3. Mara
3
MARA
A fter my third call to Mrs. Lichard goes to voicemail, I leave a message. “I’m sorry. I accepted extra hours hoping it would ease this month’s budget.” It pains me to think of Tillie’s disappointment when she learns I missed the bus to her birthday party.
“My last errand took longer than expected.” I glance at the building I fled like my backside was on fire, sparking fresh nerves to bombard my stomach. They’re not solely from recalling my exchange with the dark-haired stranger, but also from spotting my supervisor’s exit.
“But I have a solution. I should still make it on time.” I race for Val, my worn heels clomping the pavement. “If I don’t arrive before Tillie’s guests, please tell their parents I’m not far away.” After a quick thanks, I disconnect our call and wave my hand through the air. “Val!”
Like me, she exits the Chrysler building via the side entrance. Her pace is so brisk that I have to increase my speed if I want any chance of catching her. She isn’t purposely avoiding me. Rather, she can’t hear me due to the boisterous conversation between two individuals exiting the building from the main entrance.
They don’t consider bystanders as they pass through the turnstile door at the front. They proceed without acknowledging the potential impact of their knock to others, including a mother striving to reach her child on her tenth birthday.
“You should really watch where you’re going.” The woman who collided with me speaks in a nasally, jarring tone. “How will you cope knowing your Wilfred Iwona knockoff is beyond repair?”
“Probably how she lives every other day,” comments the blonde standing beside her while noticing the tear my tumble caused my homemade skirt. “Desperate.”
They laugh like children in a schoolyard. I don’t pay them any attention. My focus is so rapt on Val that I don’t realize that I am being assisted off the ground by a man until he responds to their remarks.
“That’s enough.”
The gravelly tone from earlier has returned, but this time, the stranger’s annoyance is directed at the blonde who berated me after knocking me over.
After righting my footing, he glares at her with extreme disapproval. His wordless scorn causes her to step back, forcing her friend to take center stage.
“We’re just playing, Ark. We didn’t mean any harm.”
I can’t decide what frustrates me more: her raking her nails over Ark’s chest as she replies like they know each other intimately, or watching Val’s sedan merge into the heavy flow of traffic.
I focus on the latter when Ark removes her hand from his chest. He does it with as much aggression as he used in the bathroom when I snuck up on him unawares, but this time, there isn’t an ounce of remorse in his narrowed gaze when she acts upset.
With her poor acting skills ended by a rueful glare, Ark returns his attention to me. He doesn’t speak. Instead, he raises a brow, its arch corresponding with the increase of my pulse when I realize he is still clutching my arm.
Unsure what he wants me to say, I begin stammering out the same excuse I gave Mrs. Lichard when the last time I missed the bus saw me returning home with a black eye and a split lip. “I took on an extra s-shift, s-so…”
My back molars crunch together when the blonde bombshells snicker under their breaths about my speech impediment. They tease me like they’ve yet to leave high school, which agitates me.
“Blowing out someone else’s candles won’t make yours any brighter.”
I’m not the only one shocked by my outburst. Ark’s cheeks are the color of beets, and a man I hadn’t noticed until now howls like a wolf.
I’m glad he is amused. At least someone is benefiting from the erroneous mistake I just made. I need my job. Desperately. Snapping at the guests of a man who can afford the outrageous prices of the Chrysler building will make that difficult.
Since my apology is for Ark, I direct it to him. “I’m so-sorry for interrupting your night.” I grimace before adding, “ Again. ”
My stutter appears to frustrate him as much as it does me, but he hides it with a tight, stern jaw and a quick chin bob.
I commence my gratitude for his understanding with a brisk smile. “Go-goodnight.”
I barely make it two steps away before a snide remark from Bimbo One halts my exit. “Don’t forget your broom.” Snickering, she hands me the doorman’s sweeper. “It’ll get you wherever you need to be in no time.”
A snarl furls my top lip, but other than that, I keep quiet. The logo stamped on the broom reminds me that she recently left my workplace one step in front of an owner. I have to remain polite despite my anger.
