CHAPTER 7

Gianna's POV

Every bone in my body ached as I finally sank into my chair. I'd been running around all day, playing hostess to Mr. Locan's important visitor while he was off gallivanting, God knows where. Ms. Gada, ever the voice of reason, had told me to just handle things, saying that if we waited for that Francis, our guest would be napping from boredom. Seriously, where had that guy disappeared to? And why was his phone conveniently dead?

Here I was, stuck in his ridiculously lavish office, craving a long, luxurious break. I was beyond exhausted, and frankly, I didn't give a damn if he threw a hissy fit about it; I was sprawled out on his ridiculously expensive sofa. I just wanted to go home, binge-watch something mindless, and sleep for a week, but no, I had to wait for him to grace us with his presence. It was almost eight o'clock, for crying out loud. Maybe I should just bail. But Ms. Gada had been so insistent: He'll be back, Gianna. Just wait for him. But when? Halley's Comet might arrive sooner.

I closed my eyes and luxuriated in the brief respite, stretching out on the sofa like I owned the place. Just as I was teetering on the edge of sleep, the door practically exploded open, and in strode my boss, looking like he'd just crash-landed from another dimension. He didn't even register my presence, which was fine by me; the sofa was tucked away in a corner, and it was pretty dim over here. As he stumbled into the room, my eyebrows shot up. He was a mess, radiating a frantic energy that was almost palpable. His tie was hanging loose, his shirt was rumpled, and his hair looked like he'd been running his hands through it all day – which, knowing him, was probably a sign of extreme distress. What in the world had happened to him?

I sat up, abandoning any pretense of relaxation, and decided to observe him from a safe distance.

The first thing that struck me was the sheer, unadulterated misery etched on his face. His eyes were puffy and red-rimmed, like he'd been on a crying jag. Wait a minute... had he been crying? I couldn't decide whether to burst out laughing or feel a twinge of pity. Him? Mr. High-and-Mighty, Mr. Ice-in-His-Veins, actually shedding tears? What could possibly bring him to such a state? Maybe he'd finally been dumped. But I hadn't heard any rumors of a girlfriend, current or otherwise. Not that I cared, of course. It was none of my business.

He finally made his way to his oversized swivel chair and practically collapsed into it, his movements heavy with fatigue. He yanked off his tie, tossing it onto the desk with a sigh, and tugged at his collar, as if he couldn't breathe properly. Then, he took off his glasses, and I got a clear view of the devastation in his eyes. I actually saw a tear escape and track down his cheek before he quickly swiped it away, as if suddenly realizing he wasn't alone.

"What are you still doing here?" he asked, his voice rough and strained, completely devoid of its usual icy authority. I winced inwardly. Was he serious? Was it really that hard to figure out? Waiting for you, genius. That's what I'm paid to do. I bit back the sarcastic response, though, sensing that he was in no mood for my sass. "Ms. Gada asked me to wait, Sir. She needs you to sign the visitor's documents; they're on your desk, and—"

"You can go now. I'll take care of it," he interrupted, cutting me off mid-sentence. He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes, his voice flat and dismissive. I immediately picked up the faint, telltale scent of alcohol wafting through the air. Had he been drinking? He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if trying to pull himself together. Seriously? That was it? After waiting for him for hours, all I got was a brusque dismissal?

"What are you waiting for?" he snapped, his voice laced with impatience, apparently noticing that I hadn't yet made my exit.

"Are you okay?" The question just tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop it, a completely uncharacteristic display of concern. Where had that come from? It just slipped out, unbidden, and the jerk didn't even acknowledge it. He just sat there, staring straight ahead, as if I wasn't even in the room. Fine. Point taken.

"I'm leaving...," I muttered under my breath, turning to head for the door, my pride slightly bruised.

I had only taken a few steps when I heard a loud crash, a sickening thud that made me jump. My eyes widened in alarm, and I whirled around to see my boss sprawled on the floor, limbs akimbo, looking completely unconscious. Panic surged through me, and I rushed to his side, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Sir! Sir!" I called out, shaking his shoulder, but he just lay there, staring blankly at the ceiling, completely unresponsive. I tapped his face a few times, but his skin felt cold and clammy, and he seemed completely out of it, lost in some drunken stupor. What was happening to him?

"Locan! Hey! What's wrong with you?!" Desperate, I did the only thing I could think of, the only thing that might snap him out of it. I drew back my hand and slapped him, not hard, but firm enough to get his attention. The sound echoed in the silent room. His reaction, however, was even more shocking than his sudden collapse. He went completely still, his swollen eyes fixing on me with an intensity that made my breath catch in my throat. They were filled with such raw, unadulterated misery that it actually made my chest ache. "H-hey... are you okay?" I stammered, my voice barely a whisper, my hand hovering uncertainly over his face. I tapped his cheek again, my touch gentle now, my fear giving way to a strange, unexpected surge of compassion. But what happened next was completely out of left field, something I could never have predicted in a million years.

He burst into tears, sobbing like a toddler who'd just been denied his favorite toy. The sound was so raw, so unrestrained, that it was almost painful to hear. He was crying so hard, it was like a dam had broken, releasing years of pent-up emotion. Seriously, what was going on? Had I somehow short-circuited his brain with that slap? Suddenly, without any warning, he grabbed me, pulling me into a tight, desperate hug, burying his face in my shoulder, his body shaking with uncontrollable sobs.

"H-hey... what's wrong?" I asked, my voice laced with a mixture of concern and bewilderment, my mind struggling to process the bizarre scene unfolding before me.

"I like her," he mumbled, the words barely audible through his tears, muffled against my shoulder. I was completely baffled, utterly lost. "Who?" I asked, my voice soft, coaxing, hoping to unravel the mystery of his sudden meltdown. But he didn't answer, his only response a fresh wave of heart-wrenching sobs.

"I really like her. I want her," he repeated over and over, his voice thick with emotion, his grip tightening on my shoulders, his words a raw, desperate plea that sent a shiver down my spine. He was completely drunk, his carefully constructed walls crumbling, his inhibitions dissolving in a flood of tears and confessions. Who would have ever guessed that this arrogant, controlled man, this paragon of icy composure, was actually a blubbering mess when it came to women?

"But why not me?" He suddenly looked up at me, his eyes swimming with tears, a raw, desperate plea in their depths. He looked like a lost little boy, his usual arrogance stripped away, leaving only vulnerability. "Huh?" he whimpered, his voice cracking, begging for an answer I didn't have. "I-I don't know..." That was all I could manage, the pathetic truth tumbling out, inadequate and useless. But it seemed to be the wrong thing to say because his sobs intensified, growing louder, more desperate, as if my words had somehow amplified his pain.

"Hey, hey... it's okay," I murmured, awkwardly patting his shoulder, feeling completely out of my depth. To my surprise, my touch seemed to have a calming effect; his sobs began to subside, his body relaxing slightly against me.

"Maybe she just realized what a jerk you really are and got disappointed," I blurted out, trying to lighten the mood with a poorly timed joke. I instantly regretted my words when he grabbed my shoulders and shook me, not violently, but with a force that sent a jolt of surprise through me.