Chapter 9
My current to-do list:
Find a job.
Make sure Julian doesn’t try to stop me from volunteering.
He agreed to two days, but I saw his face when he agreed to it. It was very much an I’ll agree to get this fucking over with expression.
“Can I have a tour?” I ask Julian when we’re in his office at the casino.
The room is tastefully designed with oak wood–paneled walls and hardwood that’s slightly darker, giving it a beautiful contrast. A desk large enough for three people sits in the middle of the room.
The wet bar in the corner, a stone fireplace, and tufted cognac-brown leather furniture add to the elegance.
There are two doors, but not a single window.
We came in through a door from the outside. I can only assume the other one leads into the casino.
“No,” he says in irritation, walking behind the desk and punching a code into a drawer.
Him and his codes.
I hope he owns stock in whatever company he buys them from.
He’s probably their biggest customer.
The drawer unlocks, and he takes out two menus.
“We have a few restaurants in the casino,” he says, holding them out to me. “Pick what you want, and I’ll have it delivered to you here.”
I snag the menus on my walk to the couch and plop down. “I want you to eat lunch with me.”
“Gen, I don’t lunch . Save that for you and your girlfriends.”
“As your future baby mama, I demand you have lunch with me. No lunch, no uterus rental.” I shrug. “I didn’t make the rules. I just follow them.”
“Unfortunately for you, I don’t give a fuck about rules.” He withdraws a phone from the drawer before relocking it.
“Fine. I’ll go downstairs and eat alone then.”
“No, you won’t.” His tone is expressionless, bored almost, as if he knows he’ll win this argument. He always does with people.
Too bad I’m not just people .
I’m a pain in the ass.
“Then, tell whoever my bodyguard is to come here and eat with me,” I argue. “If you don’t want to share a meal with me, find me another man who will.”
His deep eyes narrow at me. “No one else is coming to my office.”
I shrug, pretending to read the menu.
“My day is full of meetings,” he adds.
“When’s the first one?”
He checks his watch. “Forty-five minutes, but I need to go over paperwork and reports. I didn’t want you to come here in the first place, so don’t expect me to entertain you.”
I frown. “I always hoped the man who knocked me up would be at least a little entertaining.”
He drops the phone on the desk, and his jaw tics as he stalks in my direction.
I tighten my hold on the menus as he drops to his knees in front of me.
Reaching out, he grips my face in his strong hand.
“You want me to fuck you on my desk as entertainment ? Done. Lunching? No. The only time I entertain a meal is when it’s closing a million-dollar deal or if that meal is pussy.
” He presses his knuckle under my chin to raise it.
“We’ve already closed our business deal, and I didn’t even have to wine or dine you.
It seems tasting your pussy is the only other option you have to keep me in here. ”
I smack his hand away from my face with a huff. He draws back, a devious smirk on his lips.
“If you ever want the privilege of tasting or fucking me, you’ll find a meal on one of these menus and eat food with me.” I shove the menus in his face at the same time my stomach growls.
He ignores the menus and stands. “Fine, we’ll fucking lunch. But we’re eating in here. No arguments.”
“Next time, we’ll?—”
“There will be no next time.” He massages his temples. “I’m debating this entire agreement between us. My life would be much easier if I let Dima have you. I’m sure he’d have no problem lunching with you or killing you to eat your organs for lunch.”
“Too late. The contract is signed. You’re stuck with me.”
“I can easily rip it up and pretend it never happened.” His gaze is angry, as if he wants to rip me apart, along with the contract. “Consider it null and void.”
I release a shallow breath. “That’s illegal.”
He stalks closer to me again but doesn’t kneel this time. Instead, he towers over me, threatening and irritated. “Oh, Gen, do you think I ever consider if an action is legal before I make it? Legalities mean nothing to me.”
I cross my arms, hating that I’m losing this argument—something that usually doesn’t happen with men.
We’re arguing over lunch.
It’s so damn elementary school.
Does he think he’ll lose his perfect gunshot aim if he eats a damn sandwich?
“Fine,” I say in annoyance. “Just feed me.”