After taking the sweeper from her, I place it back in its holder and then stray my eyes in the direction Val’s car went. It’s long gone, so I turn back toward the bus stop, confident the number of improvements made to Myasnikov over the past six months means my wait will be done without incident.
When an elegant couple dressed to the nines slips into the back of a cab, I consider flagging down one of the many empty ones surrounding it. I’m only hesitant because every penny in my purse has been counted to the dime. I only have enough for Tillie’s party and not a cent more.
The hairs on my neck stand up when a deep, raspy voice floats past my ear. “Was that your ride?”
I turn to face a man who seems more of an observer than an instigator. He’s attractive, though not as appealing as Ark.
I doubt anyone could hold a torch to that man.
“No. Uh. I… Ah…” I wait for his eyes to lift from the spot on my arm Ark touched to help me to my feet before saying, “I m-missed the bus.”
His expression suggests he is acutely aware of where I was touched, though that seems improbable. The sensation is more a tingle than a painful sting, leaving no visible mark for him to identify.
A grateful smile tugs at my lips when the stranger offers a way out of my predicament. “I have a car. I can take you wherever you need to go.”
“Oh. Um. Th-thank you.” I briefly consider his offer before declining it. “But I’m okay. There will be another bus s-soon.”
Disregarding Ark’s muttered comment about taking no for an answer, the stranger steps closer. “Are you sure? You seem like you have somewhere important to be.”
“Stop acting desperate, Rafael. It isn’t like she’s worthy of your time.”
Rafael silences Bimbo 2 with a dismissive gesture, his hand shoved in her face, but his eyes never leave mine. It is as if the wolf has found its prey, and he isn’t leaving until he’s fully devoured it.
The thought should scare me, but it doesn’t.
My reaction has nothing to do with Rafael. It stems from Ark’s narrowed glare when he notices the predatory gleam firing in his companion’s eyes. Rafael’s demeanor is pompous, whereas Ark looks like someone whose favorite meal was replaced with a bland soup seconds after being seated at a five-star restaurant.
My eyes shift from Ark to Rafael when Rafael rubs his hands together. “Then perhaps we can have a nightcap once I’ve gotten you safely to your destination.” He licks his lips before cracking them into a broad grin. “We can do that at your place or mine. I’ll be satisfied either way.”
Rafael’s smile widens when Ark moves so quickly that the threads of my skirt, torn from my fall, flap in the briskness of his strides.
“I’ll take her.” Ark’s tone is affirmative, leaving no room for arguing.
Rafael winks at me as if I am a part of his ploy, then turns to face the man who has fallen for his ruse hook, line, and sinker. “Are you sure? I thought you wanted an early night.” I can’t see Ark’s face since he’s standing in front of me, but I imagine his snarl when Rafael steps back with his hands raised in surrender. “All right. Keep your panties untwisted. I was just checking.”
He spins to face the blondes, who are disappointed to have lost Ark’s attention. Their fake lips are lowered into childish pouts, and the scalding looks they’re directing at me take care of the cool winds whipping between high-rise buildings.
Rafael acts oblivious to their dismay. “Ladies, shall we continue since Ark is now occupied?”
He doesn’t wait for them to reply. After wrapping an arm around each of the women’s slim waists, he guides them down the street, leaving me alone with Ark.
Once they’re half a block away, Ark turns his focus to me. He stares for what feels like minutes but is barely seconds before he says, “Come. My car is in the underground lot.”
His authoritative edge makes it clear he is used to giving orders and having them followed without question. I don’t have time to consider the consequences of my actions if I don’t comply, because he places his hand on the small of my back and steers me through the main entrance of the Chrysler building before I can utter a word.
The doorman greets us without acknowledging our working relationship. “Sir…” He tilts his top hat to hide his smile when his eyes fling to me. “Ma’am.”
His professionalism is so seamless that Ark appears unaware of our association.
“Mateo,” Ark replies, his pace unbroken even as he adds more to his greeting. “Ensure he has lost them before he returns.” He nudges his head to Rafael and the two blondes as he says “them.”
His order for the doorman to ensure Rafael gets rid of his “dates” is without a hint of hesitation, and Mateo’s response is equally as casual. “Very well, sir.”
