31. Arsen
31
ARSEN
“What kind of board meeting starts at seven?” Gedeon mumbles, nursing his travel mug like a seasick sailor.
“Drink your coffee and stop complaining. We have a lot to get done today.”
“‘Boarding meeting agenda, item number one: avoid talking to your own wife.’” He mimes checking a box. “Nailed it.”
I flick him a cold glare. Gedeon has no filter in the mornings before he’s had his first caffeine fix. “She sleeps in my bed. Makes her somewhat hard to avoid.”
“Still, it’s harder to have a conversation when the person next to you is unconscious.”
“Good point. You wanna take a nap until we get to the office? Or should I punch you in the face to expedite the process?”
He snorts before taking a big sip. Then he reclines in his seat and closes his eyes. “What’s this meeting for anyway?”
“Pobeda. Finally. I’ve had enough delays for one year. The distillery is getting off the ground this year even if I have to open the doors my damn self.”
“I wish you would. I’m exhausted.” I whip the car in a sharp right and Gedeon has to jostle to save his coffee from spilling all over his lap.
I bite back a smirk and breeze on. “The marketing director I hired is doing great work. Rebecca nabbed a bunch of high-profile patrons for membership to the distillery. With their investments, we’re going to be unstoppable.”
“If you’ve got your wunderkind on the job, what is this early-ass meeting for, then?”
“To discuss the launch date. I want to bring it forward.”
“What?” Gedeon yelps. “Do you think we’re ready?”
“We need to make a show of strength and prove that nothing can stop the Bratva. I’ve got a new wife, a baby on the way, and a new business venture that’s going to give us the liquor industry on a silver platter. Alessandro Calcagno isn’t gonna know what hit him.”
“Especially if you strike at the crack of dawn,” Gedeon says. “He’s probably still asleep.”
As we get closer to the building, I notice how often Ged’s phone is buzzing. He keeps checking it, snickering, and tapping out responses. He isn’t talking to me, so I don’t care what he’s doing. I’m just grateful for a silent car ride.
“Gotta hand it to you,” Gedeon remarks as I pull into the parking lot. “Your girl’s funny.”
I stomp on the brake so hard that he almost goes flying into the dashboard.
“Hey! Hot coffee here.”
“You’re texting Laila?”
“Yeah. She sends great memes.”
I grind my teeth together, resisting the urge to rip the phone out of Gedeon’s hand so I can read their texts. Age and experience have helped me develop some measure of control over the more impulsive tendencies of my personality. Incarceration helped, too.
But I still can’t stop myself from asking, “What’s she doing up at this hour?”
“She’s doing an early morning yoga session with some physical therapist, I think. Last night was too much for her. I told her those shoes were a terrible idea, but did she listen? Nooo, sir, she did not.”
“You knew they’d bother her?” I slam to a rough stop in the parking space, and Gedeon hisses as more coffee sloshes over his chin.
I don’t apologize as I climb out of the car and charge into the building.
Gedeon hustles along behind me, dabbing at the mess on his face. “She can’t do high heels. She knows that, but she wore them anyway.”
Laila may have known that—but how the fuck did Gedeon?
“Why didn’t you or Dominik say anything?”
“We did, but she insisted on wearing them. She said it was ‘part of her costume.’” He snorts.
Nothing about this is funny to me, though.
We get into an elevator, and the three people already inside promptly get out. Smart move on their part.
The doors close and the elevator crawls up the floors, beeping merrily as we pass each one. Gedeon stands opposite me, looking very punchable.
“Not to her .” I’m furious that I even have to explain myself. “Why didn’t you say anything to me ? Next time you know something is going to cause her discomfort, I should be informed.”
Which is necessary, because I don’t already know.
Because you might know my wife better than I do.
He sighs. “I mean, I can do that… but she’ll pull a hissy fit if we come to you.”
I arch a brow. “Do I look like I give a fuck?”
“Says the man who's never been on the receiving end of her attitude,” he says. “It ain’t pretty.”
Luckily for Gedeon, the elevator doors open with one final chime. I fly out, ready to bury my head in business and forget all about my wife, who seems to have a better relationship with my closest vory than she does with me.
