11. Arkadiy
11
ARKADIY
“ I f you want anyone to believe you hired her because of her cleaning skills, you need to alter your expression.” Rafael butts shoulders with me before he joins my stalk. To an outsider, it appears as if he picked the side closest to the bar. I know that isn’t true. He always stands to my right to ensure I hear every snarky comment he mutters. “You look hungry.”
I am.
I’m fucking starved.
It just isn’t for food.
Rafael winks at a brunette prancing past us like her hair coloring won’t see her left in the cold before he says, “This isn’t what I meant when I said you needed her at your side. I meant?—”
“I know what you meant, Raf,” I interrupt. “But this is better for all involved. Safer.” My next sentence leaves my mouth before I can stop it. “It will give me time to make sure the headrush I face every time she looks at me won’t cause unforgivable mistakes.”
He shakes his head, his expression a mix of disappointment and confusion. “You’re not him , Ark. You’d never….” He can’t finish his sentence, and I am glad. I’m not sure how I’d respond with eyes identical to the ones from my nightmares on me.
Needing to change topics before my somewhat playful mood nosedives, I ask, “Why is she here so late? She usually finishes no later than five.”
I want to add, And where’s Tillie ? But I know Mara wouldn’t have left her in incapable hands. Unlike my mother, she cares about her child. The way she weaponed up against me on Monday proves this without a doubt. The reminder has me pushing aside my worries faster than they can surface.
Rafael shrugs. “She didn’t say.” He leans in close. “Want me to kick her out? I’d hate to disrupt your routine. You’d usually be half a block from her apartment by n?—”
I rib him with my elbow, stopping his rile midsentence. He chuckles, loving seeing a side of me he’s not witnessed in an extremely long time.
I’m not opposed to a changeup. Occasionally thinking with your heart can’t be a bad thing. I just wish it wasn’t occurring during one of the most pivotal times of my career.
If my skeletons are exposed, my campaign for office is over.
I won’t be able to come back from that.
Haunted memories see me removing my eyes from Mara for the first time in almost thirty minutes. “Make sure she gets home safely.” My snapped tone announces the words I don’t need to speak to a man as protective as Rafael, but I articulate them anyway. “And don’t let it be on a fucking bus.”
His jaw is as firm as mine. “I’ll be sure to announce her new employment contract has a no-public-transport stipulation.”
I smile, grateful there’s no chance Mara will face the injustices of a dangerous world for the second time this year before I turn toward my office. The interview to keep Mara out of the tabloids set me back by half a day, but I’d do it again in an instant if it achieved the same results.
It is not my intention to strip Mara of her cloak of invisibility. I simply want to learn who forced her to wear it, and how much it will take to free her from it.
I don’t even make it two steps away before Rafael thwarts my wish to flee. “What if she wants to stay?”
My eyes stray to Mara, who is being introduced to a handful of fashion icons by Riley, my baby sister, before they shift back to Rafael. “Let her stay. But if your eyes leave her once?—”
“They won’t,” he interrupts, walking away.
The possessive edge beaming from him should piss me off. It was as claiming as they come. But since it is Rafael, the man I owe my life to, I tuck away my flare of annoyance before continuing for my third-floor office. I have paperwork to endorse and a headache to massage away.
The latter sees me making a quick detour to my bedroom for supplies.
Pain relief tablets won’t touch the surface of this ache.
Buttery, floral goodness, though. It works a treat every single time.
My bedroom is on the far side of my apartment, away from prying eyes. All the sleeping quarters are similarly sized, but I picked this one because no one bothers to wander far from the action and free booze during impromptu mixers like the one Fyodor organized today.
I’m left alone when I venture to this side of the building, so I’m somewhat taken aback when my entrance is flanked by an appalling amount of overspray of a woman’s perfume and another scent I can’t quite describe.
“I thought you were never going to show up.”
My jaw cracks when I flick my eyes toward the feminine voice. Veronika is sprawled across my bed. Her lingerie is see- through, her panties are crotchless, and the perfume killing my sinuses was so recently placed on it is still wet on her neck.
After loosening the firmness of my jaw with a quick grind, I turn to close my door. Not because I am interested in anything Veronika has to offer, but because I don’t want my dirty laundry aired for the world to see. That is all Veronika is about—publicity at any cost.
The tightness of my jaw is heard in my question. “What are you doing here, Veronika?”
“Waiting for you, silly.” She rakes her teeth over her lower lip while dragging her eyes down my body in a slow, dedicated sweep. “I thought we should get to know each other a little better.”
Whatever she thinks her childish voice is doing to my cock couldn’t be further from the truth. My dick is shrinking, not knocking at the zipper in my trousers, begging to be freed like it does any time Mara’s scent fills my nostrils.
“A conference room meeting is just so… stuffy .” Her nails make a mess of my bedding when she drags her hand across the sheets. “I work best on my back, being served a healthy dose of d?—”
“Did you miss the alterations I made to the proposed contract today?”
They weren’t explicitly made for Veronika, more to get Fyodor off my back long enough to wrap my head around how many backflips I’ve made over the past few days, but I’m glad I pushed them through.
Veronika’s pose would put her in breach of contract if I were to accept it.
Veronika jackknifes into a half-seated position, thankfully removing her puffy pussy lips from my peripheral vision. “You made those changes?” When I nod, she scoffs. “Why?” She doesn’t give me a chance to speak. “It isn’t like you’re gay. I’ve heard stories—many of them. You’re not called the playboy minister for no reason. Your dick pic trended for six months straight. Six. Months! That’s a record. Not even a porn star with a thirteen-inch wang got that much online love.”
When she pauses to take a much-needed breath, I gather up one of the towels Mara left on the tallboy drawers and toss it at her, covering the rest of the unsightly image. “If you can’t follow the one term I said wasn’t negotiable, Fyodor is wrong. You are not a suitable applicant for the position advertised.” I say “position” in a way she cannot misconstrue. Our proposed arrangement was never about feelings.
I freeze partway to the bathroom when Veronika whispers, “It’s her, isn’t it? The maid. That’s who you put the rule in for?”
She stares at me as if I am insane when I don’t cite an objection. Her response is understandable. I must have rocks in my head. That is the only plausible reason a man would turn down a walking wet dream to stroke his cock over his cleaner.
But that’s precisely what I’m planning to do. I’ll show Veronika out before snagging Mara’s shampoo out of my bathroom and hotfooting it toward my office, where I plan to act like it is perfectly acceptable for a grown man to have a childish crush.