Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
IVAN
H eading back to the office after the time I spent with Lara at my home feels strange. Something happened in that conservatory. Every step I take is heavy as if I left a part of myself behind with her. I can't stop thinking about her—no matter how hard I try.
It’s distracting, maddening even.
The way she looked at me, the way she trembled, her lips on my skin. She lingers in my mind, refusing to go, like a shadow that follows no matter where I turn. I've had much more experienced partners but none of them managed to get under my skin like she has. She’s there, embedded in my thoughts, and I find myself unable to focus on anything else.
When I finally reach my office, I sit behind my desk, staring blankly at the paperwork piled in front of me. I should be diving into the day’s agenda. The New York Stock Exchange opened hours ago and I have a couple of risky open trades that I should monitor, but all I can think about is her.
I keep replaying everything in my head, trying to make sense of my obsession with her. They circle in my mind like a whirlwind. Round and round. It doesn’t make sense. This won’t do. This is meant to be a purely sexual escapade. I try to force myself to focus, but all I see is her pale body stretched out on the stone floor, her pussy open like the most beautiful pink flower imaginable. My cock starts to stir.
I'm lost in those thoughts when there's a knock on my door.
Greta strides into my office, her sharp heels echoing off the hardwood floor. The sight of her cold beauty snaps me back to reality, away from thoughts of Lara’s vulnerable innocence. Greta is professional as always, holding her folder to her chest. Her expression is neutral, carefully composed. There’s no hint of what she thinks about the way I have bought and paid for Lara—just business.
Her voice is crisp and professional as she walks over to my desk. She flips open the folder. “I’ve made the necessary adjustments following your changes this morning.”
I lean back in my chair, nodding, trying to appear like I’m paying full attention, but she looks alien to me. Everything feels wrong. In my head Lara’s gorgeous eyes are looking up at me from the stone floor.
I’m fucking hooked. It’s an addiction I never saw coming. I thought I was buying her! Ha, ha, what a joke. The joke’s on me.
“Your breakfast meeting at the Four Seasons has been rescheduled to Le Bernardin’s drinks bar,” she continues, her tone detached, almost clinical. “The appointment is confirmed for 7:30 p.m.”
Le Bernardin. It’s a perfect place for closing deals with its quiet elegance and impeccable service.
“Good,” I reply. Even my voice sounds different. I tap my fingers on the desk. “Make a reservation for two at the restaurant afterwards.”
Her pen pauses over her notepad, and I can sense her curiosity. “For another business matter, Sir?”
“No, not business.”
She tries to hide it, but there’s a flicker of something. Displeasure, maybe. She doesn’t like Lara. Greta is superefficient, capable, and loyal, but she can’t understand why I’m behaving this way with Lara. Why I am willing to pay so much just for a woman? She’s probably already decided Lara is temporary, just another woman passing through. She doesn’t know what’s really going on in my head, she doesn’t know about the way Lara lingers even when she’s not around.
“Understood,” she says. “I’ll make sure to get the best table for Miss Fitzpatrick and you.”
She’s holding back, I can tell. There’s an edge to her tone, as if she disapproves but knows better than to say anything. Her job is to manage my life and keep it running smoothly, not to interfere in it in any way.
“Is there anything else, Greta?”
She flips with unnecessary violence to another page in her folder. “Your mother called regarding the charity gala tomorrow evening. She wanted confirmation that you will be attending. What shall I tell her?”
I think of that carefully staged social nightmare, of all the eyes and conversations I’ll have to navigate. It’s always a carefully staged dance.
“Yeah, tell her I’ll be there.”
“Do you need me to arrange anything for the occasion?”
“Arrange for Steven to chauffeur me.”
“Of course,” Greta replies, jotting it down. Her professionalism is impeccable, but I can feel the undercurrent. She’s watching closely for any changes, for decisions that deviate from my usual routine.
“And about the trip this weekend,” she continues, “your mother’s birthday in France. Shall I finalize the travel arrangements?”
“There might be an issue. The DA’s office is still poking around. I need to make sure they won’t interfere with my plans.”
She gives me a quick nod. “I’ll keep the flight details flexible until you confirm.”
“By the way, there will be two of us on the trip.”
I see the slight lift of her eyebrow. This time the disapproval is more obvious. She doesn’t think it is proper for me to take Lara to my mother’s birthday, but her voice is carefully neutral. “Right.”
“That’s it. Will you get the DA on the phone for me?”
She nods, turns smartly, and leaves with her back ramrod straight. Strange. She is bristling with suppressed jealousy. As if… Is she in love with me? I dismiss the thought immediately. Of course not. I’ve known her too long. There would have been signs. I lean back in my chair with a sigh. It’s infuriating the way DA is circling, looking for a way to pin something on me. They never have anything solid, but they keep pushing, hoping I’ve slipped up somewhere.
My phone bleeps and I pick it up. “David Madley on the line,” Greta says and clicks off.
I keep my voice friendly, casual. “David, good to speak with you. I wanted to check on the status of the investigation. I have a trip planned, and I want to make sure there are no restrictions.”
His voice is smooth, too smooth. “As of now, there’s nothing stopping you. If anything comes up, you’ll be the first to know.”
I grip the phone tighter. It’s all politics and leverage with him. A game that people with limited amounts of power play.
“Good to hear.”
He laughs, and it grates on my nerves. “No problem, but be careful. Anything can come up, anytime.”
He has nothing and he knows it, but it’s always the same: veiled, unspoken allegations and threats while he tries his damnedest to find something, anything that he can use against me.
I end the call in a sour mood. I know they’re waiting for me to make a mistake. I’ll try to move money from one jurisdiction to another or something else equally desperate. But I won’t. I’ve played by the rules. Done nothing illegal.
My record and conscience are clear.