4. Laila
4
LAILA
I’ve spent the last week since I left Arsen Adamov’s office feeling pretty damn good about myself.
He thought he could flash some money and those pretty green eyes of his and I’d give him whatever he asked?
Eff. That.
Arsen may have all the money in the world, but I have self-respect. And that is priceless.
As it turns out, however, self-respect does come at a price. That price includes healthcare, rent, and a monthly stipend that would cover my cost of living well into my thirties.
I’ve thought about Arsen’s proposition repeatedly over the last few days, but never so hard as last night when I sat with my mom on the linoleum floor of our shared bathroom while she threw up yet another dinner.
Business.
For Mom.
It’s why, when Cufflinks McAsshole behind the reception desk stands up and waves an arm to stop me on my crusade across the lobby of Adamov Liquor, I ignore him and pound on Arsen’s office door.
I hear the receptionist calling for security, but I also hear heavy footsteps on the other side of the door. A second later, it opens?—
And Arsen Adamov is standing in front of me.
Somehow, my memory didn’t do him justice. He’s so broad he fills the doorway and his chiseled cheekbones chip away at some of the resolve I gathered on my trek up the stairs.
“I thought you’d be back.”
The deep rumble of his voice makes me shiver. I disguise it with a scowl. “Don’t make me regret coming.”
“Mr. Adamov!” The receptionist appears, breathless, at my side. “She pushed her way through. I have security on the way. I’m so sorry about?—”
“Cancel my nine o’clock, Malcolm.” Arsen steps aside, leaving just enough space for me to squeeze past him without touching his body. I feel the heat radiating off of him anyway. “Ms. Barnes and I are not to be disturbed.”
I give Malcolm a friendly wave under Arsen’s arm. Might as well enjoy my petty victories now. Something tells me the next nine months are going to be pretty light on those.
Then Arsen shuts the door.
Suddenly, nothing is funny at all.
My hip tingles from the hike up the stairs. Thankfully, I had the forethought to pop a pain pill before coming down here today.
“Ms. Barnes.” Arsen gestures towards the chair opposite his desk, the same chair I sat in less than a week ago when I told him I had too much dignity to ever accept his offer. I feel the last scraps of that dignity shrivel to nothing as I drop down into the chair. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I want ten thousand dollars a month,” I blurt.
“Jumping right into negotiations.” He angles his chin like he’s impressed. “I like your style.”
That’s probably why I don’t like this style at all. I take a deep breath to steady my racing heart and start over. “ If I agree to accept your… erm… ‘job offer,’ it’s going to be a huge undertaking, and I just want to?—”
“Done.”
He hasn’t so much as blinked since we sat down. “Excuse me?”
“Ten thousand dollars a month,” he repeats. “Done.”
“Done? Just like that?”
“Would you prefer for me to counter?”
I narrow my eyes. “I’m not finished.”
He waves me on. “By all means, go ahead.”
“I want health insurance for me and my mom. And you have to take care of all of her medical expenses, too.”
He cocks his head to the side. “That was my idea.”
“We might even need a full-time nurse.” That idea came to me last night while I was rubbing my mom’s shoulders and trying to help her back to bed.
You should be a normal twenty-four-year-old, Laila, she said. You shouldn’t have to take care of me.
I don’t mind taking care of my mom. It’s the least I can do after everything my father did to her. To us.
But some help would be nice.
“I told you: whatever you need, it’s done.”
I’m tempted to ask for all of my heart’s desires. A fully-functioning yoga studio. A live-in chef. A pony! No, a unicorn!
The weight of his full attention is crushing, but as he runs a hand down the sharp edge of his jaw, his golden wedding band catches my eye.
“We need to talk about your wife.”
His mouth tightens and any spark of amusement in his eyes goes up in a puff of smoke. “If you insist.”
“What’s the deal with you two? I can’t imagine she’d be okay with you—” Fucking another woman . “—having a baby with someone else.”
For the first time, he looks somewhat less than utterly in control. It’s equal parts anger and anguish, with a dash of How the fuck did this happen to me? thrown in for good measure.
