Chapter 29
AMARA
Sleeping on the couch blows, even when the couch costs more than your car.
That said, I have started sleeping in the bedroom. The downside is, it smells like him. Not just his cologne or his soap, but his skin. His sweat. His body.
The upside is that the mattress so closely resembles sleeping on the highest cloud of heaven that I am usually snoring and probably drooling within five seconds of my head hitting the pillow.
And don’t get me started on the sheets.
When my alarm goes off in the morning, I am not ready to get up. I have no desire to leave the cloud. I have no desire to go to work. And I very much have no desire to see Ransome.
But arrogant, controlling, drug dealing boss aside, I have bills to pay. People to support.
So I drag myself to the kitchen.
My eyes are hardly open as I pad down the hallway.
Sunlight pours into the living room, assaulting me with its cheeriness.
The chaos of my new life is so excruciating that I wake up feeling hungover most days, an ironic joke since I hardly drink anymore.
I hardly do anything anymore. I shield my eyes against the light and I almost miss what is sitting in the doorway.
Are those… clothes?
My eyes are open now as I walk over and evaluate. Sure enough, there is a rack of clothes. They aren’t mine, but guessing by the size and styles, they are for me. I mean, it’s not like there’s another woman sleeping here, unless the cloud bed really does have me knocked out.
My eyes narrow as I approach it. Like the whole thing might be strapped with a bomb.
“What the hell are you up to?” I ask out loud before carefully sifting through the clothes. There’s work attire, obviously. Skirts and blouses, all things I would pick. A couple dresses both formal and more casual. A pair of jeans. Athletic wear. Leisure. Even pajamas.
Then I see shoes. The bottom rack is literally shoes. And bras? In my size?
Alright. Who is stalking who? For real.
“No.” I dust my hands and back up with a smile while shaking my head. “You are not going to buy me with—are those Louis Vuitton? Fuck me.”
A pair of pink pumps on the shoe rack has me on my knees on the floor sifting through the rest of them.
Damn this man.
Alright, well. Maybe I can be bought. Obviously I need to look good for the contract. And it’s not like he can’t afford it. Or like he doesn’t owe me. He has been an absolute prick lately.
With my head spinning, I make my way to the kitchen for coffee. But then I stop—again—because there, sitting next to the coffee maker, is a little red envelope. The handwriting on it is very clearly Ransome’s.
My heart skips a beat in my chest, but I silently tell it to calm its tits. It could say anything. It could be anything.
I run my finger along the inside, carefully tearing it open. Inside is a white note. Not a card, just a simple note.
A few things to help you get by.
— Ransome
P.S.—Don’t worry about picking up coffee. I’ve made other arrangements.
I toss the note on the counter with a persecuted sigh. Great. He’s probably going to fire me. That way, he doesn’t have to deal with me anymore. The clothes are a parting gift before he sends me packing down the New York sidewalk, looking for a new job, a new life, a new name.
I knew it was all too good to be true.
Realizing the time, I hurry up and grab an outfit off the rack and get ready for work.
Ivan will be knocking in about ten minutes.
I decide on a pleated back and white short skirt, a simple black blouse and opaque tights with black pumps.
The pink Vuittons can wait for another day.
An occasion that doesn’t involve my demise.
As we drive, Ivan keeps his eyes on the road. At least, I think that’s where he’s looking. He wears sunglasses all the time, even at night. I can’t help but wonder if the man ever sleeps. Or if he gets to go home at some point during the night.
I glance at him in the rear view. He’s a put together man on the outside, always a suit, always black. His mouth is slack with a down-tipped frown. His skin is worn. Like you can tell his job isn’t just working as a valet. He’s seen some shit.
“Long night?” I ask.
Nothing.
“I don’t know about you, but I was not ready to get up this morning.” I smile.
Nothing.
“So do you sleep on the porch or in the car? Because I swear you never leave.”
Fucking crickets.
