Omer was confused for a moment. He did not expect to see a stranger in his office. But then he remembered that the girl was his new assistant and could enter the office in his absence. This circumstance made him angry with himself. He completely lost his mind and forgot about self-control. And he also considered himself a person who knows how to hide his feelings well. Straightening up and assuming a strict look, he greeted coldly:

- Good morning, Laila!

- Good morning, Mr. Omer! - She answered with a hoarse voice.

- Today you have a meeting with the designers, and I decided to prepare everything necessary for it.

She moved away from the table and with a slow movement of her hand brushed her hair behind her back. Omer walked by. Stopping by his chair, he nodded toward the door.

- You are free now. I'll handle the meeting myself.

- What about your schedule? And morning coffee? - Laila did not budge. She looked intently and fiddled with a button on her chest.

"Send the schedule by e-mail," Omer ordered, sitting down at the table and looking down at the folder with the documents. - Bring coffee in twenty minutes. And also, go down to the cafe and get me some toast and cheese. I didn't have time for breakfast today, - he said the last words mechanically. All his attention had already been given to work.

Laila pursed her lips. Anger flashed in slanting eyes and disappeared.

"Okay, Mr. Omer," she said and headed for the door.

- Wait, - called the boss and she, delighted by his call, looked around. He nodded at the glass partition between the offices.

- Close the blinds, - ordered and bent over the documents.

She complied with the order and disappeared. Omer breathed out a sigh of relief, left the table, and opened the window. This sugary perfume choked him and got on his nerves. Something was disturbing in this smell and to the girl herself, like a dope. He shook his head and berated himself for his prejudice. In forty minutes a meeting with the design department. He needs to do the preparation, and not dwell on unreasonable anxiety.

The meeting dragged on. Mostly because of Koray, who came to also and his endless chatter interfered with the work process. In his usual manner, he criticized Zeyneb's drawings, praised only himself, and hissed at the new assistant:

- And-and-and, ugly! Why dyed her hair red? It doesn't suit you at all! What were you like there? Brunette, blonde? So be it! You do not have a solar aura and do not try to imitate the original.

Laila smiled meekly and replied:

- Mr. Koray, red is my natural hair color.

- And-and-and! The photographer grimaced again. "She's also a liar. Thinks that you can cheat me! Me! He pointed a finger at his chest. - Koray Sargin! You can circle your finger on this issue. Yes, I see dyed hair a kilometer away...

- Koray! Omer shouted at him. - Kindly, get down to business, and let us work in peace. Did you see the direction of the collection? Koray frowned resentfully but nodded. - That's great! Go to your place and come up with a concept. If it is great, then the position of the concept director is yours.

Zeyneb and Kıvanc stared at the boss with open mouths, and Koray jumped up and yelled:

- Me? Director?! Omyush, my prince of brunettes! Eyes like olives! Gorgeous hair! Ay, this is a retreat! Do not pay attention to. Yes, I will make such a concept that the whole world will be at the feet of Passionis! Your collection will be talked about for five years! He slammed the fingers of one hand into the palm of the other and made a graceful gesture with his hand. - I'm going to work.

Proudly throwing up his head, he paraded around the office and disappeared through the door. Omer sighed with relief and nodded to the amazed employees:

- We continue to work. Zubeyir, - he called the programmer. But he looked at Laila with loving eyes and did not hear anything around. Even the performance of the crazy photographer passed him by. Omer raised his voice: - Zubeyir!

- A! - He seemed to wake up from a dream and turned his head in confusion. - I beg your pardon, Mr. Omer! I thought about it.

- The computer does not save scanned drawings, - the boss interrupted him irritably and ordered: - Find out what's the matter, - Zubeyir rushed headlong to his laptop. Omer looked at the assistant and gave the following order:

- Laila! When the problem is fixed, scan all the sketches and save. She slowly nodded her head and smiled with the tips of her lips. But Omer did not notice her smile. He already turned to Zeyneb and Kivanc:

- You have four hours. You are finalizing the last two sketches and giving them to Laila to create an electronic copy, - he clapped his hands twice and gave the order:

- Let's work!

