9. Arsen
9
ARSEN
“You fucking asshole!” Natascha shrieks, lobbing a crystal vase at my head.
I dodge the projectile with a sigh and pick my way across the minefield of debris from all her earlier attempts at decapitating me. “Is this your idea of a mature conversation?”
Her eyes narrow into slits. “You hired a goddamn surrogate without consulting me! How ‘mature’ do you expect me to be, zasranets? ”
“You know I need an heir,” I growl back, quickly reaching the limits of my patience. “And since the mere idea of fucking you makes me want to gouge my eyes out with a hot poker, I decided this was the best method. You should be thanking me.”
She storms over to me, her pearls clattering against her bony neck. “I don’t want a baby with you.”
“The feeling couldn’t be more mutual. This baby will be yours in name only. I don’t actually want you anywhere near my child.”
Her nostrils flare, a surefire sign that another vase is about to go flying. “My father won’t approve of this. We’re still married, Arsen. He’ll expect me to raise the baby. Everyone will!”
“I don’t care what you or your father think. In fact, Rolan should be here shortly for a business meeting. Fill him in for all I care.”
She peels her lips back over her teeth, her blue eyes sizzling. It’s a shame, really—all that beauty wasted on a woman like Natascha.
She slams her hand down on my desk. “My father?—”
“Your father is the one who came to me,” I remind her. “Your father wanted this alliance more than I did. Your father is the one who stood to gain from our marriage. And your father is the one who will lose if I decide I don’t need you anymore.”
She goes as pale as a corpse. She backs away from me, hands clenching and unclenching. “What do you want from me?”
“The same thing I’ve always wanted from you: absolutely nothing.” I walk to my desk and sit down. “Time for you to go back to your side of town.”
She offers me one last hiss—par for the fucking course—before she storms to the exit, blonde hair rippling in her wake.
Of course, she wouldn’t be the nightmare she is if she didn’t need to have the last word.
She turns around, fuming in the doorway. “I should be thanking this surrogate woman, whoever the hell she is. You’re her problem now.”
When the door slams, the crystal shards scattered across the floor titter like they’re all laughing at me. I swivel my chair towards the window, hating how much I wish my wife was right.
It’s been two weeks since the contract was signed.
Two weeks since I last saw my surrogate.
It wasn’t a conscious choice at first. I needed a little space, some time to get my head on straight. The night we spent together was… more than I bargained for.
Truth be told, all I’d bargained for was a hasty fuck in my office and a pat on the ass as I sent her on her way.
But it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t finished with her yet.
I needed more .
So I took her back to my place. I figured one night together would ease my curiosity. Early morning light has a way of revealing how inconvenient a relationship would be in my life. But in the morning, Laila was barefoot in my kitchen, smelling like vanilla and honeysuckle, doing nothing but making me want her again.
I drove her home and decided that the moment I stopped being curious about her—the moment I stopped craving her presence—I would schedule another meeting between us.
I’m still waiting for that moment to come.
The door bursts open and Dominik saunters in. His gaze passes over what remains of the shattered vase on the floor. “Ah, so it was Natascha. I thought I smelled sulfur in the hallway. What was that vengeance demon doing here?”
“I had to tell her about Laila sooner or later.”
“And the building is still standing?” Dominik says in surprise. “She took her impending motherhood well, then.”
My phone buzzes, an alert from security to tell me that Rolan is here. And then, right on its heels, a follow-up message to inform me that he’s been held up in a conversation with his daughter.
“Fucking perfect,” I mutter.
Dominik reads the message over my shoulder and snorts. “Scared they’re gonna compare notes about your pretty little surrogate?”
“Natascha doesn’t know shit about Laila. I plan on keeping it that way.”
“Protective,” he muses.
“Practical,” I fire back. “Once that baby is born, Laila will be out of my life. The travesty is, Natascha won’t be.”
“Is she already pregnant?”
“No. We only fucked that one night.”
He frowns. “But not since?”
His confusion is warranted. I’m paying her to be my surrogate; fucking her is quite literally in the job description.
“I’ve been… busy.”
“You haven’t been that busy,” he says. “It’s okay to like her, you know.”
“I’m not a teenager, Dom. I don’t have a fucking crush.”
My second-in-command shrugs. “I’d understand if you did. She’s your type: smart, funny, just quirky enough to be interesting.”
“Since when do you know so much about Laila?”
“You’re the one who put me on Laila Duty. I notice things.”
“Then notice less,” I order irritably. “Your job does not involve getting to know her. Your job is about observing her. From a distance. Far enough away that personal details are too fuzzy to make out.”
“Someone is getting awfully territorial,” he mutters under his breath.
I whip my chair around. “So help me, Dominik?—”
“Okay, okay.” He holds up his hands in surrender, backing towards the door. “Shutting up now.”
He’s almost into the hallway, the door halfway closed behind him, when I bark out, “Bring her to my apartment tonight.”
The asshole bites back a grin that dies a fast death the second Rolan pushes past him to sweep into my office, never once glancing at Dominik.