I’d be relieved he has no plans to entertain guests tonight if I weren’t so shocked.
I’m the help—society’s belief of the lower class. I shouldn’t be prioritized above anyone, let alone two women who can afford the designer clothes I tried to replicate with an old sewing machine and a year of online fashion undergrad studies.
“I can find another mo-mode of transport. You don’t need to go out of your way for m-me.”
Ark’s fingers flex before he says, “It’s fine. I don’t mind.”
“But y-your guests?—”
My heart does a weird flip when he interrupts. “Were in the process of being shown out when they rudely knocked you over.” His eyes float over my face, categorizing every pore, before he adds, “Let me do this. It is the least I can do after my earlier vulgarity.”
I’m about to say I was the only one who was rude, but the elevator attendant’s fumble for the call button has me on the back foot. The staff are pulling out all the stops for Ark, and it has me even more panicked about how I will keep my position after having my anger witnessed by coworkers.
The elevator attendant is far from subtle about our working relationship when I’m guided into the elevator he’s manning. The corners of his lips tuck at one side as he drinks in the positioning of Ark’s hand on my lower back and the shallowness of my breaths.
His smug expression switches to shock when within a second of announcing our floor, Ark demands his exit. “I can take it from here.”
“Sir,” the attendant gasps in shock.
“Now!” Ark snaps, his voice echoing against the brushed steel walls and mirrored back of the elevator.
After glaring at me as if I yelled at him, the attendant mutters, “Yes, sir. Right away.”
As he darts out of the elevator, a shudder I can’t suppress rolls down my spine.
Ark seems oblivious.
Or so it seems.
A moment after removing his hand from my back, he walks to the far back corner of the elevator.
It isn’t the largest elevator I’ve been in, but the distance between us is enough for me to feel comfortable riding in a confined space with a man I’ve only recently met.
We only have one floor to travel, but it feels like a dozen. Seconds stretch into minutes, giving Ark plenty of time to interrogate me.
“Do confined spaces scare you? Or is it not knowing the closest exit?”
I’m taken aback that he’s paid enough attention in the short time we’ve interacted to notice my neuroses, but I try to act nonchalant. “Whatever do you m-mean?”
When his huff rustles my hair, I stare at the panel, silently urging it to hurry to our floor.
My prayers are answered, but even with my mind telling me I am safe, my heart races when the doors open onto an unfamiliar area. I don’t own a vehicle, so I’ve never been in the underground parking lot of this building.
This is as scary as it gets for me.
With fear my highest emotion, I blurt out, “The entrance being blocked is m-my main trigger, but I also like to know w-where they are.”
I crank my neck back to face Ark when he says, “They?”
“Th-the exits.”
An unrecognizable glint flares through his eyes before he dips his chin. “Noted,” he says briskly while gesturing for me to exit the elevator first.
I do, albeit hesitantly.
After catching up with me, he guides me toward a sedan similar to the one Val entered. “There are multiple entry and exit points in the underground garage. I will have someone from my security team mark them on a map for you this evening.”
I lose the chance to announce I won’t need them after tonight when he opens the back door of a vehicle parked too close to a concrete barrier for us to enter at opposite sides.
“I’ll enter first and then scoot to the opposite side. That way, if you need to exit at any stage, you can do so safely without stepping into oncoming traffic.”
He misses my surprised gasp that he cares about my safety when he slips into the sedan, startling a middle-aged man behind the steering wheel. The man is reading a newspaper and enjoying a late-afternoon snack. Crumbs are scattered throughout his beard, and a twinkle in his eyes reveals he is enjoying his pre-dinner treat.
“Arkadiy.” He swallows his shock and a mouthful of the sugary goodness coating his lips before continuing. “I didn’t know you were going out again this evening.” Crumbs fall onto his lap as he dusts off his business shirt and tie. “Excuse the mess. I’ll clean it up right away.”
“It’s fine, Darius,” Ark says, sliding across the expensive leather back seat. When Darius’s steely stare slows his entrance, he adds, “But perhaps you can raise the partition so the crumbs remain in your half of the cab.”
