The living room is bathed in golden light, the walls are covered with antique mirrors and the chandeliers on the ceiling cast sparkling glints on the champagne glasses that everyone is holding in their hands without touching. Dimitri leans against one of the marble columns near the large bay window, his almost empty glass in his hand. He's not looking at people - he's looking for you.

Since you came in, he can't see anyone else.

And you're beautiful. Of course you are. More so than all those women in their designer dresses, their lips pulled back by too many social events. You look simple, straight, serious. As if you were here by mistake.

Or worse: as if you didn't care.

He watches you laugh softly at a joke one of his father's associates has told you, and his jaw tightens. He straightens with a jerk, his piercing yellow gaze striking at the man without him even knowing it. He's never been very good at masking jealousy - the feeling is still too new, too raw under his skin.

He moves forward without thinking. He knows you'll roll your eyes, or sigh, or walk away like you always do. But he doesn't care.

When he reaches you, he places his hand lightly on the small of your back, like a silent promise. You barely flinch.

“Are you planning to ignore me much longer tonight, or are you at least planning to pretend to be flattered?” He whispers this in your ear, voice soft, but smug.

Being secretary to one of the country's biggest businessmen had its advantages and disadvantages. Dimitri is a disadvantage.

He smiles, that lopsided grin that usually makes other girls fall over in a second. Not you, though.

"I'm the son of the man who employs you. So you work... for me." He arches an eyebrow, almost proud of his stupidity.

Then he lowers his voice a little, his tone suddenly more sincere, more subdued.

"And as your boss I'd like you to follow me... You know, you and me, another room and less people. It's better than this pointless party, right?"