“Arsen!” booms Rolan. “I just heard the good news.”
Dominik raises a brow, and I nod, confirming it’s fine for him to leave. Then I turn my attention to Natascha’s father. “Good news?”
“The secret is out.” He takes the seat Dominik just vacated. “Natascha just informed me that you two will be parents soon.”
I lean back in my seat. “She did, did she?”
“She wasn’t quite so pleased, but she’ll come around,” he assures me, as if I give a shit. “I must say, I wish I had your ingenuity.”
“How so?”
“A surrogate!” He claps a hand on his meaty knee. “Genius. Not only will Natascha avoid the ordeal of pregnancy and labor, but you’ll secure your legacy and keep your hands clean. There’s no reason to be more emotionally involved than you need to be.”
“A lot of people would disagree with you.”
“A lot of people don’t have empires to run,” he says. “Children are necessary for men like us. They carry on the family name—and yet they serve no other purpose for a long, long time.”
My eyebrows rise, but Rolan likes the sound of his own voice too much to notice.
He prattles on, “Children are weak spots. They make for nothing but easy pressure points. Best to distance yourself from the process. Make yourself immune to it.”
“You did things the traditional way,” I say acidly, “and yet you seem to have avoided any kind of paternal sentiment.”
Rolan gives me an appreciative smile, clearly missing the sarcastic bite in my words. “There was no reason for me to be involved. I had nannies, boarding schools, personal tutors… I’m sure you’ve already thought of that. Of course you’ve thought of it!” he crows before I can respond. “You’re a busy man with a whole kingdom to rule. You won’t have time to play Daddy.”
I grimace. Maybe if Rolan had played “Daddy,” his daughter wouldn’t be the most insufferable bitch I’ve ever met.
As much as I don’t give a shit what Rolan thinks of my plan, I don’t want to go to blows with the man. So I grit my teeth and change the subject. “We should probably discuss Pobeda, Rolan. That is why you’re here, after all.”
“Ah, yes, the launch?—”
Before he can dive into it, my phone rings. For the first time in two weeks, Laila’s name flashes across my screen. I’ve got no picture of her to accompany it, but it’s amazing how detailed my memory of her is. I can see her. Taste her. Smell her.
I forget Rolan is here at all.
“Er… Arsen?” Rolan knocks lightly against the surface of my desk. “You still with me?”
I push myself to standing. “You’ll have to excuse me for a few minutes, Rolan.”
His smile rinses out. “Is something wrong?”
Yes. Everything.
Loathe as I am to admit it, Rolan has managed to get in my head. What the fuck was I thinking even considering a child at this point in my life?
I don’t have the time to be a parent. Hearing Rolan wax poetic about all the ways to avoid fatherhood has made it glaringly clear that I want more for my future heir than a drive-by father.
I might never be Father of the Year, but I want to be better than Rolan fucking Kiselev. Especially considering the heinous viper his particular brand of parenting brought forth.
I dismiss him with a wave, already halfway out of the office. “I’ll be back shortly.”
The call drops and Laila’s name disappears from my screen. As I find a quiet room to cloister myself in, I take stock of the situation.
All I have to do is rip up the contract and chuck it in the fire. I’m sure Laila would be relieved, too. Especially after the way we left things.
No harm. No foul.
This could be just another one of those life lessons: don’t pick a surrogate I’m attracted to.
Next time, the woman I choose is going to have buck teeth, a unibrow, and as much personality as a pencil sharpener.
With a plan in place, I call Laila back.
She answers on the first ring. “Arsen.” She’s breathless, and I flash back to being inside of her, to hearing her whimper my name while she clenched around me. It was a high I’ve never felt before. One I feel ghosting through my veins even now.
“Laila,” I respond coldly. “I’m guessing Dominik already informed you about tonight, but my plans changed last minute and?—”
“Dominik hasn’t told me anything.”
I pause. “He hasn’t called you?”
“No. What was he supposed to tell me?”
Running a hand through my hair, I turn to the city view. “Then why are you calling?” She stays silent so long that I assume the call has dropped. “Laila?”
“Sorry.” She takes a deep breath. “I should have planned this out. Maybe written it down or something. I’m not good at serious conversations like this. So I’ll just say it.”
She wants to end the contract. She’s backing out.
It was my plan, but now, I find myself oddly disappointed. My mind is already veering towards the fine print I can employ to keep her tethered to our deal. I’m not accustomed to rejection, and I won’t take it lying down.
“I’ll just say it. Spit it out, y’know?” she stammers. “Arsen, I’m… I’m pregnant.”
I close my eyes.
Pregnant. After two fucking tries.
A new wave of disappointment washes over me. That one night was the first and last attempt. We won’t be seeing each other again.
“Arsen? Are you still there?”
I clutch the phone tightly to keep from hurling it through a window or jackhammering it straight into my skull. “I’m here.”
“Congratulations,” she squeaks. “You’re going to be a dad.”