Chapter 8 Amara
AMARA
He knows.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Ransome Rozanov has been the sun of my universe for so long now, the last thing I think about every night when I go to bed and the reason I wake up every morning.
He has been the center of my calendar, the linchpin holding my day together.
I know everything about him—where he is at all times, what he likes to eat, how he takes his coffee, his favorite type of whiskey, even what he sleeps in: nothing.
Ransome sleeps in the nude and I know this because I have been watching him… very, very closely.
And now, he knows.
I do my best to keep it together as I walk out of his office, my arms still burning from the clutch of his hands, my skin still pricked from the tone in his voice, and my nipples still hard from the force of all of it—“Look at me… do you understand me…”—and I bolt down the hall of Apex Energy, bypassing my own office and heading straight for the bathroom.
There, I lock myself in a stall, sit down on the toilet, and gasp for air.
He knows. I am full-fledged, certified, no-doubt-about-it stalking my boss—and he knows. He figured it out. There will be consequences.
But what kind of consequences?
Will he fire me? A slap on the wrist and a warning to never do it again? Will he slash my pay? Fuck, I can’t afford that. Not with over half my money going to my siblings.
I press my hands to my face, rocking back and forth, praying no one comes in and hears the full-blown panic attack I’m having.
Yes. That’s what this is. A panic attack. I need to calm the fuck down. I practice some yoga breathing, closing my eyes and taking long, slow, calculated inhales and exhales.
Then I analyze the scenario.
Worst case: he knows everything and my life is over.
More likely case: It is what it was, simply put. He thought I was spying on his phone call with his dad and was unhappy about it. Just that and nothing more.
I nod, swallowing even though my mouth is dry as the Sahara, and tell myself that’s all it was.
After all, he didn’t mention anything else.
If he did know what I know, what I’ve done—shoot, what I’ve seen—I am pretty sure he would have done more than just verbally threaten me for all of two sentences.
Right?
Right.
I decide that I’m going to live with that story and move on. I get up and check myself in the mirror. Aside from flushed cheeks and a couple locks of hair out of place, I don’t look that disheveled. But as I make my way out of the bathroom, I can’t shake the feeling of what just happened.
He was so in my face, so intense, so commanding. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t going to replay that in my head but in a different context, one that leaves me writhing in my sheets.
“Stop it, Amara. No more. You’re going to give yourself away.”
I don’t realize that I said the words out loud until Susan from Accounting is suddenly staring at me, washing her hands with an odd look on her face.
I clear my throat, offer her a bland smile, and walk out.
For the rest of the day, I make sure Ransome has what he needs before he asks; that way, we have little to no interaction.
Normally, I love even the smallest run-in with him, even if it’s just him blowing past me to rip someone’s head off about something. But right now? Right now, I feel like I am wearing all my thoughts on my face.
They’re better left unsaid.
By the time I leave, I am nearly running out of the building. For one, it’s hard to keep up a disinterested persona. But also, I have a double date tonight, something Electra has not stopped blowing up my phone about all day.
I have just enough time to run home and change into something less professional. I go with a flowy teal dress that is more or less backless and crosses in the front in a way that makes my boobs look great.
It’s not that I want to impress the guy; I couldn’t care less about Jordan or James or whatever his name is.
But I will also never hear the end of it if I don’t at least “try.” Electra reminds me regularly that “if you got it, flaunt it. And you apparently got all of it when God was divvying it out.”
It’s hot for autumn in New York. I debate on putting my hair up. I have a clip that is my go-to, one I wear at work a lot. It’s gold with a phoenix on it. Odd, I know, but I found it at a flea market with Belly and she insisted it was slay and that I needed it to complete my vibe.
For some reason, I can’t find it anywhere.
So I resort to a couple of dollar store bobby pins. I pin up a few of the locks of my loose, flowing hair and slip into some strappy, wedge sandals, then rush off to the restaurant. It’s nestled in the middle of the city, surrounded by other bars, lounges, and restaurants.
Honestly, I was a bit surprised we were going to this one. Spice is a rather ritzy Thai place. I’m not sure who picked it but I really hope Jason or Jerald or Johnny is picking up the tab.
