9. Arkadiy
9
ARKADIY
A s I sit across from one of the most recognizable faces in Russia, I wish I were anywhere but here. Veronika is stunning, with blonde hair, piercing green eyes, and a body often featured on magazine covers, but I’ve never met someone so dimwitted.
She’s droned on about her latest skincare line nonstop for the past hour. I’m bored out of my mind, and her voice, the equivalent of nails being dragged down a chalkboard, is so grating that my head is throbbing.
The one between my legs isn’t close to having the same pulsating response as the one between my shoulders. There’s no interest on my cock’s behalf whatsoever, which isn’t surprising.
I’m only here because a member of the media I thought I’d lost snapped a picture of me opening the cab door for Mara and Tillie before I slipped in behind them.
He was an hour away from splashing Mara’s face across the glossy front pages of gossip magazines as my latest fling when my offer for an exclusive interview landed on his desk.
The promise of an all-inclusive interview with one of Russia’s most sought-after women and me is why Mara isn’t being defamed by the media right now.
The interview concluded twenty minutes ago, but Veronika has yet to notice the journalist’s absence.
As the social media influencer harps on about her latest fashion campaign and the designer clothes she will be rewarded for it, I think about the deals I could be closing instead of being here.
My mind shouldn’t immediately deviate to the hearty hum of Mara’s refrigerator that came from nowhere near the motor, but it does.
I’ve never heard a more erotic sound.
Not wanting Veronika to get the wrong idea about the heat creeping up my neck, I drift my eyes to the two-way mirror at the side of the meeting room before tapping my watch.
If Fyodor notices the signal we devised for when I want our meeting interrupted, he doesn’t pay any attention to it. None of the multiple doors surrounding the meeting room shoot open as they have numerous times today.
Fyodor remains behind the two-way glass, no doubt devouring the double espresso I requested Rafael bring down almost an hour ago so I’d stay awake while listening to the ramblings of a woman who hasn’t worked a hard day in her life.
When Veronika launches into a monologue about her ex-boyfriend and how their breakup affected her influencer status, I slice my hand through the air.
She barely pauses for half a second before focusing on how our collaboration could boost her follower count to celebrity-level status. “We don’t even need to be in the same room. Photoshop can do wonders. I know a guy who knows a guy who…”
I tune out again before locking my now-narrowed eyes with the two-way mirror. My expression announces that despite Fyodor’s seal of approval, Veronika is not the woman I want at my side during my fortieth birthday celebrations.
Just the thought of being subjected to her nasally whine for another thirty seconds has me wanting to damage the hearing in my right ear as poorly as the incident that stole the hearing from my left ear.
A pen to the ear would be less painful than another update on Veronika’s follower count.
The tightness in my chest alleviates when a tap sounds from the main meeting room door; I’m optimistic relief is moments away. “Come in.”
The clinking of silverware drowns out Veronika’s adenoidal tone. It isn’t a noise I am anticipating, but I welcome it when I learn who it is coming from.
While smiling hesitantly, Mara approaches the boardroom table, juggling a large silver serving tray. Because the tray is overloaded with coffee, milk, mugs, a sugar bowl, and a handful of pastries, her arms are rigidly robotic.
Their stiffness teasingly tugs up the risqué hem of a fitted pleated pencil dress I’m certain isn’t on any chambermaid’s uniform list. It is from a designer I know well.
The label, not as meticulously stitched as the one Mara was wearing Friday night, shows off her legs in a way her maid’s outfit never will.
It also displays that she is a woman who should be served, not serve others.
Follower count has nothing on natural grace and sophistication.
Mara’s eyes move to Veronika for the quickest second before they return to me. I can tell she is uneased about approaching me in general, much less when I’m seated across from a woman known worldwide for her beauty, but she hides it well with a friendly smile and a professional edge.
“Ex-excuse me, sir,” she says softly, her words barely above a whisper. “I have your order for you.”
“Oh… coffee. Yippee.” Veronika claps her hands together twice before signaling for Mara to come closer. “I’ve been dying for a drink. My throat is on fire.”
“Because you speak in run-on sentences, and you’ve barely paused to breathe in almost an hour.”
It dawns on me that I said my last statement out loud when the corners of Mara’s chunky lips tug upward. Her smile only lasts for the quickest second, but it hangs around long enough to reduce the shudder clanging the ceramic mugs together.
Unlike Rafael’s Friday-night guests, Veronika doesn’t ridicule Mara when she asks if she’d like sugar in her coffee. She eagerly nods, blind to Mara’s stutter, before she thanks her for her hospitality. “This is the most scrumptious coffee I’ve ever had.”
