Chapter 8.

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Following him into his office, I put on my façade until Montoya is seated. Then, I walk towards his table with steady steps.

"The reports," I announce, my face expressionless as I put the binders on his table. Stepping back, I flip my hair behind shoulder. When I look back at him, I realize that he's looking straight at me, his lips tight in concentration.

Raising a questioning brow, I wait for him to say something. But he doesn't. He keeps staring at me, not moving a finger.

Despite how much I try to hold my façade, I can feel the blood rush to my cheeks. He knows there's something different with my appearance, he's trying to pinpoint it. Oh God, this is so embarrassing, will he realize the sharp wing that Darlene did to my eyes? Maybe he's comparing it to a knife, a sharp one even -

"What have you done to yourself?" he asks.


"Is this your new image?" he continues.

"I-I... I just..."


"I just wanted... something different."

"Different?" he murmurs in thought, tasting the word as he looks down at the reports on the table, "you look like everyone else here now."

Widening my eyes as my brain registers his word, I open my mouth to defend myself, however he quickly speaks up again, with a louder voice this time.

"Finish up this report and make Caleb sign it before you send it." He orders, handing me the report without even looking at me.

This is it? He spits out his snide remarks and continues as if nothing happened? No way.

"I will." I sneer, taking the report he's handing me, letting my mouth free to say whatever the hell I want to say, "Oh, and I apologize for earlier today. I wasn't informed not to show up on Fridays. Otherwise, I would never have interrupted your... Privacy."

Putting on my best fake smile, I know that he has understood my imply since he's now looking at me, one brow raised.

Yes, I am talking about your peaceful morning with your little blonde friend -

Raising both brows his face snaps up, looking at me in surprise. I force myself to stare into his eyes, keeping the smirk on my face. Suddenly, he does a nod, leaning back on his chair, his elbow resting on the chair arm, the corner of his lips turning up in a smirk.

"Yes. Yes, you better don't." He agrees, his tongue running over his bottom lip before he continues, "You see, I make a big deal out of keeping business and private life apart, Mrs. Abrahams, and I very much expect my employers to respect that."

"Oh." I say acting as if I'm innocently confused, nodding mockingly, "but is commenting on my appearance a part of your business too?"

Because in my opinion that was very much crossing the line!

A small, evil laugh leaves his lips, as he rubs his chin.

"If you would have read the contract, Mrs. Abrahams, you would've known that your work appearance is indeed my business. Cleavage, for instance, isn't allowed. It can..." he pauses, searching for a word with knotted brows, before nodding towards my cleavage with his chin, "distract, as you can imagine."

"I-I..." I stammer, my jaw dropping.

"Yes, Mrs Abrahams, I think you should change too."

My eyes widen as I study his face, trying to figure out if he's serious. His expression remains serious, and I part my lips to protest.

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