Chapter 34 Amara
AMARA
“Get me out of here, Ivan,” I say as soon as I close the back door of the car.
He pulls out of the parking lot and onto the crowded street. “That’s the plan,” he answers with little to no emotion, as usual.
“But don’t go to the penthouse,” I add. “I have no desire to go there.”
“That’s not part of the plan.” He shrugs. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. But also, don’t go there.”
“Again, I’m sorry, Miss Parker. But that is where I am paid to go.”
“Then I will pay you to go somewhere else,” I snap.
“That’s not really how this works, Miss Parker.”
“Amara,” I cut him off. “You don’t have to call me Miss Parker. You don’t work for me.”
“Which is why I can’t just take you wherever you want.”
“Jesus!” I cry out, though Ivan doesn’t even flinch. I am under the impression he is used to seeing people get upset, and part of his paid job is having no reaction to it. “Does everyone take orders from this fucking man?!”
“Only the ones who don’t want their fingernails pulled off with a pair of needle-nosed pliers.”
“Like he would actually do that to us.”
Ivan turns in the direction of the penthouse without answering. This time, his silence is very, very telling.
I decide to push all thoughts of pliers out of my mind. “Are you aware that he is basically holding me hostage?” I ask instead.
“I find it in my best interest not to be aware of too much other than which directives to follow.”
“But I—”
“I answer to Mr. Rozanov alone.””
I cross my arms and glare out the window. “So what happens when the cops show up because Mr. Rozanov is holding his personal assistant hostage at this penthouse?”
“I am more afraid of him than I am of the cops,” he says. “You should be too. Also, you should be grateful that he’s keeping your prisoner at his bougie apartment. Most people that cross Ransome just end up on the missing posters at the 7-Eleven.”
My eyes widen because I can’t tell if Ivan is joking or not. I’m leaning towards not.
We pull up to the apartment and I open the door. Ivan immediately follows.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Seeing you to your room.”
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”
“Actually, I do. But I told Mr. Rozanov I’d see you to your room.”
“To lock me inside?” I ask, though it’s more of a statement.
“I’m under orders not to lock the door anymore.”
He’s not locking me in? After the tantrum he threw earlier today?
It’s odd, but I guess I should take it.
“Great. Then there’s no reason to see me to my room, is there?”
Before Ivan can answer, I walk away into the penthouse.
Of course, once Ivan is gone, I walk back out again. Because fuck Ransome.
Elsie’s Martini Bar is conveniently located less than two blocks from the penthouse. It’s dark, swanky, and has room at the bar. I pull up a stool and a dark, curly haired boy with a tattoo of a compass on his wrist nods over at me.
“What’s your poison?”
“Anything that will kill me,” I mutter. “Or a gin and tonic.”
“Bad day?” he asks with a smirk. A smirk! It comes so easy to him, unlike some people that don’t even have smirking muscles in their faces.
“You have no idea,” I sigh.
“Tell me about it.” The guy sets the drink in front of me and presses his forearms to the bar top. “I’m a bartender. We’re practically licensed therapists.”
I shouldn’t. I wouldn’t even know where to start. Yet something about being in a public place around normal people is painfully refreshing, and I kind of just don’t give a shit anymore.
“My boss is a dick.” I pick the lime wedge from my glass and squeeze it into the drink before tossing it aside.
“So get a new job,” he suggests.
I take a sip. Still as awful as I remember it, but it’s not the poor guy’s fault I can’t order what I really want. “I wish it were that easy.”
“Who says it isn’t? You’re a cute girl. You could get a job anywhere.”
“Not a job like this one.”
“Yeah?” The guy leans even closer. He smiles like cinnamon and bad choices. “And what makes it so special?”
You mean, aside from the fact I am the personal assistant to one of the most powerful CEOs in the country? Not to mention the soon-to-be kingpin of the local Bratva?
“It pays well.”
“I’d pay you well.” I almost spit out my drink. “What? You don’t believe me? You’d make a killing if your skirt was a little shorter and you tacked a sweet smile onto that sarcasm of yours.”
I smile, but not because he told me to. The conversation is amusing because this guy has no fucking clue.
He smiles back, waiting for another response. But the one I give him is enough to make him leave me alone. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
The bartender tosses his towel back over his shoulder and moves on to a couple of girls who just walked in. I finally get a second to breathe. A second to enjoy my cocktail in peace.
Until my phone starts ringing.
Damnit, Amara, you spoke too fucking soon.
“Hello,” I answer, because it’s Electra and if I don’t answer, she will probably send the hounds in search of me because of how flaky I’ve been. Not that it’s my fault.
