Gairah Obsesi Bos Kejamku

​“Mr. Vance,” my secretary repeats after a pause. “Did you hear me?”

I did. Of course I did. As if I can help but listen to every word that leaves her mouth.

“The board of directors is threatening a hostile takeover if you don't give them a reason not to,” she continues. “They think you're too cold, too distant. You haven't had a public partner in years, and they're spinning it to make you look unstable for leadership. You have until the end of the quarter to find someone, anyone, to prove them wrong.”

I close my eyes for a fraction of a second as I try to make sense of what she's saying. Not a single person in this firm or anywhere else knows the true reason why I haven't dated anyone in the past few years, not since Clare started working for me, three years ago.

“You mean to tell me,” I hiss, “that if I don’t start dating someone to appeal to their idiotic minds, they will take over my company?”

I stand up so abruptly that my chair almost falls over. “I am the CEO of this company,” I continue, my voice rising. “I built this empire from the ground up. They do not have the right to dictate how I live my life.”

I take a sharp breath, forcing the anger down, because I know, deep down, terrifyingly, that if all of them unite against me, I won't have a company left to call my own.

My secretary simply blinks, completely unfazed by my reaction. She's come so far in these past three years, I think. I remember the first time I ever saw Clare: a nervous little thing with black-rimmed glasses and curly hair that framed her face, who used to flinch at loud noises.

“I have prepared a list of eligible candidates for you to choose from,” she murmurs, dragging my mind back from the thoughts that plague my every waking moment. She slides a paper across my desk. “Now, stop feeling sorry for yourself, Mr. Vance, and start working.”

A muscle in my jaw ticks as I glance down at the paper, then back at her in sheer disbelief. “You did what?” I grip the edge of the desk, my voice dropping to a dangerous register. “You had the audacity to sit down and make a list of women for me to choose from?”

I watch, completely dumbfounded, as she simply smirks, an expression that immediately halts the fury coursing through my veins.

“You're very welcome, Mr. Vance.”

She turns on her heel and heads for the door, leaving me alone with my multi-million-dollar corporation, a ruined chair, and a single sheet of paper filled with women I have zero intention of calling, because the one I want, the woman who has completely ruined me for anyone else, just left my office with a self-satisfied grin.

For a second, I consider calling her back, demand she stay, and force her to acknowledge the ruin she leaves in her wake. Instead, I simply shake my head, a defeated sigh escaping my mouth.

Challenge accepted, I think bitterly. Or rather, forced upon me.