18. Mara
18
MARA
T hings feel tense when I enter Ark’s apartment. The mood is somber, and the air is heavy with sentiment. Anyone would swear the article in the newspaper Darius was reading when Tillie and I slipped into the back of his town car this morning had Ark’s approval rating falling instead of steadily rising.
His team should be celebrating, so I’m perplexed about what happened.
Ark didn’t have a change of mind, did he?
I didn’t hear from him over the weekend, so I assume the schedule a courier handed me Saturday afternoon is still valid. And I’m not late. It only takes fifteen minutes to walk from Tillie’s school to the Chrysler building, but since Darius said my collection and drop-off from work includes a detour to Tillie’s school, I’ve arrived for my shift thirty minutes early instead of the usual fifteen.
“Hey, Mara.”
A touch of pinkness impinges on my cheeks from the way Rafael greets me. It reminds me of Rio from Good Girls , another of Mrs. Lichard’s favorite shows. Tillie isn’t allowed to watch that one, so Mrs. Lichard saves it for the nights Tillie doesn’t beg for a sleepover. Tillie is as obsessed with Mrs. Lichard’s cooking as she is with John Pearce.
“How was your weekend?”
“Um. G-good. You?” It is embarrassing how boring my life is, so I won’t bore Rafael with the details.
“It wasn’t bad. I managed to find that salon you told me about. Got Ark enough stock to get him through at least a week.” He smiles at me when heat flashes in my cheeks. “Didn’t see you at the restaurant Friday night. Did something more appetizing catch your eye?”
“Ah…” How am I meant to respond to that? Did Ark not tell him what happened? They seem close, so I’m surprised. Though I guess I shouldn’t be. Rafael ate dessert with the who’s who of Russia. Ark ate me. That isn’t close to the same thing. “Where should I s-start?”
Rafael pouts as if disappointed I didn’t tumble headfirst into the trap he set before he nudges his head to Ark’s third-floor office. “Ark wants you to start in his office.” He walks away, rubbing his hands together. “Something about his knob needing polishing.” I can barely hear him through his snickers. “Or bookshelves. Perhaps he said his bookshelves need dusting. Whatever it is, he wants you to start in his office.” He twists back to face me, his smile blinding. “Do you need me to show you the way, or is Goldilocks okay wandering in the bear’s forest unaccompanied?”
I love that he uses Goldilocks as a reference. It is one of the rare few nursery rhymes that aren’t about death and despair but more about respecting a person’s boundaries and belongings.
“I’ll be f-fine. Thank you.”
He dips his chin as if my praise is genuine before he disappears down a long corridor. I take a deep breath while heading in the opposite direction.
My steps halve in size when I veer past the bedroom closest to Ark’s office. The nasally voice announcing she isn’t going anywhere until she gets all the bang for her buck is recognizable even with me only associating with her for mere minutes.
Veronika’s voice is as whiny as her words. “He’s foolish to give this opportunity up, Fyo. My little minions will vote for whoever I suggest. Our collab could win him the presidency.”
A man I’ve not yet been officially introduced to rakes his eyes down my body when I veer past one of Ark’s guest bedrooms. His glare isn’t cruel. It is more understanding, which is weird.
After smiling like I have more power than him, he gestures for me to continue before he commences closing the door, blocking a frustrated but determined Veronika from my view.
Her nasally voice can travel miles, though. “I also have a contract. A legally binding contract.” Disappointment hits me hard when she says, “Arkadiy invited me to a two-week getaway to seduce him. I’ve not yet had the chance to show him all my tricks, so I’m not going anywhere until I have.”
My stomach is still gurgling about her confession when I knock on Ark’s office door.
“Come in.” Ark’s barked order is gruff, and it sends my pulse skyrocketing.
When I enter, my eyes stray to his bulky desk. The first thing I notice is my handbag, neatly packed and sitting on top. The second is Ark. He’s standing near a wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling window.
His stature emulates the driven businessman he is, but there’s something off with his posture. His shoulders are more slumped than sharp, and his breathing is labored.
Since his cell phone is attached to his ear, I wait at his open office door, not wanting to intrude.
Two seconds later, our eyes lock and hold in the reflection of the window. He tells his caller to wait, his tone clipped before he spins to face me. His expression is effortlessly relieved, but his smile is fake. It is rigid and tense, nothing like the one he gave me when he slid my panties to the side mere seconds before sucking on my clit.