When the office was empty, he exhaled and looked at his watch. It is a quarter to one. And he hasn't called Defne in half a day. Omer rubbed his chin and smiled. Lunchtime. Why not spend it with his wife! Grabbing the phone, he swiftly left the office and hurried to the Sapphire.

But Defne was not there. Alina, smiling sweetly, informed him that Mrs. Defne had left for a meeting with Mr. Baisal.

"This is the damn merchant who drooled over Defne at the opening of Sapphire," Omer recalled and his hands clenched into fists.

- Where is the meeting taking place? He asked the girl.

"At the Lunch restaurant," she replied, and Omer, turning swiftly, walked to the elevator with a wide step.

***

Mr. Baisal was impeccably polite and welcoming. He helped Defne take off her coat, pulled out a chair for her, poured water into a glass, and inquired about her business. Defne smiled and replied that everything was in order, but she was limited in time and it would be great if Mr. Ozcan would immediately get to the heart of the matter.

- Of course, - he smiled charmingly. - But first, let's place an order.

He snapped his fingers and immediately as if out of the ground, a waiter appeared at their table with a menu. Defne did not take the folder. Smiling sweetly at the young boy in a black apron tied over a plaid shirt, she asked to bring her a risotto and salad. Baisal did not look at the menu either and dictated his order. When the waiter left, he looked at Defne's hair and complimented:

- You have rare hair color, Madame Defne. Noble as ancient gold.

- Thank you, - she said embarrassed and asked: - Let's move on to the topic.

- Oh sure! To tell the truth, we have already solved the issue of cooperation with Mrs. Laura. But I also have a personal order. And this is what I want to discuss with you. He took a small tablet from the inside pocket of his jacket and put it on the table.

- Ms. Defne, I am a widower raising an eighteen-year-old daughter. My wife died when Jansu was nine. My girl suffered so much and I tried my best I could to make her happy. And, of course, I spoiled her. I absolutely can't refuse her anything, - he sighed so sweetly and threw up his hands that Defne involuntarily smiled and thought that Omer would also be such a reliable daddy. Baisal, encouraged by her smile, continued his story: - And now my little girl has grown up, fell in love, and is going to get married. Her fiancé is a decent young man and I have nothing against it, but the problem arose out of the blue. Out of the blue. She wants to wear her mother's dress for the wedding.

- But this is a wonderful wish, - Defne was surprised at such a problem. - So, in her mind, mom remained a bright and wonderful memory.

"Yes, it's so," the man agreed. "But she wants to convert it to a more modern model. At first, I was categorically against it, but my daughter used all the levers of pressure on me in her arsenal, - Baisal smiled a loving smile. - Flapping eyelashes, the look of Bambi the dое and, finally, tears. But this I could not stand. And I agreed.

- But how can I help you? - Defne sincerely did not understand her role.

- The dress has very exquisite embroidery and is embroidered with crystal beads. If remade it the way Jansu wants it, it will need some very special decorations. Exclusive, made especially for the dress. This is my request and an individual order for Sapphire to create such jewelry. Naturally, it will be well rewarded and not only in monetary terms. In each of our network of stores, a Sapphire showcase will be created in the most prominent place. Believe me, Mrs. Defne, other companies are literally fighting for such a privilege.

- I believe, Mr. Ozcan, - answered Defne a little bewildered. - But why did you choose Sapphire, a company that just opened, and not one of those old ones with a reputation that is fighting for a window in your stores?

- Because they are rigid in their views. And I need something new, unusual, but elegant. This can only be created by you, Mrs. Defne.

Baisal hypnotized her with a look. His offer was interesting. Very interesting. Both creatively and business. It will be a challenge to the entire jewelry sector, and if she succeeds, her name and the name of the company will be on a par with the famous Turkish brands.

- Can I see the dress? Defne asked.

- Yes, of course, - Ozcan Baisal rejoiced. - It is now being reworked by the designer. The tablet contains a photo of the old dress and sketches of the new one.

He turned on the tablet and moved closer to Defne.

