trouvaille // jenlisa

twenty one

/LISA/

PARIS, 7.39 AM

I took off my black blazer, leaving me in a white button-down shirt tucked inside my black trousers. With a paper cup filled with hot, black coffee in hand, I strolled towards the secretary's desk.

Paris had been beautiful and welcoming ever since I arrived this morning. Chilly, refreshing air immediately accosted me as soon as I stepped out of the private jet. Despite the amicable Paris, Marco had been the full opposite.

He hadn't even looked me in the eyes, he addressed me without bothering to tear his attention from whatever he was doing. As much as I hated being affected by his actions, he did hurt me.

"Bonjour, Ma'am. Anything I can help you with?" A mid-aged woman smiled kindly at me, interrupting my concise thought.

"Yes, will you please bring the files of this month's incoming data? And also the archive of the last three months' data. I'll be in my room,"

"Of course, anything else?" Her delicate voice with a thick accent flowed smoothly.

"No, that's all. Merci,"

She smiled at me and started punching buttons on the telephone on her desk. I turned around to make my way towards my momentary office, on the very top floor.

The Manoban Corps Office in Paris was comfortable and elegant, it had a rich accent of aristocrats, which I adored. The architectural aesthetic was pleasing to the eyes, especially its golden-maroon domination within the building. The whole concept was what I had imagined it would be; unique and prosperous.

My dress shoes were making soft thuds against the maroon carpet beneath. The corridor screamed royalty and highness, way too elegant and rich for an office that's even smaller than the one in South Korea. I wasn't complaining, though, if anything, I was amazed by the architectural esthetics the building offered.

While waiting for the lift to open up, I inspected the smaller details carved on the walls above me to the drawings and murals of the early '40s on the ceiling. After probably a minute of waiting, the lift opened up with a familiar ding. When the lift door slid open, instead of stepping inside, I froze.

Seeing the sight in front of me made my blood instantly boiled. My nostrils flared like an enraged dragon as I furiously stepped inside.

"Get off of her, you sick bastard!"

My knuckles hit an older man's jaw square in the face painfully, making him lurched back from a whimpering woman. My cup of coffee fell down and splashed all over the floor, staining the woman's feet a little bit.

The woman's skirt was up onto her waist, showing her panties. Her top rumpled and the garment covering her left shoulder was ripped. Her makeup ruined—lipstick smeared and her cheek was stained by fresh tears. I felt my heart crumbled at the sight, wanting to comfort her immediately. But when the bastard groaned in pain, my eyes and rage refocused on him.

Panic settled, lingered on his face as I grabbed his collar and pushed him up against the mirrored wall behind, his toes barely on the ground. "The fuck were you thinking?" I growled, deep down enjoying his fear, his panic. The Alpha inside me awakened abruptly, growling at the addicting smell of consternation.

He was probably on his mid-thirties, he smelled a lot and awfully like cigarettes and alcohol. Had he been drinking and smoking on his work period? This early? God! Why the fuck did a man like this employed on my corporation?!

Pursuant to his silence; I assumed he didn't understand English, so I switched my tongue.

"Qu'est-ce que tu faisais?" I growled, dangerously close to snapping his neck.