“If you must know, it was an arranged marriage.”
“People still do that?”
“My kind of people do.” He straightens a stack of papers on his desk. “It was a match between two parties for the purpose of business.”
“Money,” I summarize. “You did it for money.”
Not that I have much room to talk. I’m here offering up my womb and the next year of my life for ten thousand dollars a month. Pot, meet kettle. Both black as hell.
I continue before he can point out as much. “Didn’t you want to hold out for?—”
“For what, roza ?” He fixes me with an amused smirk. “For love? Is that what you were going to ask?”
“Well, yes. Why not?”
My parents' marriage wasn’t exactly a shining example of holy, star-crossed matrimony, but not every marriage is such a dumpster fire. Somewhere in the world, there are husbands who dote on their wives; fathers who show up for their children even when there isn’t insurance money dangling over their former spouse’s cancer-riddled body.
My mother is a saint and can do no wrong in my eyes. But I’m still pissed she told my dad about her cancer when he called last week, demanding to know about her will and estate planning. The last thing that greedy shark needs is chum in the water.
“Because I’m the kind of man who leads with his head, not his heart,” Arsen says icily. “I’m not interested in romantic entanglements. I don’t want the complications or the responsibilities of what a real relationship would require. I want freedom—even if I have to find it within the confines of marriage.”
“So, when you said you and your wife are not able to have children…” I have time to reconsider the question, but all other rules of propriety have gone out the window. What lines are left to cross? “… did you even try?”
His answer is immediate and shameless. “I have no interest in being in the same room with the woman, much less doing what would be required to get her pregnant.”
For some inexplicable reason, my entire body erupts with goosebumps. “Does she know you feel that way about her?”
“She is very much aware. And I assure you, the feeling is very much mutual.”
I frown and chew at the inside of my cheek. It’s going to be bloody ribbons by the time I make it out of here. If I make it out of here, that is.
I clear my throat. “She might be okay with you sleeping with someone else, but does that mean she’s going to be okay with raising a child that’s not her own?”
Arsen’s laughter is deep and cutting. “In the animal world, Natascha would be one of those mothers who ate their young. She doesn’t have a single maternal bone in her body.”
“Okay. So, you’re not— You don’t—” I take a deep breath. “If your wife doesn’t want to be involved, are you expecting me to be the mother?”
The words get caught in my throat. Seth is the only serious relationship I’ve ever had. I’ve barely thought about marriage, let alone children.
No time like the present to contemplate life’s biggest questions, I guess. To my surprise, it’s easy to answer.
What kind of mother do I want to be? I love my mom. On rainy Sundays, she used to let me climb in bed with her and we’d watch age-inappropriate movies all day. On payday, she’d take me out for ice cream.
But that was only when she wasn’t working. My father sent a few paltry child support payments at the beginning, but those dried up fast. She spent most of her time trying to earn enough to keep up the bills. That left me at friends’ houses or, when I was old enough, by myself.
I want to be there for my kids.
“You would be the egg donor,” he corrects, cutting through my thoughts. “As the surrogate, once the baby is in my arms, your job will be done.”
“I see.” Something churns in the pit of my stomach. I lift my eyes to his. “You know, it’s insane, what you’re asking me to do. Aren’t you going to ask me why I came back?”
He shakes his head. “No need. You came back for your mother.”
Tears spring to the corners of my eyes without any warning. I look down, hoping he won’t notice.
I hear only the scrape of his chair before I’m presented with a tissue. “If you have any doubts, Ms. Barnes, you should leave now.”
I almost laugh. I have a whole head teeming with doubts. But those doubts don’t erase the reason I’m here.
I snatch the tissue out of his hand. “My mother raised me alone. She worked two jobs to keep us afloat and she never once complained. And how did the universe repay her?” My jaw clenches. “It gave her cancer. The least I can do now is make sure the remainder of her life is as comfortable as possible.”
I lift my gaze to his, no longer ashamed of the tears hanging from my eyelashes.
They’re proof of love.
“Draw up the contract. I’m ready.”