𝘾𝙀𝙊. - 𝘾𝙀𝙊 𝙓 𝙍𝙀𝘼𝘿𝙀𝙍

9.

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What am I to do?

I'm entranced by a man I will never have a life with.

A man who lives within a world I will never enter. 

A man who is miles ahead of me in every way. 

Yet the way his eyes catch mine leaves me breathless, the sun against his skin and the way his hair glows and glistens against its rays. 

Falling for anyone is a thrill that you only understand once you are intoxicated by it, yet, to fall for a man like your boss is a completely different story. 

It's a much deeper, messier occurrence. Because it lingers, even when he leaves, and when he returns, it's just as strong and potent. 

I shouldn't feel this way for a man such as him. 

It's not just because he is my boss, but,

I'm in my very early 20's. 

He is in his late 30's, only a few years heading into his 40's. 

And I didn't learn that until today. 

I've fallen for a man who's roughly about 20 years older than me.

But for some reason, it doesn't put me off. I feel like it should, I feel like this is wrong, for me to like a man under his circumstances. But it only leaves me all the more hooked.

────

"Is this the place...?" I ask as I peer through the car window, the driver humming as he nods. 

"Stop, we'll get out here." 

Mr Dostoevsky's voice ceases the car's movement, and as the car slows and stops, we both exit and step towards the front of the photography studio. It towers us, a dynamic, white, artistically created building with the company's logo displayed by the side of the concrete path. 

I watch as Mr Dostoevky's assistant follows us towards the steps, where we are greeted by a multitude of workers. 

My heart pounds and my chest pumps, such important people, surround us and it's such a casual thing for him. 

I feel quite out of place, but I keep my mouth shut and follow Mr Dostoevksy. 

My gaze follows Mr Dostoevsky's movements, and how distant he is from the workers, paying them no mind as he makes his way through the front entrance of the building, a large, art-work lined hall enveloping us. 

Many doors and open areas with deep, maroon couches amuse the open area's, yet we are already making our way up the stairs of the expensive photography studio, and as the workers guide us across the levels of the buildings, I notice how the females look at Mr Dostoevsky. 

It doesn't surprise me, but it does prick my skin. I shouldn't feel this way. He's not mine to feel so sensitive towards. I shouldn't entertain my delusions in such a way. 

"...And as we set up the equipment, we'll bring the two of you to the styling rooms. We already have your stylist on sight, Sir, and we'll have Miss Y/N work with Rafe. I'm sure she'll be comfortable with him."

A worker explains, and as the worker speaks, Mr Dostoevsky's eyes slowly shift to the side and meet mine. 

"Are you comfortable working with a stylist?" Mr Dostoevsky asks smoothly, and quite bluntly. 

I know he's not questioning me towards the initial idea of the styling, but rather, having to communicate with a stranger on my own, without Mr Dostoevsky there.