Omer, who entered the restaurant, saw this picture. Two heads bowed over a tablet. Golden red, in the strands of which the sun has entangled and black with gray. Unmotivated, unjustified, but no less sharp and burning jealousy filled the chest with poisonous smoke. When his nails dug into his palms painfully, and his cheekbones twisted from pain, he realized that he was clenching his fists and teeth with a frenzy. With an effort of will, forcing himself to unclench them, he resolutely went to the table. The man and woman looked up. At first, there was a surprise in Defne's eyes, but the next moment she lit up with joy.

"Omer," she held out her hand to her husband and he squeezed her thin fingers with force. - Why are you here? I didn't know you could break out for lunch.

- I tried very hard, - he kissed her hand and only then looked at Ozcan Baisal. Coldly, point-blank. - Good afternoon. Will I bother you if I join?

- Welcome. Glad to meet you, Mr. Omer, - he answered without much joy and moved to his place.

Omer grinned skeptically, sat down on a chair next to his wife, and called the waiter with a snap of a finger.

- What did you order? - He asked Defne.

"Risotto and salad," she replied.

"Risotto and salad," he repeated to the waiter, and the boy, nodding, hurried to the kitchen.

An uncomfortable silence hung around the table, which was broken by Baisal.

"I turned to Sapphire with a personal order," he said, looking Omer in the eye.

- Yes? - He answered with a sharp, as a blade look. - I would like to hear in more detail.

Defne, perplexed, looked first at one, then at the second. Omer was acting strangely and she did not understand why. But Baisal seemed to understand. His charming smile turned ironic. Leaning back in his chair, he summarized what he previously said to Defne.

"An interesting proposition," Omer said, raising an eyebrow slightly. "And what did MY wife say to it?" He emphasized the word "mine," and Defne frowned.

"Nothing yet," she said, looking into his prickly eyes. "Sapphire isn't just me." Since the offer concerns the whole company, I have to discuss it with the others.

"A logical decision," Omer nodded.

The waiter brought the order and deftly began to place plates on the table with appetizing-smelling dishes. Baisal's phone rang. Apologizing, he walked away. Defne picked up the fork and squinted at her husband.

- Eat! He growled and pricked a slice of tomato with a fork. "You're starving the baby." I hope this is not your first meal today?

- Alina made me tea and bought simites. And I had an apple.

"Simit and an apple!" Omer exclaimed angrily. "And that's for half a day!" But this happened last time. From now on, without breakfast, you do not leave the house.

"We're not leaving," Defne corrected him with a gentle smile. Omer's face relaxed and brightened. She exhaled with relief and sent a portion of risotto into her mouth.

Baisal, who had returned, found the couple having lunch peacefully. He sat down and carefully cut a small piece from the bloody steak. Putting it in his mouth and chewing, he turned to Defne:

- I don't want to look impudent, but still. Mrs. Defne, how soon can you give an answer? Unfortunately, I don't have the time. The wedding is scheduled for May and my daughter wants everything to be perfect.

"Not before six days," she replied. -The Creative Director and the Chief Master of Sapphire are now on their honeymoon and I don't want to disturb them. They'll be back in five days. Then we will discuss the question and give you an answer.

- Okay, Mrs. Defne! I am looking forward to your decision.

"You will, you will!" - Omer thought angrily, clenching his teeth.

Omer was silent all the way to the office. Defne gave him a couple of gazes, which he ignored, and turned away, looking out the window at Istanbul, getting rid of New Year's attributes. Christmas trees decorated with silver and gold balls have disappeared from shop windows, and red hats with white pompoms have disappeared from the heads of mannequins. Workers had put away the illumination and congratulatory billboards. Near the trash cans, there were hills of Christmas trees that fulfilled their mission and became unnecessary. The New Year came into its own and demanded that the residents of Istanbul put aside the festive mood and get to work.

In the elevator, Omer only pressed one button. Sixteenth floor. Defne looked at him questioningly.

"We need to talk," he explained and leaned his shoulder against the metal lining of the booth.

- About what? Defne asked.

- Let's get to your office.

He did not look at her and Defne, not understanding his behavior, became worried and nervously tapped her fingers on the brown leather of her purse.

- Tell me! - she demanded as soon as they crossed the threshold of her office. "I hate it when you're mad at me, but I don't know why.

"I'm not angry." He helped her take off her coat and put it on the back of a chair.

