Chapter 38 Olivia
OLIVIA
The shrill ring of my phone cuts through a heavy, dreamless sleep. Eyes still closed, I fumble across sheets I don’t recognize until my fingers close around the vibrating device.
“Hello?” My eyes are practically glued shut and my body aches in a satisfying way I haven’t felt in a long time.
“Open your door. I brought those croissants you like from that filthy bakery by your house.” My mother’s voice jolts me fully awake, and my eyes fly open.
Shit.
“I know you’re home; I saw your car in the parking lot. You should be awake by now. Don’t you have to get to work?” Over the phone, I hear my mother knocking on my front door, impatient even as she’s talking to me on the phone.
The trouble is… I’m not at home.
The vaulted ceilings of Stefan’s bedroom soar over me. I didn’t notice them when he carried me into his room last night. Probably because my attention was focused elsewhere. On his hands and his mouth and—
“These things are pure sugar.” My mother huffs like I’m the one who forced her to buy me pastries and show up at my house unannounced. “You should really be more careful about what you put in your body.”
A crazed laugh almost bubbles out of me. If only she knew what I put in my body last night.
Stefan Safonov is way more dangerous than sugar.
Like my vagina is in on the joke, a distinct jolt between my legs sends me upright. I look around for the first time.
Huge space, ornate furniture, insane view of the harbor. But the space beside me is empty. The sheets are still warm from his body and his scent lingers on the pillow, but Stefan himself is nowhere to be found.
There’s another loud knocking through the phone as my mother sighs. “Come on, Olivia.”
Like she might be able to see me, I pull the sheets over my naked body. “I… can’t.”
There’s an annoyed beat of hesitation. “Why not?”
“Because…” I run through a list of useless possible excuses, ranging from being in the shower to having the bubonic plague. I settle on a version of the truth instead. “I’m not home. Right now. I’m… away.”
“Away this early? Without your car?” I can see her arched brow in my mind.
“You were just telling me I should be at work already. And I am. I’m at the office. Camille picked me up because I had… car trouble. And an early patient consultation.”
“Your first appointment is never before nine.”
I grind my teeth. How this woman has full control over her own life and mine will never not be impressive. Infuriating, but impressive. “Well, it’s a special case and—”
“Don’t insult my intelligence, Olivia. Where are you? Where did you sleep last night?”
“I didn’t— That’s not—” I straighten my spine, gathering what little dignity I have left. “I’m allowed to have a personal life, Mother.”
There’s another pause, then her voice changes completely, taking on a tone of barely contained glee that I haven’t heard since I won the state science fair. “You’re with him, aren’t you?”
“No!” I snap. “I mean, with who? I don’t know who you’re—”
“You’re with Safonov.”
Heat climbs my neck as I hesitate a moment too long. It’s one thing to let my mother think Stefan and I are brushing shoulders, but admitting that we’re bumping uglies is something else entirely.
Especially when there are lawyers and contracts involved.
“You are!” She actually squeals—a girlish, delighted sound so unlike the dignified Dr. Margaret Aster that I momentarily pull the phone away to re-check the caller ID.
“Oh my goodness, Olivia! This is wonderful! The hospital board will be absolutely—” She cuts herself off.
“No, no, I shouldn’t be talking about that now.
You just… You get back to whatever you were doing. ”
The implication in her voice makes me want to sink through the mattress. Mummify me in thousand-thread-count Egyptian cotton. “Mom, it’s not—”
“I’m hanging up now, dear. We’ll talk later. So proud of you!”
The line goes dead before I can correct her assumptions. I stare at the phone, mortification and guilt churning in my stomach.
So proud of you. What a sick and repulsive irony. My mother’s approval—the thing I’ve sought my entire life—finally granted because she thinks I’m sleeping with a billionaire.
I spread my legs for a man with the right connections and presto change-o, Mommy loves me.
The sheet drops, and I glance down at said spread legs.
Purple-tinged bite marks march along the inside of my thighs.
I can still feel the brush of his calloused hands sliding up my legs, hear the hoarse whisper of my name against my neck as he drove inside of me, feel the weight of him punishing me deeper and deeper and deeper into his mattress.
I close my eyes and let myself swim back into the memory for just a single, glorious second. That tightening sensation low in my belly starts to crank to life again, just like it did last night.
Three times, not that I was counting or anything.
But when I open my eyes and find myself alone, phone still gripped in my hand, I remember what’s most important.
