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6. Bulletproof

Paul - Wolves Inc Office Building

I press a finger over the mouse. The screen wakes up, revealing a shit ton of emails and other official notifications. But not even the silence of my empty workplace can help me concentrate.

My mind goes wherever it wants, without any consideration for my duties. Two days have passed since that girl saved my life, and for whatever reason, I can’t stop thinking about her. Every time I close my eyes, I see her sleeping in my arms. I have to keep reminding myself she’s a strigoi, not just a beautiful woman.

Instead of reading those tedious emails, I watch the crowd rush from one location to another. Their noses buried in their phones and fingers typing away at tinted glass displays entertain me. Students carry bulkier backpacks that can hold books and binders, while others go about with little more than a set of headphones.

I scan the street in search of copper hair and interesting curves. Maybe she's there, stalking me. My breath stops the moment I think I might have caught a glimpse of her. Her wavy hair and swinging hips, like the wind, evaporate as soon as I pay more attention. My inner wolf growls.

Steady footsteps echo, and the door opens to reveal Cristian's smiling face.

“May I bother you for a moment?” he asks but doesn’t wait for my reply to enter.

He sits on the leather armchair, his right foot’s ankle over the other’s knee. A big smile covers his face as he opens the newspaper and reads it.

"Paul Mateescu, the best catch in all of Romania, hasn’t been seen having actual interest in any woman. His dates are scarce, and no lady has managed to get a second one. Some of the women who escorted him are said to be for hire. Sources say he might be gay."

Cristian rereads the paragraph a second time, punctuating the last part with cackles. He leans the page toward me, positioning it for me to see that the last word was fully capitalized. The title looms heavy over the paper: Paul, the Gay Bachelor! Sorry, girls!

My tongue clicks. "That is how the press operates, an intriguing title to increase sales. And that is a controversial newspaper. Nobody is going to believe it."

"As your advisor, my responsibility is to safeguard your image. People know you from the media, and their personal opinions can impact your business. Don’t get me wrong here. You can go for the gay stereotype, but you have to be stable. No one likes flimsy people who change their preferences like socks. You are your brand." Cristian folds the paper and places it on my desk. "I worked very hard to create the perfect bachelor picture in these last few years. Mind you, reporters aren’t easy to fool. Your face shows clear disinterest in the women you go out with."

“Then maybe you shouldn’t set me up with stupid and superfluous women.”

Christian’s shoulders sink and his smile vanishes. "When I look at you, I recall my buddy from university. I seem to remember that he was charming and quite the lady magnet. He got his hands on the most beautiful ones. He was the perfect image of the womanizer CEO, except for that last chick who made him pull the brakes on dating. And then the most coveted bachelor in Bucharest turned into a fucking monk." He sighs, trying to calm his increasing tone. "Look, I’m good at what I’m doing, but I’m no miracle worker. You have to show some interest in these girls. Be your previous self. I liked him. People liked him. Where is he? I think fear stands in the way of his return. Fear of being rejected? Or fear of feeling something again?"

He’s touching a soft spot that I don’t want to be pricked. “Stop fucking psychoanalyzing me! I’m your boss!”

“Sheesh!” he mocks. “And here I was thinking you were my friend.”

I rise from my chair and stuff my hands in my pockets while looking outside, my back to him. “Finding the one is a yearning as old as time itself, a heart-wrenching story that never ends, a song of love and lust. When the first notes start humming their seductive rhythm, everyone is helpless but to dance along. I no longer want to dance.” I turn to see if he gets it. “Capiche?”

“Oh, god.” He tilts his head to the side, pity in his eyes. “That girl really pulled a number on you.”

“Do you want me to throw you out?”

"Come on, you only have to be there with a stunning girl at the RBO party this weekend, not go all-out," Cristian says, his forest green puppy-dog eyes needier than ever. "Pretend you would like to devour her right then and there. You can return to your humdrum existence after the party. Deal? Pretty please!"

“Actually, I already have a plus one for this weekend. So mind your own business for once.”

"You are my business, lol!" He laughs, which irritates me even more. "Oh, please, no more frowning. Who is the girl? It's a girl, right?"

“Tsk, of course.”

“Oh, well.” Cristian gets up, arranging his tie. “You could have let me hope for a few days at least. You like to shatter my hopes.”

Right as Cristian exits the room, my cell phone rings. No peace and quiet for me today. Dan’s photo covers the screen as I swipe up.

"Paul, I did some digging and found no clues so far about the shooter. There is no specific scent in that area besides yours and the strigoi's. I think it was a human. If so, be wary at the party. This may be related to business and not supernatural."

“Don’t worry, Dan.” I lay my back on the comfy backrest. Unwillingly, I smile. “I’ll have my bulletproof vest with me tomorrow night.” 

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