- Aren't you mad? Defne said, crossing her arms on her chest. - Then why are you silent and not looking at me?

- Okay! - he pressed the tabletop with his palms. - I am angry! I don't like this type of man, and I don't want you to meet with him.

- What type? - she was sincerely surprised.

- Defne, don't make yourself a fool! What another type could there be?! Ozcan Baisal !!!

Omer rushed about the office. Defne stepped aside so that he would not knock her over and asked sarcastically:

- And how do you imagine it? Sapphire signed a contract with his firm. They buy our debut collection. And I, in your opinion, should shy away from the owner and bypass him by ten streets?

"There is Laura," he said stubbornly. - Let her do business with him. And you keep all contacts to a minimum.

Defne's composure was getting thinner and thinner. With a huge effort of will, she tried to remain calm and reach out to his mind:

- Omer, did you hear his today's proposal? It's not just profitable! This is a breakthrough! If I can create wedding decorations for Mr. Ozcan's daughter ... but I can do it! She said confidently. - Sapphire will receive centerpieces in his stores.

- Sapphire will become successful without his stores! I do not want you to accept this offer, - Omer stood his ground.

Stubborn mule! Defne stamped her foot and screamed:

- Why, explain to me ?! Where did you get such a prejudice against him?

Omer stopped and, looking out the window, haughtily declared:

- I don't like this guy. He doesn't look at you as a business partner at all.

- Nonsense! Defne objected. - Mr. Ozcan did not do or say anything that would offend or alarm me. If this happened, I, not looking at the benefits for the company, I would immediately terminate any contact with him.

- Defne, you don't know men well! Believe me, often behind the mask of politeness there are not noble thoughts at all.

- And now what ?! Should I suspect each and every one of dishonesty? Or lock me in the house and wear a burqa?

- Don't exaggerate! - Omer snapped. "Just listen to me and do as I ask."

- No! Defne said firmly.

- No?

Omer was taken aback and stared at her amazed. She stood, so small and fragile, with her hands folded on her chest and a stubbornly upturned chin, and looked at him with eyes of not his Defne at all.

- No? He asked.

- No! - She firmly repeated and already in a different, desperate tone appealed to his reason. - Omer, what are you doing? You're choking me! You don't let me breathe!

- Don't let you breathe? - he turned pale. Straightening up and proudly throwing up his head, he said: - Well, breathe! - and left the office.

The door closed behind him with a thud, and rapid footsteps were heard in the corridor. Defne grabbed a notebook from the table and threw it into the wall. Inside, two Defne fought. One, madly in love, demanded to immediately run to Omer. To hug, dissolve in it, promise anything! To become a handkerchief in his pocket, a bracelet on his arm. His shadow and echo. But the other Defne proudly raised her head and asked:

"Will it be you? Or a handkerchief or a bracelet? Do you think he will love them? He loves you, not his shadow! Stay yourself, Defne! Prove him wrong, persuade him, love with all your heart! But don't become a shadow! Never become a shadow! "

She picked up the notebook and put it on the table.

Omer burst into his office. He strode over to the table, then turned around and returned to the door again. He squeezed his temples with his palms and raised his head. From the adjoining office, the slanting eyes of the assistant looked at him. In two steps, finding himself at the glass partition, he closed the blinds in one movement and went to the window. Resentment choked him. Defne is burdened by his love! She said that he would not let her breathe. Doesn't let her breathe! And he cannot breathe without her! One thought that she might stop loving him, leave, paralyzes him. Yes, she loves him now. But what if someone appears and enchants her heart? Allow her to breathe freely and she leaves?

- No! He objected to himself. - This will not happen! Calm down, Omer, calm down!

A door creaked behind him, and he looked around. Laila stood on the threshold with a cup in her hands.

- What do you want? He snapped.

- I brought you coffee.

- Put it on the table and go out.

The assistant followed the order and headed for the door.

"Stop," the word sounded like a bullet fired from a pistol. She looked around. Omer pointed to the glass partition and rapped out:

- I will not repeat more. Find out for yourself and tell the cleaning lady - the blinds must be closed. Always. Is that clear? She pursed her lips and nodded silently. - Now go out and don't let anyone come to me.