“Certainly, sir. Thank you.”
Ark dips his chin for a brief moment in response to Darius’s silent plea for forgiveness before turning his eyes to me. “The child locks are off. You can leave at any time.”
He gestures to the mechanism in the car door, proving the honesty of his words, before he extends his hand to me.
I smile in appreciation before accepting his offer. The car isn’t too low to the ground, but maintaining my modesty will be difficult since the split in my skirt is now three times longer than before my fall.
Stitches pop as I step into the car, but with most of the damage already done, further tearing is minimal as I settle into the seat next to Ark.
My eyes lift from the illuminated LED lighting trim on the door when Ark asks, “Address?”
“Um…” I fumble through my purse to find the card the bowling alley owner gave me last month when I booked Tillie’s party, then hand it to Ark. “He-here. Please.” Realizing how rude I sound, I quickly add, “Or anywhere close to there. You-you don’t need to take me the whole way. I’m sure you’re busy.”
He twists his lips as if considering my suggestion. He isn’t. He recites the address in full to the driver via an intercom button next to his seat before sinking back as if settling in for a long commute.
I try to do the same. I rest my balled hands on my lap and let my eyes wander to the scenery whizzing by my window when we exit the Chrysler building at a speed too fast to be classed as safe.
Given how fast his driver maneuvers us through a growing swarm of the press, anyone would think the numerous clicks of paparazzi cameras are for Ark.
Their prying ways remind me of how rudely I trampled over Ark’s privacy earlier, and that I’ve yet to issue him the apology he deserves.
“I’m sorry about ea-earlier. I promise I knocked.”
“It’s fine,” he replies, though I can tell he’s lying.
I don’t know him well enough to read his expressions, but I feel the groove between his brows is a telltale sign. It smoothed when I mentioned my trigger about blocked exits, but it returned more potent than ever when he told his driver he wasn’t worried about the mess.
It isn’t as deep as earlier, but it’s still very much present.
I choke on my spit when Ark takes our conversation in an unexpected direction. “What is your name?”
I try not to stutter, but it is nearly impossible when corresponding with a member of the opposite sex. “Ma-Mara.”
“Mara?” It sounds far more feminine when he says it, and it has me hopeful I can one day share it without stuttering.
When Ark arches a brow, waiting for confirmation of his question, I nod.
He twists his lips into a ghostlike grin. “I like it. It is short and easy to spell.”
A breathy sigh whistles between my teeth. “That’s exactly w-why I picked it.”
I snap my mouth shut, realizing I said too much too loudly.
I’ve never been so reckless.
My concern about making irreversible mistakes is brief. Ark’s laugh is as captivating as his handsome face. It carries through my body before clustering in an area I didn’t realize could hold its own pulse.
“Hence me going by Ark.” He wets his lips again and adjusts his position to face me more directly. “If I had a nickel for every time someone asked me to spell my name, I’d have…”
When he pauses, I suggest, “Enough to have a driver on s-standby?”
He doesn’t take my comment as snarky. I’m glad, as that was not my intention. If you earn your money legitimately, I am more than happy to give you the praise you deserve.
Tall poppy syndrome isn’t in my vocabulary.
Ark’s eyes gleam with roguishness as he replies, “That, and perhaps a little more.”
My confidence feeds off his playfulness. “Do you have a preference for what I sh-should call you? Do you prefer Ark or Arkadiy?” When I recall how the driver and the doorman greeted him, I add, “Or perhaps s-sir?”
He contemplates my question longer than expected before saying, “Ark or Arkadiy is fine. Just don’t call me Mr. Orlov. That is my stepfather’s surname, not mine.”
The groove between his brows is back deeper than ever, so I do my best to dispel it. “No-noted.”
Ark doesn’t follow my lead in keeping things casual. He forces a similar groove between my brows by asking, “Do you always stutter or only when nervous?”
“Um.” I fiddle with my skirt, trying to distract my head from the techniques my speech therapist taught me. “I… ah…”
My breath catches when Ark leans across to still my fidgeting hands. It’s the simplest of touches, but instead of adding to the shudders that forever affect my vocal cords, it does the opposite. My shakes ease, and a fiery burn bubbles low in my stomach.