“This isn’t real,” I whisper harshly to myself. “In nine months, he’ll have what he wants, and he’ll be gone.”
My mother will have to settle for being lukewarm about my professional accomplishments then. At least, after Stefan, I’ll have a career worth being proud of.
That’s why I’m doing all of this in the first place. For my career.
Not for… whatever last night was. Not for this.
I peel myself out of bed and go take a shower in the gaudy bathroom. It’s hypnotizing to watch the water sluice over all the Stefan Was Here signatures he left on my skin—tiny bruises blooming like dark flowers along my collarbone, my ribs, my hips.
Temporary reminders of a temporary arrangement.
The hot water scalds away all his smells, but it can’t burn the memories out of my head. Mom taught me how to detach and dissociate, and that’s always been my calling card. There’s no emotion so strong that I can’t compartmentalize it away with the best of ‘em.
Until Stefan came along.
… No pun intended.
I find unfamiliar clothes hanging in the closet, tags still attached, all in my size, just like he said.
I’m too exhausted to question it, so I just pull on a pair of jeans that fit like a glove and a sweatshirt, covering myself from head to toe.
With one last glance in the mirror to make doubly sure there isn’t an “I Had Sex with Stefan Safonov” sign stamped on my forehead, I venture out in search of coffee.
The house is huge and I get lost several times. I turn every corner expecting Stefan, but it’s Taras I find lounging in the kitchen when I eventually stumble my way there.
His all-knowing smirk makes me want to disappear into the expensive tile floor.
“Good morning, Dr. Aster. Sleep well?” He slides a steaming mug across the countertop. “Though from what I heard, there wasn’t much sleeping involved.”
My cheeks burn. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“These ol’ walls? Not as thick as one might hope.” He taps his ear. “Especially when certain doctors start calling on God.”
I nearly choke on my first sip of coffee. “Where’s Stefan?”
“Had to go check on something. He’ll be back soon.” Taras’s eyes dance with mischief. “You know, I’ve known him for many years. Never once seen him let a woman stay the night before. Usually, they’re gone before the sheets cool.”
“It’s not like that,” I protest, too quickly. “This is a business arrangement.”
Taras whistles low. “That’s what the kids are calling it these days? In my time, we just said—”
“It’s what he told me,” I interrupt. “His words.”
“Then I guess time will tell which of you is lying.”
I wonder how much I can trust this man. He’s clearly loyal to Stefan—that much is obvious. I doubt he’ll unlock whichever of the twenty spare bedrooms my shoes are hidden in or give me the code to the front door, but he might be willing to tell me things Stefan never would.
The thought is tempting. This is the man who has seen Stefan at his best and worst, who knows his secrets, his past.
“You say you’ve known him for many years,” I venture carefully. “Did he always have… all this?” I gesture vaguely at the immaculate kitchen straight out of Architecture Digest. “Has he always been so…”
So intoxicating? Mysterious? Able to get a woman down to her panties with one well-timed smirk?
“Filthy rich?” Taras finishes, proving that he is not at all on the same page as me. “Yes and no. His parents had money when he was born, but he earned his place.”
I snort. “Spoken like a true nepo baby’s BFF.”
Something in his eyes hardens. There’s no doubting Taras’s loyalty, that’s for sure. “You don’t know what he’s been through—what he’s done—to get here. Don’t pretend you do.”
I don’t push the issue. I just nod and swallow down whatever I was going to say next.
His phone chimes, breaking the tension. “Your apartment is secure, by the way,” he says as he glances at the screen. “My men have been monitoring it since you got here.”
“You’ve been watching my apartment?” Outrage flares, hot and bright.
“Standard procedure for everyone in the pakhan’s orbit.”
“Pakhan?” I repeat. “That’s what, Russian for ‘control freak’?”
“Ha!” Taras barks out an amused laugh. “Something like that.”
I’m about to press further when the doorbell rings.
Taras stands up at once. “It’s a good thing I was monitoring things because, before your mom showed up, I caught a woman trying to break in. I took the liberty of bringing her here instead.”
I frown. “Someone was trying to break in? Was it about the shooting yesterday? Am I being hunted or something?”
I thought Stefan was being overprotective, but suddenly, my heart is racing. Do I need a protective detail? Am I going to have to disappear? Go into Witness Protection? Do they even have Witness Protection for criminals’ baby mamas?