Merlin

The Airway office was sparkling. The New York morning light poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, but here, on the twentieth floor, time flowed differently—in the hands of one man. Merlin Priestley.

You had barely crossed the threshold when the first assistant cast a murderous glance at you.

• He's waiting. And if you're one second late, your career will be over before it even begins.

And so it all began. You'd been wearing those damn Manolo Blahniks with the needle-thin heels for three months now, and they were still cutting into your feet. You've been working as the second assistant to Merlin, the magazine's editor-in-chief, for a long time now. You learned to read between the lines, to anticipate his desires in the morning, to live in constant tension. You stayed late, sorting out samples for the shoot. The ever-bustling familiar office was empty. The recent Valentino show, where his word decided the fate of the collection, was a success, but the next one was just around the corner.

• You're still here.

You flinched. His voice, deep and velvety, echoed through the emptying office. Merlin stood in the doorway, his shadow stretched across the floor. He had taken off his jacket, loosened his tie, and looked dangerously casual.

• I'm... finishing.

He walked in, his fingers sliding over the silk of the dress you were preparing for the model.

• "Dior". Not bad. But that shade of blue will kill the shoot, - he said, and you felt his deliberate breath on your neck.

• I can replace him...

“No need,” he stepped back, taking a few slow steps, “Your feet are sore.”

You gasped, your gaze immediately dropping to your foot, and you felt the throbbing pain again.

— The shoes are new. I'll get used to them soon.

“You bought them in March,” Merlin interrupted you. “It’s July now.”

• Hmm... I prepared materials for the meeting with Dolce&Gabanna, - you deftly slid off topic.

• I didn't ask for this.

You pursed your lips guiltily, looking away.

• I know, but...

• You know, I don’t mix work with personal life.

Your breath caught in your throat. Merlin slowly approached you, tilting his head, making you want to press yourself closer.

• But I'm afraid you're forcing me.