Gedeon and I march straight into the boardroom, where my team is already waiting for me. A little bleary-eyed, but present and prepared nonetheless.
I don’t bother with “hellos” and “how are yous.” They’ve never done me much good. I just launch into work and leave my thoughts about Laila far the fuck away.
The meeting goes well, but I’m distracted by Gedeon’s incessant phone checking. Every time his mouth quirks into a smile, I want to flip the table over on him. By the time we finish, my patience is dangerously thin.
Gedeon makes the mistake of following me into my office. “That went great, don’t you think?” He looks back over his shoulder and waves to Rebecca as she passes in the hallway before he shuts the door. “We might actually be able to launch this year.”
“How the fuck would you know? You were chained to your phone the whole meeting. It was distracting.”
“No more than usual.”
Gritting my teeth, I pour myself another cup of coffee, resisting the urge to add a little something stronger to it. “Maybe it’s just your presence that’s irritating me.”
“You’re jealous, aren’t you?” My eyes snap to his so fast that he falters and tries to backtrack. “Er, what I mean is… you seem to be?—”
Another ping comes in from Gedeon’s phone, and even with me simmering in front of him, he checks it.
I snap.
Self-control is for the birds and people with better friends. Since my friend is being a pain in the ass, I steal his phone.
I’m prepared to see the funny memes he mentioned earlier, maybe even a few jabs at me. What I don’t expect is to see a picture of Laila.
My wife.
In the arms of another man.
She’s fully clothed and so is he, but he’s got her bent in an unseemly position while he stands behind her, his hands on her hips, a soft smile splayed across his face.
“What the fuck is this?”
Gedeon gulps. “That’s Tyler. He’s Laila’s physical therapist. I mentioned that earlier.”
“She sees a physical therapist?”
“As of five months ago, yes,” Gedeon says. “You told us to get her whatever she needed, so we hired one when the pregnancy started affecting her hip. He has great Google reviews.”
Why the fuck don’t I know all of this?
“How often does she see him?”
“Once a week. Today’s not her usual appointment, but I’m guessing she called for an extra session after last night.”
“You should have run this by me first.”
“You told us to handle it.” He frowns. “You claimed you ‘didn’t need to know about Laila or her day-to-day life.’”
“That was before, goddammit! That was when—” When I was trying not to care… the same way I should continue trying not to care now. “She’s not just my surrogate anymore. She’s my damn wife.”
Gedeon holds up his hands. “I hear you, but?—”
“Tell Tyler that he can take his physical therapy bullshit and—” Scowling, I swallow back the rage. “Never mind. I’ll handle it.”
“You can’t kill the man for doing his job, Arsen.”
“That,” I spit, jabbing my finger at his phone and the picture of the man wrapped around my wife, “cannot be anyone’s job.”
If it is, I’m in the wrong profession.
“What’s the plan then?” Gedeon asks. “You gonna stop her from having contact with any man besides you?”
It’s not the worst idea.
“At least she wouldn’t be texting my soldiers while they’re supposed to be on duty.”
“Making sure she has what she needs is my duty,” he fires back. “Per your orders. I didn’t realize being simultaneously miserable was also part of the job requirements.”
I glower at him. “Are you saying you like being on Laila duty?”
“I don’t know. Are you saying that?” He shrugs. “Marrying her was all for business, you said—but you don’t seem to hate it. Not all the time, anyway.”
I ignore his irritatingly valid point and snatch my keys off my desk. “Send me this Tyler mudak’s information.”
“If you’ve got such a problem with Laila’s male friendships, may I suggest an alternative?”
“No.”
“Have Dominik invite Kira over,” he says anyway. “She’s pregnant, too. They can bond and, like, paint each other’s nails or have lingerie pillow fights or whatever it is that women do for fun. Point is, it might be good for Laila. The reason she texts me is because she doesn’t have anyone else to talk to.”
He shrinks back at the look on my face.
I know he’s right, but I wish he wasn’t.
I just wish Laila would talk to me instead.