SEVEN WAYS TO LOSE MY SANITY.

DAMIEN.

She swiped her tongue at her lips before answering my question, and I clenched my jaw.

How hard could this be? Her whole existence was a problem for me. 

“Well, I asked nicely, and you didn’t listen.”

   

“That’s because I didn’t want to.”

      

“He’s not the boss of you, Ana,” Christian says. “If you want an internship in your dad’s firm, you just have to take it.”

      

She squares her shoulders. “That’s right. You’re not the boss of me, Uncle Damien.”

      

I grind my teeth, and it’s not only because she called me that after so long, but also because she said it in a taunting way. In a “you’re my father’s best friend, so you’re supposed to give me what I want” kind of way.

      

It takes all my self-restraint not to catch those words and jam them back down her throat so she doesn’t utter them again. Maybe make her choke on my fingers at the same time. Or another part of me. Fuck me. 

      

“Yet,” I say.

      

“What?”

      

“I’m not the boss of you yet, considering that you do want to intern for me.”

      

“Not for you,” she says slowly. “For Christian.”

      

“That won’t be happening, so it’s either with me or you’re out of here.”

      

Her lips fall open, and she swallows, then clamps them shut before they open again. Every move she made was so distracting, and it messed with my sanity. What the hell? I couldn't let her intern for this fucked, and at the same time, I knew that if she interned for me, there would be a big problem because my nemesis would be in my space 24/7. Fuck.

I knew she was persistent enough not to give up. 

      

Christian releases a tsking sound. “Like uncle, like nephew, all you and Liam ever do is steal my interns.”

      

“But…I want to intern with Christian,” she says with more conviction.

      

“Then leave.” She purses those lips again, her body getting rigid and her nostrils flaring. She’s clinking her nails against each other, too.

      

Clink. 

Clink. 

Clink.

She's thinking hard. I knew because this was her tell anytime she had something huge on her mind. 

      

“Or follow me.” I turn around, not waiting to see if she follows.

      

She will.

      

Not only did she come over here with one intention, but she’s also not the type who gives up, not even if she has to make compromises.

      

I’m the one who’s supposed to push her away, not offer her an internship or even invite her to my office.

      

This is my focus zone, after all, and having her in it will fuck everything up. But it’s not like she disappears from my mind when she’s out of sight.

      

Whoever said that is a fucking moron.

      

Besides, either she’s with me or with someone else. And there’s no way in fuck I was going to let her be with Christian, Sebastian, or even Liam.

      

I’ve been hit by the same haze that took over me when Payton told me that my “wife” brought cupcakes and was talking with the three fuckers. Logical thoughts were the last thing on my mind when I barged in there. 

I knew she didn’t like it when I refused the internship, but I didn’t think she’d show up and negotiate her way into one. 

      

Behind my back.

She took after her father too much. That reminded me of Xavier, who was lying in a hospital bed without certainty that he would wake up, and I was here, thinking about seven different ways to fuck his daughter till Sunday. Fuck.

I've never admitted to wanting to do that to her out loud. Fuckkkk. 

She hadn't even been in my space for up to 24 hours, and she was already messing up my thought space. 

      

I’m well aware of her half-jogging behind me as I march to my office, but I don’t look at her. I’m charged up enough as it is without being distracted by the sight of her.

      

If I had enough decency, I would slow down and let her catch up, but that term doesn’t fucking exist in my dictionary. Because if I had decency, I wouldn't think about her the way I do. 

     

As soon as we’re inside, I shut the door, lean against it, and face her.

      

Anastasia stands in the middle of the office, catching her breath. But then she glares at me with her arms crossed over her chest. A very distracting move that she wasn't supposed to make. 

“I don’t want to intern with you.” My gaze was set on her chest for a few seconds before I cleared my throat and looked away. 

      

“Good thing you don’t have a say in it.”

      

“But you said no the other time. What made you change your mind?”

      

She's going to someone else.

      

Christian’s hand on her. The fucking cupcakes she brought.

      

Any. All.

      

“Why do you want to intern here?” I ask instead of answering her question.

      

“I want the experience.”

      

“Why now?”

      

“It’s summer, and pre-law students intern during the summer.”

      

“That’s all?”

      

“And…to keep busy, okay? I can’t afford to feel empty right now, so don’t stop me from doing this.”

      

It’s about Xavier. Fuck.

      

I should’ve known that the happy façade she puts on in front of her housekeeper and the world is just that. A façade. A disguise to hide what she’s feeling inside.

      

She’s excellent at that. Hiding. Whether physically or emotionally. Especially when it comes to the emotional pain, because she’s far more open in other areas.

      

I push off the door and approach her slowly. I don’t miss the way her eyes widen a little or how she watches my every move. She does it all the time back at the house, which is one more reason why I keep my fucking distance.

      

“Why didn’t you say that when you first talked to me about the internship? When asking for something, you’re supposed to back it up with all the right arguments.”

      

“You didn’t really give me a chance. You said no, and that’s final. And the discussion is over. Your three favorite expressions, remember?”

      

“Watch the tone, Anastasia.”

      

“I’m sure Christian wouldn’t mind it if you just let me intern with him.”

      

“That’s out of the question, and that’s final.”

      

“See? You repeated it! It’s final this and final that. I’m not a robot, you know. There’s this little thing called emotions, and I’m not desensitized to them. I don’t have that word on my negative list.”

      

“You're what?”

      

“It’s a thing. You don’t need to know about it.” Then she mutters under her breath, “Maybe I should add you to the list.”

      

“Are you calling me names, Anastasia ?”