing.

Nothing about her. Nothing about this . I have to learn everything from scratch.

But I will. God damn it, I will. I’ll learn all her weaknesses, all her intricacies, all her hidden desires. And then… then I’ll kiss her in a way that steals her breath, her thoughts, her very soul.

She pushes me away. Her hands are uncertain, trembling against my chest, but the rejection is clear.

And Christ, she’s beautiful. Even now. Especially now. Flushed, startled, her eyes finally, finally expressive. Alive. And filled with… confusion? Fear?

The sound of laughter, loud and obnoxious, erupts from the doorway behind us. It feels distant, muffled, like it’s coming from another planet. The only thing in focus is Diana. Her face. Her eyes. The way her lips are still damp, slightly swollen from my kiss.

She turns away abruptly, towards the stainless-steel sink, her shoulders rigid. I take a step closer, drawn by an irresistible force.

Just as I open my mouth to speak, to apologize, to explain, to beg, the realization crashes down on me with the force of a physical blow: she’s my subordinate. My employee. I just fucking assaulted her.

At the exact same instant, Hugh, one of my VPs, appears out of nowhere, slapping me hard on the back, his laughter booming.

“Was just about to say something myself, boss!” he guffaws.

“Damn, dude! Didn’t waste any time, did you?

But the rest of the plan… that’s still a secret! Tonight’s gonna be epic!”

A jumble of nonsensical words. The prank, probably. I have no fucking idea what he’s talking about. And I don’t care.

Diana is tense enough to snap.

I can feel the vibrations of her fear, her anger, across the small space separating us. I lean in closer, needing to be near her, needing to fix this. She’s standing slightly sideways now, her face averted, hidden from my view. And that, that deliberate denial of her gaze, is infuriating.

Steam hisses aggressively from the coffee machine beside her.

Diana grips her empty mug so tightly her knuckles are white.

“Diana,” I say. I savor the sound of it. “Let me make you… Are you having coffee? Or tea?”

She flinches at the sound of my voice. Visibly.

And my nerves, already frayed beyond recognition, finally snap. I move to her other side, positioning myself between her and the rest of the kitchen, the laughter still echoing in the background. Probably at me. My public humiliation. Doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but her.

“Let me,” I say again, my voice softer now. Trying to soothe. Trying to atone.

She’s about to pour hot water from the machine’s dispenser. So, tea. Of course.

“No,” she says sharply.

But my fingers are already there, brushing against hers.

Too much steam, thick and scalding, billows from the machine’s nozzle. Something’s definitely off with it. Defective. Broken. Just like everything else today.

Diana suddenly touches my hand, a quick, instinctive brush of her skin against mine, and I lift my gaze from the faulty machine to her flushed, beautiful face.

And I’m too captivated, too mesmerized by the storm in her eyes, to put two and two together. To see the danger.

I move to take the mug from her, the one she’s just filled with boiling water. She protests, a small, sharp sound. The cheap ceramic is scorching hot. And I burn my hand.

I yank my fingers back with a hissed curse, but hers are still there, tangled with mine, trying to stop me, trying to regain control of the cup.

It tips. Overflows. Spills. Directly onto the back of her hand.

Diana screams.

A high, thin, tearing sound that slices through the ambient kitchen noise, through the laughter, straight into my gut.

I lunge forward, desperate, unthinking, needing to do something, anything, to help her, to undo what just happened.

And in the chaos, my flailing arm knocks hard against the coffee machine’s stainless-steel front panel.

And the panel – light as air, barely fucking attached, a testament to cheap corporate procurement – detaches. And falls. Directly onto the back of her already scalded hand. Pinning it against the hot dispenser.

The burst of escaping steam is nothing compared to the inferno of horror and self-loathing that sears through my brain.

Diana tries to yank the metal panel off her burn, her small, delicate hand trapped beneath it. But it’s stuck. She has to peel it away. Slowly. Agonizingly.

Her scream, I think, mixes with my own. A raw, guttural sound of pure agony.

“Help me,” she breathes through clenched teeth, her body rigid with pain, in between hitched, gasping sobs. “Please… take it off. Help. Help. Rip it… rip it off.”

I watch my own fingers, strangely detached, wrap around the edges of the scalding metal. The room is filled with shouting now. Raised voices. Panic. I lift the panel, trying to separate it gently from her skin, but…

Her skin. Oh God, her skin. It stays on the metal. Pink. Raw. Blistered.

Diana chokes on another scream, a strangled, broken sound, her body wracked with shudders of unbearable pain.

“Help,” she barely whispers, her eyes wide, glazed with shock, fixed on her ravaged hand.

My lips go numb. My ears are ringing. The world narrows to this single, horrific point.

I have to do this. Now. And the only strength I have left, the only thing keeping me upright, is just enough to grit my teeth against the bile rising in my throat.

With one swift, brutal motion, I rip the panel away. Taking a layer of her skin with it.

And at the exact same instant, her screams of pain, sharp and piercing, rip through the carefully constructed surface of my heart, leaving nothing but raw, exposed, bleeding flesh.

I stare at her hand.

At the small, delicate palm, now a grotesque landscape of red and white. It blurs before my eyes.

I did this. I fucking did this to her.

“Step away from her, Mykola!” Someone – Albina, her voice sharp with command, with fury – shoves me back. Hard. “For God’s sake, move away from her now!”

And I step back. Stumbling. Though it feels like I’m moving backward through thick, viscous mud. My gaze is locked on Diana. On her face. On her eyes.

But she no longer looks at me.

And I know, with a certainty that chills me to the bone, that she never, ever will again.

Not like she did before. Not with that hesitant curiosity. Not with that flicker of… something.

I’ve destroyed it. Destroyed her. Destroyed everything.

In the space of one catastrophic hour.