Why were my clothes already at Mr. Volkov’s home? Especially my medications.
My heart fluttered faster, and I breathed quickly as panic built in my stomach and chest.
I couldn’t think about it anymore or I’d have an episode. Years ago, my therapist suggested I use coping mechanisms to prevent myself from spiraling. She advised listening to music, walking, or even reading. I liked all those options, but I most preferred to avoid everything that triggered me. So, instead of facing my fears, I’d stick my head in the sand and pretend what I saw or thought wasn’t really there.
Releasing a deep breath, I finished my makeup and did my hair. I headed downstairs after grabbing my phone and computer bag. I spotted a flash of black and white.
“Mr. Volkov?” I called, and hurried down the rest of the stairs.
Turning the corner, I watched him walk to the front door.
“Oh!” I quickened my steps behind him.
He didn’t turn to look at me. He just kept on walking until he was out the door. I shut it behind me and pushed the strap of my bag higher on my shoulder.
I rushed after him until I walked by Mr. Volkov’s side and smiled at him. “Good morning, sir. How did you sleep?”
He turned his cold amber eyes to me, his eyebrows lowered. Ignoring me, he went to the passenger side of his Mercedes Benz and opened the door.
“Thank you so much, sir,” I said. I slipped past him and sat on the seat. He closed the door and went to the other side, sliding behind the wheel.
“Buckle your seatbelt,” he said so softly that I had to lean forward to hear him.
I blinked a few times, staring at him and not really understanding what he meant. He looked at me with anare you dumblook, and it clicked.
“Oh!” I giggled, buckled the seatbelt, and grinned at him. “Sorry, sir. I...oh, it doesn’t matter.”
He ignored me and started the car. As he pulled out of the driveway, his phone connected to the car’s Bluetooth. A song played softly and he didn’t turn it up, which I was grateful for. Sometimes it was hard for me to hear loud noises. It always hurt my ears when people yelled or listened to their music way too loud. It always felt like someone had taken a power drill to my head while I was in a schizophrenic episode.
Mr. Volkov’s silence created a tense atmosphere during the ride. I held my breath a few times to calm my racing heart. He was a good-looking man with healthy white hair, dark eyebrows, and caramel eyes that I could get lost in. He had a perfect nose, full lips, and a sharp jawline. If he smiled, I was sure dimples would appear on his cheeks. Mr. Volkov wasn’t buff like a bodybuilder, but he had an athletic build. He was tall—so tall I had to lean my head back to gaze up at his face. He was so beautiful, and oh my goodness, he smelled so good. Like a bonfire at night in the woods, splashed with some subtle, expensive cologne and every secret desire I wanted to indulge in with him. I couldn’t believe I was having these types of thoughts about him. I barely knew the man!
I wracked my brain, trying to remember where I was supposed to go once we arrived at the law firm—I had a hard time remembering what it was called, even though I’d been working there for a while. I was exhausted and still sore, so thinking clearly was hard. Maybe that was why I had these thoughts about Mr. Volkov.
Once he parked the car, he got out and shut the door behind him. I watched as he came to my side and opened the door for me. A blush worked its way to my cheeks. I unbuckled my seatbelt and grabbed my bag before taking his offered hand and exiting the car. Mr. Volkov’s fingers tightened on mine as I righted myself and swept my hand over my bottom to ensure the dress hadn’t risen in the back. He closed the door and released my hand when I was done. I followed him as he walked toward the building.
His car chirped as it locked, and I glanced back at it. It was such a nice car, and its black paint was pretty. The windows were tinted and I liked that, too. Turning back, we walked into the building and passed the help desk where Susan sat. She looked at us and perked up when she saw me. Her eyebrows drew together as she took in all my cuts and bruises.
“Morning, Mr. Volkov. Morning, Emma. How are you doing?” she said sweetly, concern softening her eyes.
I gave her a small wave. “I’m good. Just a little sore, but I’m alive, and that’s all that matters.”
Susan gave me a sad smile. “You’re right. Have a good day.”
We walked past the desk and through an elevator’s open doors. Mr. Volkov pressed the button for the fourth floor.
“Oh, we’re going to the same level. How neat is that?” I said, and grinned at him.
He glanced at me from the corner of his eye before he turned his stare ahead of him.
The doors closed and boxed me in with this handsome man I feared didn’t like me. His mouth-watering aroma filled the small, shared space. It did things to me, and I felt guilty for it. I didn’t see a ring on Mr. Volkov’s finger, but what if he had a girlfriend or a fiancée? I couldn’t salivate over some man I knew nothing about.
Nervous as usual, I started rambling to him. “I can’t remember for sure but I, but I think I’m going to room four hundred,” I said, hoping to get more out of him than brusque orders and sideways glances of an annoyed nature. He acted like I was some pesky fly that wouldn’t stop buzzing around his head. Wasn’t that the same man who called me sunshine at the hospital? Now I couldn’t be sure because of how blurry and faded my memories were.
The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. I watched as Mr. Volkov stepped out and strode down the hall. Taking a deep breath, I walked out and stopped to peer around.
I faintly recognized the area, and my brain itched as I tried to recall why. A blond-haired man wearing a business suit walked past me. He slowed his steps and did a double-take, then dipped his chin in a silent “Hello” before he passed and walked away. I touched my face, embarrassed that people could see the bruises and stitches. I tried to cover them with makeup, but it didn’t help that much.
Glancing down the hall, I gathered as much courage as possible to go to my new boss’s office.