“There she is!” Electra shrieks as I approach the table. I am the last one to arrive and everyone stands as I approach to give me a sarcastic ovation.
“Sorry I’m late.” I smile, going through the normal motions of giving my bestie a quick squeeze and a cheek kiss before turning my attention to the guys. “I love that we are sitting outside. It’s such a beautiful day today.”
“You’re beautiful,” the blonde guy blurts and I realize I forgot to ask which one I am supposed to be flirting with. I assume but his forwardness that he’s my guy.
“You must be Jason,” I offer a hand and immediately see the confusion on his face and the eye roll from Electra.
“This is Jonathan…” Electra motions at contestant number two, the darker, more jaded man with no expression on his face other than an intense gaze and the tiniest hint of a smirk.
“Right, my bad.” I giggle, playing it off like I am dumb. Men tend to like that. It makes them feel more confident when they think they’re intellectually superior.
I hold out a hand to the real Jonathan and he studies me, his eyes passing from head to toe, before he bypasses the handshake and leans in for an impersonal hug instead.
“You smell amazing,” he whispers gruffly. His lips actually brush my ear.
I pull away and give Electra a red flag look, but she is too busy flirting with the blonde who is pulling her chair out for her.
I don’t know whose idea it is, but we are seated next to our dates instead of across from them.
It makes conversation awkward because I have to turn to look at Jonathan while he talks, and it also makes communication with Electra more difficult.
If I needed to get her attention to report any more red flags, I’d have to kick her under the table.
Our drinks come and I nearly down my muddled berry gin and tonic in one slurp.
Electra just smiles. “Ooh, someone is ready to party…!” She shimmies her shoulders and I shoot her a look. A look that a best friend should know.
Of course, she doesn’t notice at all because Chad Michael Murray over there hasn’t let up on his smolder since we sat down.
“So, Amara.” Jonathan steals back my attention by placing a large hand on my exposed knee. It’s a simple gesture but I’m not loving it. I’m not loving any of this. “Electra tells me you are a secretary?”
I bite back the urge to punch him in the face. That’s saying a lot. It’s a strong urge. “I’m a personal assistant. To a CEO.”
“So you’re drawn to powerful men…” He smirks, taking a sip of his whiskey sour. “That’s convenient for us, isn’t it?”
“I’m afraid I don’t see the correlation.”
He chuckles with a tight jaw and sets his glass down. Meanwhile, his hand is inching north up my leg. “That’s cute. You’re very cute. I happen to be a businessman myself.”
“Oh?” I swallow, hoping he doesn’t see the looks I am shooting to an oblivious Electra.
“Burgess Enterprises.”
“Sounds important,” I say, sitting up straighter in the hopes that his hand will slide back to my knee. It doesn’t. If anything, there is grip behind it now.
“Very. Especially since you are with Jonathan Burgess himself.”
“Oh, wow,” I say loudly, still trying to get my friend’s attention. “Electra, I need to use the restroom. Can you show me where it is?”
She tosses a glance in my direction. “I don’t need to go. But it’s around the corner, I think.”
My smile falters for an annoyed moment.
And the offending hand travels another inch higher.
“Did I mention how beautiful you are? I bet you get a lot of attention.” Jonathan’s leaning in now, closer and closer.
Is he actually going to kiss me? Here? Now? Four very cringe minutes into a very cringe date? I want to get up and walk away, but with his hand clutching my thigh, I don’t feel like I can move.
Panic floods my chest. I grip the chair in one hand and my glass in the other. As his face nears mine, I turn my head to the side just in time to hear his voice.
Not Jonathan’s.
Ransome’s.
“Amara.”
My eyes flutter before trailing up. It takes me a moment to materialize it. Standing next to me, towering over the table, is… my God, it really is Ransome.
“Who are you?” Jonathan spits out.
At the same time, Electra gasps, “Amara, is that your boss?!”
But I don’t hear anything else. I am too busy blinking to make sure he’s real. Ransome is actually standing there, dressed in a dark burgundy button-down, no tie, and the darkest glare I’ve ever seen.
I don’t know why he is here. Or how he knew that I was here. But one thing is for certain…
He is not happy.