Chapter 32 Amara
AMARA
He left.
He bought me a dress. (Actually, a new wardrobe, but who’s counting?)
He wrote me a note.
He had the secretary bring me coffee.
He asked me out to dinner.
He drove us to a swanky little sushi joint.
He let me drink tequila!
He even talked to me like a normal person.
Then he walked me up the steps, saw me inside the penthouse, and he just… left.
Maybe I am being ungrateful, but am I wrong here?
Because, if I remember correctly—and I’m pretty sure I do—there is a benefits clause in that contract.
A clause that Ransome put in there because, and I quote, He has needs.
There’s also a monogamy clause for the duration of the contract, which means that if I have needs, I am only allowed to have them fulfilled by him.
And so far, save for a few hand touches as he helps me out of cars and knee bumps under the table, there haven’t been a lot of needs met.
I peel off the new heels that have no doubt worn blisters clear to my bone—because Ransome chose them, and how could a man possibly know a pair of comfy heels from a pair of tortuous ones?—and toss them across the room.
I might be acting like a middle school girl right now, but seriously, I do have needs.
And he is supposed to meet them, contractually at that.
Yet here I am, alone, in his penthouse. I don’t even have my toy box, because it’s at home under my own bed where the rest of my things are. Because I am, in fact, stuck here.
“And to think I used to be obsessed with him,” I scold myself. “Or that I bought his charm”
I plop down on the couch and recap the evening.
He seemed interested. This is a man that I lusted after for months.
It was a way to escape my life. A nice way, to be honest. And over those months, I got to know him a little by little.
Not just his coffee order and the way he likes his suits pressed, but the things that make his lips tick in the hint of a smirk from time to time.
Granted, it only lasts a second, but you don’t expect a miracle to go on forever.
Tonight, he actually seemed to open up a little.
There was an inkling of light in him, that light I thought I’d been glimpsing in my devoted months of service.
And it hits me that maybe, just maybe, Ransome isn’t just a man I found myself obsessing over.
A man that I want carnally. The man I saw tonight—he could be more than that for me.
The one, as Electra so romantically puts it.
That’s not to say that I wouldn’t still want him to rip my bra off with his teeth.
I mean, let’s be honest. Ransome is not a soft man by any stretch of the imagination. But after tonight, I almost believed that maybe, just maybe, he could be a good man. Even if he is some kind of drug lord.
My head is suddenly spinning with all the contradictory thoughts. I realize I am exhausted. And frustrated as fuck. So I go to bed, hoping that my irritation will be gone in the morning.
Unfortunately, that’s not really how my irritation works. It doesn’t just fade away with a good night’s sleep. It festers. When I wake up, I am exhausted from tossing and turning, and even more annoyed with the man than I was before.
But I have a job to do and I’ll do it. On eight hours or sleep or zero.
I wear the longest skirt on the rack, paired with the blouse with the highest neckline. I also opt for a pair of flats that I assume he intended for leisure and not work, but since my feet are still bleeding from last night’s heels, he doesn’t get to complain about my lack of dress code compliance.
Ivan drives me to the coffee shop. This time, I don’t try to make small talk with him, even though I’ve spent the last week or so determined to crack him. I’m just not in the mood.
I pick up our coffees and walk through the lobby and up the stairs without so much as a hello to anyone. I don’t have time to chat if I want to be prudently early. I am, after all, an important man’s assistant. No mere secretary.
I write up his schedule, print it out, and lay it on his desk front and center. Then I pour his coffee into a fresh mug and wait.
And wait.
Ransome walks through the door with eight seconds to spare, two seconds sooner than usual.
I hold out his coffee. Though my eyes are fixed on the wall in front of me, I can still see his face. He doesn’t look at me.
“Good morning Mr. Rozanov,” I say robotically.
“Miss Parker,” he says.
I swallow, hard and discrete.
He walks to his desk, looks out the window, sips his coffee, turns and looks at his schedule.
“A meeting with my father?” he asks, irritation in his tone.
“Yes, sir. Requested this morning,” I answer almost soldierly.
“Before lunch?” I can hear his knuckles cracking as he clenches his fists.
“Per your father’s request, Mr. Rozanov.”
“You should have consulted me first. I am not in the mood to meet with my father and his men today.” He rounds his desk and heads for the door, coffee in hand.
“With all due respect, Mr. Rozanov, I am only your assistant, nothing more. Regulating your daily moods is not in my job description. Sir.”
Ransome stops in front of me, his head slowly, almost mechanically turning to zero his gaze on me. I stare forward.
“I think you need to remember your place, Miss Parker.”
“I’ve read the contract many times, Mr. Rozanov. I know what I shouldn’t be doing…” I look him in the eyes. “And I know what we should be doing…”
Ransome steps forward and brings his mouth down to my ear. “Do not make the mistake of assuming you aren’t replaceable, Miss Parker. I would hate for you to suffer needlessly.”
