Obsession Love

There should be a limit to how arrogant a man can be. I swear there should be. It should be, I don't know, in the country's constitution, forbidding bosses from being so... unbearable.

You know what's worse?

I've been complaining about it for years, every day. I'm not exaggerating, I complain. Do I do anything to change it? No. It may seem like I'm lazy and don't love my own life, but that's not it. At least, it's not just that.

The truth is that I hate change. I'm terrified when it comes to the pretty ones. My anxiety-ridden brain starts creating a thousand and two hypotheses about what could go wrong if I decide to risk giving up, so I no longer have to put up with Valentin's unpalatable personality, and I always think it's never the right time to change.

Because I depend on the money.

Because it could be worse.

Because the bastard isn't that bad.

And really, Valentin Salvatore could be worse. I'm real proof that there are much worse bosses out there, but I'm not someone who can deal with strong tempers. Maybe it's because I have to put up with enough of my own. I don't have to put up with other people. I already have to put up with that. Have you ever seen me with PMS? You don't want to!

It's by saying once again that I can't kill my boss during the nights when he forces me to stay late, making me change or delay my plans, that I prepare to knock on the office of the unhappy CEO. Or as I like to call him, the door to hell.

"Excuse me, Mr. Salvatore," I say tiredly, forcing the gentle tone I always try to use in our conversations so as not to overstep the boundaries of what is acceptable for an employee in front of a superior. I said I try, but that doesn't mean I always succeed. "I'm leaving."

"I'm still here, miss. I need my secretary by the end of the day."

I count to ten, but it's no use, so I extend the count to twenty. It doesn't work. Who am I kidding? It never has. Even if I counted to a million, it wouldn't diminish the desire I always feel to throw him off the top of the skyscraper where LDrinks is located.

"I understand, sir, but it's already nine o'clock at night. It's not like I live for work, you know?" I use my most peaceful tone in the world because I don't want him to pester me now and keep me here any longer just out of spite. Believe me, Valentin can do that. "I'm always available during office hours."

"Do you have an appointment?"

My earlier refusal makes him take his eyes off the laptop and, as usual, I lose my breath for a few seconds. Come on, I said he was arrogant, not ugly. Unfortunately, the bastard is as handsome and tempting as the fallen angel himself. Not that I go around commenting on that. My mouth is a tomb when it comes to complimenting him, even if it's something as superficial as his appearance, which is his only quality.

Shit! And he knows it!

When he takes off his glasses, which he only wears to use the computer, he looks even hotter and sexier.

I shift my weight from one foot to the other, tense with my increasingly impertinent thoughts about his appearance, but I can't help noticing how his small, black eyes shine, even in the low light of the room. That's how he prefers to work.

Or the way his straight black hair never seems to go in the right direction on top of his head, giving him a casual, relaxed look. Which is a waste, if you ask me because Valentin Salvatore has none of that. He's anything but. On the contrary, the forty-year-old CEO is serious, closed off, predictable and methodical.