Her polite response ensures she won’t endure the repercussions Ainissa and her friend faced Friday night. I’ll keep my mouth shut about the sleazy bowling alley owner. He isn’t worth the breaths I’d need to update you on what happens when you try to barter sex for a woeful fifty-dollar discount.
Mara’s perfume tickles my nose when she moves to my side of the table to serve the coffee. It isn’t the same scent that held me captive in her kitchen four days ago, but it is almost identical to the one that’s kept my cock in a constant state of erection for the past week.
The urge to come has been so intense that I’ve stroked my cock to Mara’s scent multiple times over the past four days.
I’m almost out of shampoo.
That’s how much the quickest sample of her mouth has invigorated me. Don’t get me started on her fuckable body and beautifully stunning face, or we will be here all night.
Even without an ounce of makeup, her face is fresh and radiant, a handful of freckles adding to her youthful appearance. Her thighs tell you she will be a dream to fuck, and the tilt of her mouth, along with the fire in her eyes, promises not a moment of dullness will be endured while in her presence.
She is fascinating, a true sight for sore eyes, and she tastes even more scrumptious than she looks.
After sinking back from the table, her strides wobbly, as if she heard my private thoughts, Mara locks her eyes with mine. “Is there anything e-else you require?”
She’s served the coffee she arrived with. There’s nothing more she can do. But for the life of me, I can’t dismiss her from the room.
It is easier to walk away than to demand that she do precisely that.
I don’t solely want her to save me from another torturous minute in Veronika’s presence. I also want to know how she’d answer the many questions Veronika dodged at the start of our interview and why her stomach growled even though her shift only started an hour ago.
Did she not eat breakfast this morning?
I’m saved from showing a nurturing side I don’t want publicly announced when a knock sounds through the conference room for the second time.
Rafael’s broad frame fills the doorway that separates the security office from the boardroom. His grin is hugely telling.
A ruse is about to begin, but I have no intention of dodging it this time.
“V, I have Riley Valentine on the phone. She heard you were in town and wondered if you had time to squeeze in an appointment at the boutique?”
Veronika’s squeal is more ear damaging than her voice. “ The Riley Valentine? As in the understudy of Wilfred Iwona?” When Rafael nods, Veronika leaps up from her chair and sprints out of the room, screaming that she can’t believe the Riley Valentine reached out to her.
My ego is saved from being scalded when she spins around to farewell me with an air kiss. Don’t mistake my reply. I’ll happily live never exchanging another word with Veronika. I am responding to the jealousy that has slipped over Mara’s face from Veronika’s loved-up farewell.
Jealousy has never looked more ravishing.
An amused huff rumbles in my chest when Mara whispers, “She se-seems nice,” a second after Veronika exits the conference room, slamming the door behind her.
When my chuckle reaches her ears, her pretty eyes snap to me. She drinks in my riled expression like she knows not a groove between my brows belongs to her before she wrinkles her adorable nose.
“If you needed a ruse to escape her clutches, you could have just t-told me.” She hints at an interest in fashion by adding, “Her scarf cost over five thousand dollars. It w-would have only taken a wayward drop of coffee to have her running for the closest washroom.” As quickly as jealousy was etched on her beautiful face, it is replaced with remorse. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”
“Not necessarily.” I slouch low in my chair as if I weren’t mere seconds from vacating it before draping my arm across the one next to me like I have all the time in the world. “I was seeking an out.” She looks pleased, and it thrills me immensely. “And I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t as equally invested in learning how you developed your date-skirting techniques as I was to skip this date.”
“Date? You were on a d-date?”
She looks set to run when I nod, but the fire she’s endeavoring to relight in her eyes keeps her feet firmly planted on the ground.
There’s that fighter I’ve been endeavoring to unearth.
“Do you always take your dates for filtered c-coffee in a conference room?” She doesn’t call me a cheap ass, but her humorous expression most certainly does.
Before answering, I take a moment to relish the resurrection of some of the wittiness her attack six months ago stole. “Not always. Sometimes I offer them lukewarm tap water instead of coffee.”
Fuck, she’s beautiful. Her lips are as ruddy as her cheeks, and her eyes glisten with life regardless of the secrets they hide, but neither of those points has anything on her sheer beauty when she smiles.
It knocks down my defenses hard and fast and has me thinking with the personal side of my head instead of the business side. “How’s Tillie?”
I have to adjust my position when she can’t help but respond to the sincere interest in my tone. Her kissable lips furl, making them more plump, as a handful of her teeth are exposed.
“She’s better.” A hint of shyness impinges on her cheeks. “Despite al-almost burning down our kitchen, you’ve gained yourself a new fan.”
