Layers(7)

“Well, mmm,” she murmurs, still perplexed. I can totally relate to her reaction toward him. Once we start walking toward Mr. Stark’s office, she composes herself and nods.

Daniel saunters beside me. I can sense his intent stare on me but refrain from looking back at him. I’d rather not challenge my ability to appear nonchalant. We approach what I believe to be Mr. Stark’s office and he gestures for me to go in first.

“Here we are,” he declares, searching my eyes. He softly beams and I counter with a full-hearted grin. Observing the inside, I’m dazed by the luxurious space; it’s a vast and modernly-decorated room. The neutral white shade covering the walls doesn’t steal too much focus from the rest of the room but enhances the sophisticated style of the clean-cut furniture, especially the enormous chrome and glass desk that takes center stage. The table consists of a silver Mac and a thin black leather mouse pad, but is otherwise bare.

There is a gray, wide leather chair next to the desk, both standing steady above shiny mahogany parquet. Facing the foyer are dark glass walls, the type that can’t be seen through from the outside. Figures. When it comes to Mr. Stark, separation seems to be a theme.

As I get farther inside, Daniel is still accompanying me, that constant wicked glee to his eyes. Yes, he defiantly looks as good as I remembered. And boy, did I remember …

“How have you been, Miss Grace?” he asks, casually glancing at me from a guarded distance.

“Fine, and you?” I tentatively run my eyes over him.

“Couldn’t be better,” he says, a touch of humor lacing his words.

“I guess I’ll wait in here. Thank you for showing me the way.” I nod at him with a flirty smile and he mirrors with the same somewhat suggestive gesture. I sit down and quickly examine the table in front of me. I notice my scribbled-on CV on the desk next to Mr. Almighty’s empty chair. Daniel, watching me in an unfathomable manner, circles the table rather than leaving the room and just before I can process what’s going on, he stretches his hand from behind the table.

“Daniel Stark,” he says solemnly, his eyes radiating humor though there is only a trace of a smile on his lips.

Oh boy, not good. Not only do I blush this time, my heartbeat starts to accelerate. I’m afraid that the thudding might be audible to the person opposite me.

Great, just great. What have I gotten myself into now? Let’s see how I’ll get myself out of this one.

What do I do? Should I say something? What can I possibly say? Hey Mr. Stark, it was nice trashing you. Did you enjoy it as much as I did? I look at him, wishing the earth would part in two and swallow me. “Well, Miss Grace,” he says with a straight face, eyes boring into mine.

I could not possibly feel more uncomfortable than I already do.

When Miss Bally knocks and comes in with my coffee and water and a bottle of sparkling water for Daniel Mr. Damn Stark I am so grateful for the interruption that I consider begging her to stay. Unfortunately, as quickly as she comes in, she immediately turns on her heels back to her elegant work station, leaving me with Mr. Stark, who casually murmurs, with a patronizing stare, “Careful not to stain yourself with the coffee.”

I shift nervously in my chair, painfully failing to remain calm or form some appropriate comeback. Jerk.

Businesslike, resting casually back in his chair, he concentrates on pretending to read my CV while I try to figure out what I’m really doing here, besides being the object of his amusement.

He inclines his head to level his stare with mine and asks, “You would like to work in our security department, Miss Grace?” He bites his full lips in what I guess is an attempt to hold his thin smile from widening, and it really riles me, causing me to flush again in response. By slanting his head, waiting for my response, a strand of his wavy golden hair drops on his forehead, making him look somewhat unruly, adding to my unease. How can I even concentrate? Somebody shoot me already. Please put me out of my misery.

I look at him restlessly, repeatedly circling my watchband around my wrist. He turns his gaze to my repetitive act of anxiety and I halt at once. His lips pull up a notch.

“Well,” I start with a weak voice, trying to articulate some answer, though miserably failing. How long will this torture last?

“I thought it would be an interesting field to work in.” Oh my god, that’s the best I could come up with? Can I sound more retarded? This is hot enterprise owner Mr. Stark I’m talking to. He must think I’m actually mentally challenged. Perhaps he’ll think I do have a disability and pity me.




Daniel Stark looks at me, hardly trying anymore to hide his covert mocking yet annoyed smile; I feel like bending across the table to strangle that wide, tan neck of his. Or perhaps devour his lips? A rush of pleasure goes through me as I visualize this thought. I shake my head quickly to avoid giving any further stage to this idea.

“So of all the departments at Stark Software, the security organization is the most intriguing and professional unit in your opinion? Is that your line of thought, Miss Grace?” He stares at me with a gaze that burns with a mixture of viciousness and delight. I feel absolutely numb. Did I really say this rubbish to Mrs. Greenich? This is all Tasha’s fault, though I can’t accuse her for making me utter this absurdity. I have myself to thank for that.

“Miss Grace, I do have a position in mind that would be suitable for you here at our organization,” he continues, reassembling his expression into a stern face. Nonetheless, there is still a flicker of playfulness in those hazel irises.