When a squawk sounds from his phone, I point to the exit. “I’ll w-wait out there.”
“No,” he shouts, startling me. After lowering his tone and brows, he says, “This isn’t anything important.”
With his eyes on me, he walks to the servants’ entrance door, yanks down the spindle pinning it to the frame, and then pulls it open.
With one exit unblocked, he closes the one I’m standing next to. The waft of air its closure causes fluffs up my hair. It smells fresh and clean, like I replaced the shampoo he stole.
I haven’t, and the remembrance is thrilling.
He is still using my shampoo.
“Yes, Mother, I heard what you said.” Ark gives me a sympathetic look at the end of his sentence before he twists back around to face the window.
Since his actions expose his hostility isn’t directed at me, instead of fretting, I move into the servants’ corridor to collect a cleaning cart and get to work.
Ark’s office either had a dust storm roll through it over the weekend, or he’s never allowed anyone in the business half of his home to clean the mess. The shelves were coated in dust, the bathroom was poorly stocked and cleaned, and his desk is messy.
Is because I’ve not yet had a chance to clean it.
Ark’s sixth phone call since I started has only recently finished, and although I love that he feels comfortable enough around me to discuss private matters in my presence, I didn’t want to disturb him.
I’ve kept myself as busy as possible, so there is only his desk left to clean before I can move on to other areas of his apartment.
A bottle of surface spray freezes midair when Ark snaps out, “Don’t you dare.”
I swallow the brick the sternness of his words lodged in my throat, before twisting to face him. His shoulders are still tight, as pinched as his brows, but there are sparks of the man who ate me on the desk hidden behind the stony mask he’s wearing.
I try to keep my voice professional. It is virtually impossible with how hot Ark’s stare is making me.
“The s-spray won’t get anywhere near your paperwork.”
“I don’t give a fuck about the paperwork.” His head tilts, aligning our eyes. “Something far more valuable than paperwork is on that desk.” His eyes bounce between my heated cheeks and dilated gaze for several seconds before he asks, “And it reminds me that I haven’t asked how you are. Did I…?” His brutal swallow maims my throat. “Are you hurt?”
Hurt?
He answers my silent question by lowering his eyes to the little frilled apron part of my uniform.
Oh.
“Um. No. I’m-I’m fine. Thank you.”
I’m more than fine. Even with our exchange ending awkwardly, I used it to stimulate myself—more than once.
That was unheard of only last week. I’ve never been interested in self-pleasure, but knowing a man as powerful and handsome as Ark self-stimulates made it less daunting.
I made myself come—multiple times. It didn’t feel as good as it did when Ark made me climax, but I won’t be so quick to turn down the idea if it were the only thing on offer.
Ignoring the grumble of my stomach, which I’m not entirely sure is based on actual hunger, I ask, “Are you okay? Things s-seem a little… tense .”
He smiles, wordlessly expressing his gratitude for my concern, before he plucks the surface spray out of my hand and heads for the servants’ entrance. “It isn’t anything I can’t handle.” He dumps the bottle onto the cart before spinning to face me. “Have you eaten today?”
His growl when I shake my head forces my thighs together.
“I’m not m-much of a breakfast eater.” That’s a lie. I tell Tillie a minimum of once a week how important breakfast is. I just skip it when things are tight. Tillie’s birthday party made things tight.
Ark folds his arms in front of his chest before asking, “Did you read the employment contract I forwarded with your schedule?”
I nod. “Yes. M-multiple times.”
“So you saw that lunch is provided for all employees?”
Again, I nod.
“That term now includes breakfast.” I try to interrupt, but he speaks too fast for me to keep up with. “Starting now.”
When he flattens his hand on the small of my back and guides me toward the exit, I stammer out, “I’ve only just s-started. I can’t stop for breakfast.”
I learn he is watching me more closely than I realize when he says, “Despite popping into Val’s office to ask about her weekend, you still arrived thirty minutes before your shift. That’s plenty of time to squeeze in some breakfast.”
We make it halfway to the kitchen before Ark’s long strides halt, and his hand falls from my back like he was scorched from our near touch.
I don’t know the woman standing across from us, glaring at me, but Ark most certainly does.
“Mother, what are you doing here?”