I don’t know the man seated across from her when a warmth tracks across my cheeks. I could never be accused of being shy, but recalling Tillie’s commentary seconds after I left her room warrants some sort of response.
It isn’t that Tillie is crushing on a man almost four times her age blooming my cheeks with heat. It was Mara’s lack of retort when her daughter tricked her into admitting she found me attractive and the fire-sparking kiss we shared in her poky kitchen only hours later.
Desperate to shift my thoughts from how kissable her mouth looks, I ask, “Is she eating?”
When Mara nods, stealing my focus from the second grumble of her stomach, I’m tempted to ask, Are you?
I lose the opportunity when she glances at someone over my shoulder. Panic surges in her diamond-shaped eyes when she locks on Mr. and Mrs. Whitten in the building’s foyer, but it is only half its strength when she returns them to me.
“I sh-should go. I’m already behind schedule.”
My hand shoots out to grab her wrist before my head can warn me against it. I don’t grip her painfully. She can remove her arm at any time. I just can’t let her leave without ensuring she knows my regret about how I ended things Monday night.
She sees my remorse and lets me off with only a slap to the wrist. “If that’s all, sir, I will l-leave you to your guests.”
I want to tell her no. I want to force her to stay and share every sordid detail her eyes hide, but with our duo about to be plumped out to a quartet, I act like a coward instead.
I dip my chin, granting her permission to leave, before I stray my eyes to the conference room table so I don’t have to witness her brisk retreat.
After diverting Mr. and Mrs. Whitten’s focus to another resident, Rafael enters the office from a door across from the one Mara exited half a second earlier. He props his shoulder against the doorjamb before folding his arms over his chest. His expression is filled with sappiness.
“She’s the one, Ark. She is the ideal wife for our future president.”
I pfft his blatant stupidity. “Veronika couldn’t?—”
“Not Veronika.” While twisting the end of the sleazy mustache he’s been reluctant to shave since a silver screen starlet once told him it was sexy, he joins me at the table, his eyes unmoving from the door Mara walked through seconds ago. “ Her .”
There’s a bout of silence, and for a brief moment, a flicker of hope.
Then clarity forms as to why I am apprehensive.
Mara is a mother. Her daughter is the same age my sister was when our world was upended. That automatically removes her from the list of possible candidates.
Since I need to lock down my thoughts before they get carried away, I don’t object to Fyodor joining our discussion. “I disagree with your findings, Rafael. From what Darius unearthed during their brief interlude Friday night, she has no pedigree, no online status whatsoever, and no knowledge of our world.” My hands ball into tight fists that I hide by stuffing them into my pockets. “Mrs. Orlov would never approve.”
Rafael doesn’t give in without a fight. He never does. “Their chemistry is undeniable. The sparks bouncing off them could cause an inferno.” He steps closer to Fyodor, willing to fight for what he believes in. “If you want your plan to work, Fyo, she”—he points to the door Mara walked through moments ago—“is the woman Ark needs at his side.”
“She speaks with a stutter, and I highly doubt she knows the difference between a salad fork and a regular one.”
“All things that can be taught,” Rafael yells, his voice echoing.
Fyodor scoffs. “Class cannot be taught, and that lady has none.”
I shoot up from my chair, my fists ready, prepared, and willing to maim. “Enough!” I glare at Fyodor. “If you’re pissed none of your lap dogs lived up to their hype, take it out on me. Leave Mara out of this. She didn’t ask for your critique, and neither the fuck did I.”
I snatch up my suit jacket and head for the door before I do something I can’t take back.
Knocking my campaign manager the fuck out can’t be taken back.
“Ark…” Fyodor’s swallow is audible as he stalks my trek to the door. “I thought I was supporting your decision.” His confused eyes bounce between mine. “I thought you were disinterested. Isn’t that why you requested me to keep you away from her?”
Rafael’s laughter booms into my ear, freezing my steps. “You did a shit job of that, Fyo.” His eyes are on me, hot and telling. “Where the fuck do you think he’s been running off to every afternoon?”
I wordlessly warn him to shut his mouth, but I’ve never given him any reason to fear me, so my bluff does little good. “He sure as hell ain’t visiting the gym.” My nails dig into my palm when he steps closer to ensure his words are only for my ears. “Though I’m pretty sure he’s getting a thorough workout every time he enters the shower with her shampoo at the ready.”
He waits for an objection. When he fails to get one, because every word he speaks is true, he shifts his focus back to Fyodor. “If you truly want this, if you want him to lead this nation out of the trenches it’s been buried in for the past thirty years, you need her at Ark’s side.”
He doesn’t need to stray his eyes in the direction Mara went to announce who he is referencing. The absolute honesty in his tone exposes every detail of his plan and hides how much I am terrified that he is right.