Chapter 17 Amara
AMARA
I am a zombie as I make my way to the kitchen in the morning. I reach in the cabinet for my favorite mug, a turquoise coffee cup I found at HomeGoods that has a hand-painted peacock on the side. But when my hand comes in contact with smooth matte mug after smooth matte mug, it hits me.
These are not my cups. This is not my house.
I peel my drowsy eyes open enough that I can see the color of said cookie-cutter mugs. And sure enough…
All black.
Fuck.
I groan, grabbing one anyway. I am still at Ransome’s penthouse.
Of course, I am. Because why wouldn’t I be?
It wasn’t a bad dream. The warehouse interrogation, the solitary confinement, and the dinner date that consisted of briny cheese and shitty drinks (because Bratva women drink gin or vodka as a rule).
Oh, and of course a contract to be his girlfriend, including a clause about non-con sex.
Right.
Yeah, no, this is definitely a nightmare.
I dump enough beans into the grinder for a couple days’ worth of coffee, since it looks like I’m going to be here for a while.
Luckily, I do know how to use the contraption now.
Sometimes, when you’re being held hostage and you’re bored as fuck, you take apart fancy ass espresso machines to figure out how they work so you can at least be caffeinated in your imprisonment.
As I wait for the java to brew, I click my hands on the counter, looking around the room. A room filled with things that look like Ransome and feel like Ransome and even fucking smell like Ransome. And honestly, it’s a little bit funny.
A week ago, I would have killed for this punishment. Seen it as kinky. But in reality, it’s kind of like Alice wanting to leave Wonderland. The only difference is, there’s a King Pin, not a crazed Queen. And he’s not going to let me out no matter how fast I fun.
As I make my way to the bathroom with my coffee in one hand and my phone in the other, I press the power button. I was so exhausted from the craziness that is now my real life that I plugged it in but forgot to turn it on.
Crazy enough, I don’t have a lot of texts or missed calls. Sure, it’s only been a day or two. But considering the circumstances, it felt like an eternity spent on another planet after waking up from cryosleep.
A text flashes on the screen as soon as the phone wakes up.
RANSOME: Ivan will be at the penthouse at 7 am sharp to pick you up for work. I expect you won’t be late.
Top of the morning to you, too.
“So the Beast is letting me out of the castle after all,” I mutter. “What a gentleman.”
I clean myself up the best I can. Then I realize that the only outfit I have is the dress from last night.
“Fuck,” I let out. I can only imagine the outrage on Ransome’s face if I show up to work wearing this. It’ll stop every man in every cubicle from the front door to my office.
A smirk tugs at my lips and I squeeze back into it.
After that, I head to the front door. Just as I approach it, the security system beeps and turns green. Then there’s a knock.
I open it to find Ivan, Ransome’s security guard slash driver, standing in the doorway. His eyes dart to my breasts, which this dress showcases very nicely, before straightening out again, landing militantly somewhere behind me.
“Are you ready, Miss?”
“Oh, he talks.”
He says nothing.
I decide not to wait for the miracle to repeat itself. “Ready for part two of my involuntary new life?” I flash him a sarcastic grin. “As I’ll ever be.”
We stop at Legato and I run in and get Ransome’s coffee.
I offer to grab something for Ivan, but he doesn’t so much as blink when I ask what he’d like.
I take his silence as an answer and keep rolling.
As much as I am opposed to my new job, I can’t help but think about the number of zeroes on the contract.
Besides, old habits die hard. I've been Ransome's assistant longer than I've been binge-watching Game of Thrones, and even if my job description is different now, I'm not about to let him go without his morning brew. Dick behavior or not.
As soon as Ivan pulls up to the Apex building, I hop out, coffees in hand. I will be damned if he gets here before me. It’s almost like everything is a competition now. Ransome expects me to fail; I can feel it. But fuck that noise. I've been perfect for ages. I can be perfect for six more months.
Heels clacking on the floor, I can feel the eyes on me.
I can’t imagine what anyone is thinking.
Well, maybe I can. I am sure everyone has seen the TMZ photos which means they know Ransome and I are “together”.
So men are eying me like tall glass of water and women are sneering. I can only imagine what they’re saying.
Not that I actually care.
As soon as I get to my office, I sit down at the computer, typing out his schedule and hitting print. While I wait, I take a sip of my latte.
Then my phone rings.
Electra.
“Hey!” I answer on the first ring. As expected, she immediately cuts me off.