As if I’m not suffering already.
I want to say the words but I bite my tongue. In fact, I bite it so hard, my mouth tastes like copper.
After he makes his way out of the room, I follow, going to my own office and closing the door.
Where does he get off? I mean, sure, he’s CEO and some kind of Russian drug lord, but still. Where the fuck does he get off treating his employees, treating me, like that? I should have known last night was a joke.
As the day goes by, I do my best to avoid him.
For the most part, he avoids me too. I predict his every move and need, staying a step ahead of him the entire time.
That way, he can’t ask me to do anything that will make me feel belittled, and also, it gets under his skin when I have a head start on him.
By the time his meeting rolls around, I’ve already tweaked his schedule three times, made an appointment at the barber for him, and scheduled for his car to be detailed. When his lunch arrives—takeout from a Greek place down the street, per his request—I set it out for him on his desk.
While I’m there, Annette walks in.
“Is Mr. Rozanov here? There’s a fax from Las Cruses. A tire shop, I think? I’m not sure if it’s important.”
It is, in fact, important. It’s not from a tire shop. It’s code, and it has to do with the El Paso deal. I’m a little shocked they would fax something and not phone it, but maybe digital is riskier than paper. After all, paper can be burned.
“He’s in a meeting,” I tell her.
“Oh. I will just hold onto it then,” she says.
“That’s okay.” I rush over and swipe the papers. “He’s been waiting for this fax. I’ll just take it to him.”
“Are you sure?” she asks as I head down the hall. “I don’t think Mr. Rozanov likes being disturbed during his meetings.”
Nope. He does not.
I smile to myself and approach the doors. I stop outside, the muffled sound of voices on the other side. Then I knock twice and open the door.
Ransome, who was in the middle of something heated, stops, and the room turns towards me.
“Miss Parker…” his voice is a warning. One I should not ignore.
“Sorry to interrupt, but I thought you might want these papers.”
“It could have waited, Miss Parker.” He says the words like I don’t understand English.
“Maybe. But I didn’t want to risk it.”
I set them down in front of him and make my way back out. But just before the door closes, he slips through, grabbing me by the arm and yanking me off to the side.
“What in the actual fuck do you think you’re doing?” he grits out.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Is my behavior out of place?” I snap back.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but it’s about to get you into trouble,” he warns.
“So fire me.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You heard me. If I’m so fucking replaceable, why don’t you marry Jenica and put me out of my misery? Seeing you with her would be less painful than pretending to want to be with you after everything you’ve done to me.”
Ransome’s eyes fill with heat, but I don’t care. Maybe he’s had enough. But so have I.
“Everything I’ve done to you? Don’t you mean everything I’ve done for you?”
“Oh, because you’ve done so much,” I snap. “You’ve stripped me of my identity, scared off all my friends, isolated me from my family, and forced me to be your arm candy while getting treated like shit the whole time.”
“You are lucky I don’t reprimand you for this,” he snarls.
“Do it. At least then I’d know how you really feel.”
Ransome opens his mouth to say something else when his dad and the other men walk out of the meeting room.
“Son, if you don’t have time to see us right now, we can leave.”
“You showed up unannounced. So no, I don’t have time right now.”
“It wasn’t unannounced, son,” Anton says. “Your little secretary here should have told you about it.”
“She’s not my secretary,” he barks out, and I have to admit, it surprises me. “She’s my assistant.”
“Of course. I think you need to remind yourself of that more often, son.”
“If there is something you are implying, I suggest you just say it.” Ransome’s tone is sharp. I suddenly feel like I’m standing at the receiving end of a shooting range.
Anton’s round face stretches into a painful smile. “You may have everyone else convinced that the two of you are dating, but I see through the bullshit.”
“We kissed publicly. What more do you want?” Ransome asks.
“I’m just saying, I don’t buy it. Real passion is all about spontaneity. There is nothing less spontaneous than a public kiss, clearly staged for attention,” Anton says. And for a moment, tense silence fills the air.
I watch as Ransome and his dad have a staring contest. Then, and still without blinking, Ransome’s eyes dart over to mine.
He is still livid, I can see it. Walking into a meeting was way out of line.
Talking back to him was unjustifiable. Yet, if I didn’t know any better, the way he is looking at me, the way his jaw is clenching and unclenching, I’d almost say he is going to—
Ransome pulls me against him and his mouth crashes into mine.
The kiss is so long, so deep, so utterly soul-sucking, that I melt in his arms and my hand even finds his.
Then, just before he pulls away, he nips my lip.
It’s discrete enough that no one sees it, but hard enough to hurt. To draw blood, even.
“Darling, will you meet me in my office in five?” he asks after pulling away.
“Yes, Mr. Rozanov.”
I make my way down the hall, my head spinning like a hurricane and my lip bleeding. It was punishment for my behavior. A warning to learn my place.
And, if I had to guess, a territorial mark to remind me who is in charge.