8. Arsen
8
ARSEN
I follow the trail of her honeysuckle scent down the hallway to the kitchen.
Scrubbing my skin raw in the shower to get her smell off of me was clearly for nothing. One night here, and she’s somehow already embedded herself in every fiber of my penthouse.
When I walk into the kitchen, she’s standing in front of my state-of-the-art coffee maker with a scrunched nose.
“ Dobroye utro.”
She whips around when I speak, a hand pressed to her chest. “Jesus, you’re quiet!”
“All predators are.”
She gives me a nervous chuckle. Apparently, she thinks I’m joking.
Silence settles between us. I can feel last night creeping into the room.
It was a mistake.
I stood in the mirror this morning and told myself what had to be true in order for this to succeed: her life, her scars, her past—none of it is my business.
Her womb is my business. That is all.
I let myself get carried away in the heat of the moment. That won’t happen again.
Laila clears her throat. “Arsen… about last night. Your scars?—”
“Are you hungry?” I interrupt.
“Oh… uh, no. No, I’m fine, but I was trying to work this thing out. I’m used to coffee makers with, like, three buttons.”
I head to the cabinet next to the sink and pull out an assortment of tea bags. “Take your pick.”
“I don’t drink tea.”
“You do now. And you will until my baby is born,” I inform her. “You signed the deal, remember?”
She stares at me across the kitchen island. “You made it a rule that I have to drink tea?”
“I made it a rule that you will conduct yourself in a manner that will not endanger the baby. Caffeine isn’t good for my child, so it’s out.”
Her eyebrows pull together. “You’re… different this morning.”
“I have no idea what you mean.” I push the tea towards her.
She squints at me for a second before she sighs and points to the Earl Grey. “That one, I guess.”
Nodding, I drop a tea bag in some hot water for her to steep. Meanwhile, I make myself a steaming shot of espresso.
“You know, a gentleman would forgo coffee in solidarity with the mother of his child.”
I take a very deliberate sip of my espresso. “I’m not a gentleman, and you’re not the mother of my child. You’re my surrogate. Nothing more.”
“Right,” she mumbles. Her eyes fall to the floor and she reaches for her cup of tea. But when she picks it up, her hand is shaking so badly that I can hear the rattle of the china tap-dancing together.
I ignore the instinct to steady her hand. To take back what I said.
It was all true. There’s no reason to take it back.
Her fingers spell out a haphazard rhythm against the marble counter. “So, what now?”
The weight of that question makes my skin prickle. I fucked her. In every way that matters, my job with her is done.
Her womb is my business. That is all.
“I’ll have my assistant contact you.” I make a show of checking the time. “I have an early meeting this morning.”
“Oh. Yeah. Okay.” She clears her throat and stares at the coffee machine like it’s the only safe place for her eyes to land.
“When you’re done with your tea, Dominik is waiting for us downstairs.”
She barely takes two sips before she puts the cup down. “I’m done. We can go.” I walk away, but as I go, I swear I hear her mutter, “Nothing here worth staying for anyway.”
As we step out of the building, Laila is still dressed in the clothes I fucked her in, not once, but twice. We reek of yesterday’s mistakes.
She stops a few feet shy of the car. “I can get myself a cab. It’s not a problem.”
It’s a good idea. I should take it, clear my head. But I find myself opening the door and ushering her into the backseat instead. “No. I’ll take you.”
She obeys without a fuss and slides inside, but the only time she speaks to me during the drive is when I ask her for her address.
Twenty minutes later, Dominik pulls up outside a brown, crumbling building. I peer through the window at the shit heap my surrogate calls home.
I’m experiencing the same shock Laila felt at the sight of my apartment building yesterday, only in reverse.
It’s an ugly brick fa?ade with squat, iron-barred windows set at sloppy angles. Trash pools along the cracked sidewalk. I see rats skittering in and out of the yawning, mold-encrusted mouth of a sewer.
“ This is where you live?” I bark, echoing her words exactly.
“Yes. Is that a problem?”
I point to the rusted fire escape that’s barely clinging to the side of the building. “If a fire doesn’t kill you, tetanus will.”
Her lips flatten. “My mother and I have gotten along fine in this apartment for the last few years. We’ll be fine for the next few, too.”
Before I can say another word, she jumps out of the car, slams the door in my face, and speed-walks towards her hideous tenement.
“Damn. One night with you and she’s already fed up,” Dominik teases from the driver’s seat. “That has to be an all-time record.”
“Fuck off, Dom.” I continue glaring at the building, picking out all the safety hazards my child will have to overcome in order to be born.
Dominik twists around, an arm resting on the back of the passenger seat. “Testy, testy. What happened with you two?”
“Nothing good,” I admit. “I crossed a line with her last night.”
“Did you try something freaky with her? Is she not into kinky shit?”
“She’s mad because I reminded her of the nature of our relationship this morning.”
“Riiight… the whole baby-making business. As romantic as it gets.” Dominik shakes his head. “Still can’t believe you got her to agree to it.”
More and more, I’m wondering if I shouldn’t have.
Laila Barnes might be more complicated than I gave her credit for.
I get out of the back and climb into the passenger seat next to Dominik. “What happened at the club last night? Did Enzo show up?”
“Sure did.” He nods. “Alessandro did, too, actually. But he only stayed half an hour.”
“Did they meet with anyone?” I crack my knuckles as the familiar coldness and comfort of my duties settles back in place. The mask is on, and the lingering glow in my chest fades. I no longer smell honeysuckle.
“Just the standard characters: Alessandro’s lieutenants, a couple of Enzo’s cronies. Looked pretty normal.”
“They’re not likely to be conducting business in a shithole like Midnight Divas, anyway,” I say. “Especially if they’re discussing the Pobeda launch.”
“Aw, come on. All the details of the launch have been kept hush-hush since the inception. Surely?—”
“I’m not going to take the risk of underestimating anyone,” I interrupt. “Those Italian scum have a way of siphoning information they should never be able to get their greasy paws on.” I crack my knuckles again.
Dom’s brow drifts higher. “You okay, bud? You’re doing that thing you do when you’re all worked up.” He nods at my knuckles, just in case I missed the point.
“Just drive, man.”
He pulls away from the curb while I stew in silence. I’m so keyed up from yesterday that my daily shot of espresso, which normally doesn’t affect me in the slightest, has me feeling jittery. Now, I can’t even crack my knuckles in peace.
“When we get to HQ, call Miguel for me,” I order gruffly.
“Miguel? You in the market for new real estate?”
“A three-bedroom with en-suite bathrooms. Somewhere quiet. Preferably with a yard.”
“I didn’t know you were into landscaping.”
“It’s not for me, asshole.”
Dominik glances at me out of the corner of his eye. “Ah. This is for the baby mama.”
“Surrogate,” I snap. “I want the house purchased in her name.”
“Right, of course. Forgive me for asking,” Dominik says in a way that lets me know he isn’t even close to asking for forgiveness, “but I read the contract you drafted last week. There was no mention of giving her a house of her own.”
“You saw that shithole just now,” I growl. “I won’t have my heir anywhere near that pox of a ‘home.’” Sighing, I lean back in my seat and start working on getting my heart rate back to its normal icy crawl. “Make sure the new house is outfitted with security cameras, too. But I want them hidden. It’s best if she doesn’t know about them.”
Dominik gives me a knowing smile. “Of course, boss. Whatever you say.”