Silence reigns supreme as he holds my hand for the next several minutes. It is the kind of quiet that should feel heavy with unspoken agitation, but somehow isn’t.
The longer I sit across from him, the faster my heart thumps.
For the first time in a long time, it isn’t panic.
When I finally build the courage to glance up, our eyes meet. Something I’ve never experienced before sends a shiver down my spine. Shockingly, I savor it instead of fearing it.
While returning Ark’s stare, I see the same fiery tension burning me alive mirrored in his hooded gaze. Goose bumps break across my skin, but neither of us speak, words not needed to relay a thousand.
I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry when Ark’s tongue darts out to replenish his lips. Once wet, they shift slightly upward, the corners twitching as if fighting not to break into a smile.
My lips curve in response to his battle, an unvoiced acknowledgment of the electricity surging between us. The chemistry is undeniable, a magnetic pull that neither of us seems to be able to ignore, but I’m still shocked. A man as gorgeous and successful as Ark could have any woman he wants, so why would he pick me?
When Ark’s hand suddenly moves for my face, the urge to break our stare down is strong, but I don’t want to shatter the moment. Instead, I let the tension that has reached a boiling point hold back my wish to flinch.
It isn’t a fight I win easily, but a victory, nonetheless.
Ark shifts his eyes between mine as if he can sense my struggle not to pull back as he says, “You have a… There’s…” He cusses before he tucks a wayward wisp of hair behind my ear.
I anticipate for his hand to immediately return to his side of the car, so you can imagine my surprise when he tracks the back of his index finger down my cheek. His touch is as basic as it comes but electrifying. It steals my thoughts as ruefully as it clears my stomach of nerves.
They don’t leave my body.
They flutter low— extremely low.
I can’t think while returning his stare. Can’t move. I can barely breathe, and I’m not the only one noticing.
“Breathe, Mara.” Ark smirks when my lungs instantly obey his snapped command. “Good girl.”
Tingles race across my face when he lowers his hand to my mouth so he can drag his thumb over my top lip. The tension is potent enough to amplify every small movement, shift, and breath.
I should be pulling away. He is an owner on my cleaning ledger and, at a guess, a decade older than me, but for the life of me, I can’t. I’m frozen in place with desire and praying like hell I’m about to experience my first true kiss.
The heat turns so excruciating that I am seconds from making a fool of myself.
I’m about to initiate an embrace instead of running from one.
Ark saves me from the shame of rejection. “Who did this to you? Who hurt you so badly that you can’t speak without stuttering?”
“Wh-what?”
His fingers remain unfurled, even with the danger flaring through his eyes announcing he is far from composed.
“Who hurt you?” After locking his eyes with mine, he bounces them back and forth, his anger picking up. “He is the reason you stutter, isn’t he?”
“N-no,” I lie.
Another denial sits on the tip of my tongue when he expresses his dislike of my lie with a growl, but I can’t set it free. Nothing comes out but needy breaths. My shock is too high that a stranger cares about me more than my father did when I told him what was happening during my numerous speech therapy sessions.
“Tell me,” Ark urges, his composure modeling nurturing if you can look past the murderous undertone in his voice.
His name sits in the back of my throat, but before I can spit it out, the driver announces we’ve reached our destination, which snaps me out of the bubble Ark’s protectiveness placed me in.
If only his sorrowed watch could move my legs just as fast.
As Darius’s steely eyes bounce between Ark and me, his confusion growing, he asks, “Shall I circle the block?”
“No,” I shout a little too loudly, my mouth finally cooperating with the prompts of my brain. “Here is f-fine.” I unlatch my belt and sling it off, my hands as shaky as my vocal cords. “Thank you for the ride. I won’t take any m-more of your time.”
I stumble out of the car less gracefully than I entered it. It doesn’t go unnoticed. We’re not surrounded by the glitz and glamor of the Chrysler building, but the people milling on the sidewalk know Ark’s ride and the man inside are far too flashy for both this side of Myasnikov and me.