“Well, look who actually picked up for once!”
“Yeah, well, I do get a day off once in a while.” There’s a bit of a tone there, half because of her comment and half because I did get the day off… involuntarily. I feel like that word is the theme of my life recently. Nothing is my choice anymore.
“That’s good. Does this mean your big bad wolf of a boss is lightening up?”
I nearly laugh at that, but I’m able to stifle it in the back of my throat before it comes out. “Something like that.”
“So how are things with the mystery man? Do I get to meet him yet or did you kick him to the curb? Because if you kicked him to the curb, I might have a guy for you.”
“Electra…” I whine into the phone. “No. I am very much still seeing this man. No more blind dates.”
“How often are you seeing him?” she presses.
“Daily,” I mutter before thinking about how that might sound. But Electra isn’t paying attention.
“So it is serious? I love it. Well, you will be happy to know that I went on a date too.”
“How’s his nose?” I ask.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“He was charming. He has a great smile. One of those shit-eating grins or whatever it’s called.
He also seems pretty well off, because he took me to an oyster bar.
I didn’t eat the oysters of course, because ew.
And thank God, neither did he, or I probably wouldn’t have let him kiss me.
But he was a good kisser, that I will admit. ”
“So you think you’ll see him again?” I ask. Electra is notorious for one-and-dones, not because she’s sleazy or anything. More because she’s critical of the guys she goes out with. One flaw and they’re gone.
“I hope so. I gave him my number, so we will see.”
“Well, I’m glad you met someone,” I tell her, and I really am happy for her.
I’m also a little jealous. Electra’s life seems so simple. So normal. So free. As I sit at a bar that is within walking distance from the house I am contracted to live in, half the time locked in, I can’t help but miss my old life.
I’m not looking to get drunk. Alcohol would only dampen my mood. So I finish my drink, close the tab, and leave, slowly walking back to my cage.
Am I being dramatic? I don’t think so. I really don’t have a choice anymore.
Ransome is controlling every aspect of my life at this point.
And the worst part is, I can’t decide if I hate it (I do) or if it turns me on like some sort of kinky twist in the plot that is my obsession with my boss (it kind of does).
Ivan isn’t there when I unlock the door and go inside. I guess that’s a relief that Ransome doesn’t think I need to be guarded anymore. In my defense, it’s been a while since I trashed the place. I kick off my shoes and set my purse aside before flipping on the light.
And when I do, I scream.
Ransome is standing there, in the dark, like a statue, just staring at me.
“What are you doing here?” I press my hand to my chest so my heart doesn’t pop out of my ribcage.
“Where were you?”
My fear melts into irritation. “I went to that bar down the street.”
“You went to a bar?” he demands. “With who?”
“With myself. Jesus, you need to learn the art of calming the fuck down.”
“That’s not exactly easy to do when you’re supposed to be home and you’re not.”
“I had a shitty day at work. My boss is kind of a jerk. I wanted a drink. Is that okay?” My tone is as sharp as his. It’s not smart, but I don’t really care.
“Is your boss always a jerk?” he asks.
“Most days.” I play along.
He nods. “Maybe his life is complicated.”
“Or maybe he has trust issues.”
Ransome holds up a photo. It takes me a second, but then I recognize it. It’s the one I was looking at the other day, the one with the kid that looks like him.
“Maybe it’s because his assistant goes through his things.”
I bite my lip. This time, I know I am in the wrong. “I’m sorry. But you lock me up here! I get restless and—”
“He died.”
I don’t know what I was expecting him to say, but it wasn’t that. “Who was he?” I ask.
“Niklaus. Nikky. My brother. He was fifteen.”
My heart dives in my chest. “Oh. I’m sorry.”
Ransome tosses the photo on the counter and walks over to the mini bar. “It happens. It’s inevitable in this world.” He pours a glass of whiskey and offers me a drink too, but I shake my head gently. I don’t think I could stomach it right now.
He leans against the counter and takes a sip, his eyes dark. There’s a storm behind them. It’s weird seeing him like this. Like there’s emotion in him. Like he’s human.
Still, I know to tread lightly. “Were you close?”
Ransome’s jaw tightens, but he nods and takes another sip. “Yeah. Inseparable. He was… people thought we were twins. One in the same. And then he died and I had to grow up.” His face goes hard.
“I know how that is,” I admit, and Ransome looks at me for the first time. “After we lost Mom, my dad started drinking. It’s safe to say he hasn’t put down the bottle since.”
“How old were you?”