“You don’t talk. That’s cool. I can respect that.” I take in a deep breath and let it out. “Man, I could really go for some coffee. How about you?”
A solid ten seconds goes by and I give up.
But then—
“The boss doesn’t like food or drinks in the car.”
I grin. His accent is the thickest I’ve heard, second only to Dmitry Chadovich.
“So you do speak English,” I razz him. It doesn’t earn me any expression whatsoever, but at least he’s talking. “So not even coffee? The man works you pretty hard to not allow a cup of joe in the morning.”
“Mr. Rozanov pays well,” he says as we pull up to the building.
Apparently, that’s all he intends to say.
I get out of the car. A small smile plays on my lips as I walk through the building, making my way towards my office. I take a breath and let it back out again as I open my computer, tapping it awake, and wait for the schedule to load so I can fine-tune it for the day.
When it’s ready, I hit print and turn to the table behind me where the printer is. It spits out a hot sheet of paper, like a breakfast pastry ready to go.
Breakfast pastry. God, that sounds good. With a coffee and—
“Shit!” I blurt out when I turn around, because I am not expecting Ransome to be standing there. “Sorry. You scared me. Am I late? Sorry if I’m late.”
“You’re not late,” he says. His tone isn’t flat but it is dry. Robotic almost. Whatever it is, it’s weirding me out.
“Oh. Okay.”
“Actually, you’re a little early,” he says.
My eyes travel down to his hand. He’s holding a black mug as usual. But he’s not sipping it. And it doesn’t smell like his order. It smells like—
“Here,” he holds it out.
I blink. I don’t know what the fuck is going on.
He looks down at it, then back up at me. “Caramel macchiato.”
In my silence, I’m starting to feel like Ivan.
“That is your order, isn’t it?” he asks.
“It is. But how did you—”
“I had Annette pick up the coffee this morning.”
I take the mug from him and stare down at it sadly. “I knew it. You’re replacing me.”
Ransome’s face screws into a look of confusion. “What? No, of course not. Who the fuck could I replace you with?”
“Oh.”
“You’re the only assistant I’ve ever had that understood how to do the job.” Fuck me, he looks mad now. “I just—I thought you might like some coffee, that’s all.”
… Okay?
“Thank you,” I say, though I don’t sound very sure of the words. Or what dimension I woke up in this morning. “Oh, here’s your schedule.”
Ransome takes it, looks it over for all of half a second, then gives a single nod.
“Also, we are going out tonight,” he adds.
There it is. He needs arm candy to piss off the Chadovichs some more. It all makes sense now. The nice clothes. The coffee.
“Great,” I say, my voice deflated. “Another party, I assume?”
“No,” he answers. “Dinner.”
“Oh? With your family?” I do mental inventory of the dresses on the rack at the penthouse, wondering which one would be best. Probably whichever one would look like I am going to my own funeral.
“Just us.”
Ransome’s words stop my brain like a scratched record.
“Just us? As in me and you?”
“I think that’s the definition of us, yes.”
I study him, but Ransome is unreadable.
“Okay. What time?”
“Be ready by seven.”
I nod.
Ransome pivots like he’s going to leave. Then he stops. He rubs the nape of his neck, dragging his hand up the back of his head.
“Do you like seafood?”
“I…” What in the ever-loving fuck is going on? “Yeah. I mean, I don’t splurge on it often, but—”
“Okay. I’ll make arrangements.”
“Do you want me to—” I point at the schedule.
“No,” he answers. “No. I’ll take care of it. Otherwise, it won’t be a surprise.”
A surprise?
I round to the backside of my desk, suddenly needing to sit down. I can’t figure out if I am dreaming or hallucinating or simply losing my mind. That has to be it. Things have been wild enough that I am actually going nuts.
I sit down and take a sip of my macchiato, relishing the sweet, velvety caramel.
But then Ransome walks back in.
“Did I forget something?” I ask.
Wordlessly, he sets my phone on my desk.
Then he walks back out.
What… the… fuck?