— You stay, he orders in a low voice, almost a whisper, yet authoritative enough to freeze me in place.
— Me?
My gaze wavers between him and the director, desperately searching for an escape. But the director, more concerned with slipping away, seems oblivious to my distress.
— She's just an intern, I don't see why… he begins, uncertain.
— I know. I'd like to see her notes, they interest me, Sacha declares with unyielding seriousness.
— Yes, of course, she's at your disposal. Lilya, be professional, the director says before vanishing, closing the door behind him.
Professional? I stifle a bitter laugh. I'm not sure what angers me more: being treated like an object or the fact that no one seems to care.
— Let go of me! I snap, tugging my wrist free.
He obeys, releasing me without a word. Then he sits back down, legs crossed, fixing me with a disturbingly calm stare.
— Sit.
I remain standing, arms crossed, my eyes locked onto his.
— What do you want from me? I demand sharply.