“Where the hell have you been?! Girl, I thought you died!”
“I’m not that lucky,” I joke, then realize she is really panicking.
“Jonathan said you ghosted him.”
I stop. I was missing for several days and the only thing my best friend cares about is some creepo guy from a date I clearly didn’t want to be on asking about me?
“Yeah… I don’t think Jonathan is for me,” I say, pulling the sheet out of the printer and re-reading it for errors.
“Is anyone your type?” she huffs. “Also, as hot as your boss is, it’s weird that he comes barging into your personal life. Bro needs to learn the definition of work-life balance.”
I cringe. “Yeah, about that…”
It occurs to me that this new contract is going to make my personal life hard as well.
Ransome was repetitively clear that I am to remain monogamous.
Which is going to be kind of difficult, since Electra is repetitively persistent about me being the opposite.
The last several years of my life have been one Jonathan after another.
“Mar! Are you listening to me? I said I have another date lined up.”
“Sorry, girl. I’m busy.” I check the time and make my way to Ransome’s office, schedule and piping hot coffee in hand.
I set the schedule on his desk and grab his black mug, scowling at it momentarily as I pour the contents out of the paper cup into it.
“I didn’t even say when it is,” she argues.
“I’m busy… a lot,” I lie, somewhat unconvincingly. “I’m picking up more hours at work.”
“All you do is work!” she whines.
I feel bad. I really do. But I also can’t deal with this right now. Even though I got here early, Ransome will be arriving soon, and I need to focus.
“We can figure it out later,” I reassure her. “Love you. Gotta go.”
I hang up before she can say anything else. Knowing her, she had a lot more to say. Not that I can blame her. I have been a shitty friend lately.
I make my way over to the desk, wanting to triple check the schedule. As I do, my phone buzzes again. At first, I am sure it’s Electra and I am about to put it on silent. But then I see a text from my sister.
ELIZA: Hey sis, are you alive?
Guilt floods my chest and I juggle to text her back while still holding Ransome’s coffee mug with the other hand.
AMARA: Sorry, I lost my phone. Is everything okay?
ELIZA: Well, Dad found my debit card. The one that you sent the money to. So that’s gone.
Fuck.
AMARA: Let me guess: Hennessey?
ELIZA: Yep.
I shake my head. Bitterness pools in my stomach, but I force myself to swallow it down.
We knew this might happen. It’s why we never put all of our eggs in one basket.
There’s several more cards in Eliza’s possessions, all filled up by me, little by little, so that she’d have something to fall back on if our inebriated sperm donor ever got the itch to go snooping.
Which, apparently, he did.
AMARA: I’ll send more now. Do me a favor and hide your cards. Only use your phone for transactions. How is everyone else?
Eliza voice texts a rundown. She is most likely driving or at the salon, already working.
Everyone is okay. She’s putting in as many hours as she can, and so is Gianni.
When he’s not working, he’s puttering around the garage.
Bella is dealing with all things high school.
Apparently, she got a nose piercing, and may or may not be seeing the guy who did it.
ELIZA: He wrote his number on the aftercare card he gave her before she left the shop.
AMARA: Classy. Keep an eye on him. Anyone who pierces underage noses has to be a creep.
ELIZA: I think he’s underage too. It’s his brother’s shop. Don’t worry, Gianni already ripped him a new one. He’s seventeen and, thanks to our hot-headed little brother, he’s now very much afraid.
I smile at that. It sounds like things are going okay. Mostly. Pierced noses and scared teenagers aside.
But at the same time, my stomach is sour. My dad found the card. A good chunk of the money I’d sent Eliza is gone now, pissed away in some gambling den. Likely both.
I comfort myself by remembering the other cards. I know the amount on each by heart, and I know it’s enough to get them by for now.
But life isn’t cheap for three people and a dead weight. And if that dead weight goes snooping again? There’s no telling how quickly the rest of our savings will turn into wine.
Which is exactly why I need this job. And it’s why I’m standing here, holding Ransome’s coffee with his schedule on his desk as it should be.
No matter how badly he treats me or what he demands of me, I can’t walk away. I don’t have that luxury. He may turn out to be the devil himself, and I’d still have to paste on a smile and sign my soul away.
Speaking of the devil…
Ransome suddenly comes flying into the office, slamming the door shut hard behind me. It catches me so off guard, the coffee spills out of the black mug, dumping onto his desk all over the schedule.
Shit.