Chapter 50 Amara
AMARA
It’s only when I get home that it dawns on me.
No one is listening to me.
Ransome is brushing off that Gianni could be in danger. Gianni is acting like he knows who he’s messing with. Like I am the naive one.
Well, I’m over it.
Over it enough that I’m going out.
Electra gets us into this swanky little speakeasy where you have to snag the secret password on their social media page.
It’s dark, with gothic wallpaper and tufted chairs and orange lighting behind the wall of liquor.
It’s made up of multiple rooms, some small and cozy, some large, linked to the main bar. It’s moody. Hidden. Bougie.
Perfect.
It’s also packed and the only two seats left are at the main bar.
“I can’t believe you have a night off.” She digs into the charcuterie board we ordered while waiting for the bartender to make our cocktails.
I reach for a slice of hard gouda. “Believe it or not, I don’t always take orders from my boss.”
“No? Could’ve fooled me.”
“Yeah well I’m here aren’t I?”
She grins. “You are.”
“And I’m having drinks with you.”
“Yes.”
“And I look good.”
“You look fabulous,” she tells me. “I mean, for real. Look at you, wearing name brand. It’s about damn time you spent some of that money on yourself.”
What Electra doesn’t know is that I don’t pay for most of my clothes anymore. Even with the money Ransome gives me, he still sends new outfits straight to the penthouse. And as much as I love thrifting and second-hand things… I’m not stupid. I’m still a woman. And I don’t hate my new wardrobe.
That being said, I did buy this dress. I bought it because I went to the mall before I came here. Maybe not the mall Ransome would have me shop at. But not the cheap one either. This dress is the literal definition of little black dress.
Straight. Flattering. Flashy. And short. Short enough that I can’t bend over.
Paired with high black stilettos, I’d be lying if I said I haven’t noticed the number of looks I’ve gotten since stepping out of my car this evening.
And while I have no interest in any of those stares, it doesn’t suck doing what I want for once.
And what I want is to have a drink in a cute dress with my friend and pretend like I’m not dating a man from the Bratva.
“So, tell me about this guy you’re seeing.” I take a sip of my drink. It’s tequila, of course. Because tonight, I’ve decided to treat myself to something I actually like.
It’s spicy and sweet and divine. All it takes is one sip for me to feel loose and free. I’m not drunk. It’s a buzz on life.
“I was about to say the same thing to you,” she says. “Whoever he is, he must really be something.”
I smile into my drink. I’m downing it at a possibly alarming rate, but I don’t get to drink tequila very often. I don’t get to do any of this very often. And I need it.
God, do I fucking need it.
“What makes you say that?” I ask. Though I know the answer.
“Because you have the attention of every man at the bar right now, and you aren’t even batting an eye. You’re smitten.”
I finish my drink. “I am not smitten. I am just…” I trail off, and we both laugh.
I order another drink. Electra keeps prodding me to give her more info. Of course, I can’t.
“What’s his name?” she asks. “At least tell me that.”
“I shouldn’t say.” My lips are getting loose, so I bite them.
“Fine. No names. A photo, then. I’m sure you have a picture of him in your phone.”
Again. I shouldn’t.
But right now I just don’t give a shit. I’m so tired of living my life with secrets. Skeletons in the closet that resemble some kind of mafia nightmare.
So I fucking do it anyways.
“Wait,” Electra smiles, it fades, then she smiles again. “Fucking wait. Is that…”
She looks at me and I nod.
“Your boss. You’re dating your boss?!”
I cover my face with my hands, half because I am turning red, but also because I can literally feel her judging me and I don’t need to see it.
“I knew it,” she says, and I pull my hands away.
“What?”
“I knew it! I knew when he showed up on that double date that something was going on. So tell me about it.”
“There’s nothing to tell.” I shake my head and lie through my teeth.
“Nothing? You’re fucking your hot billionaire boss, wearing his money all over your body, sleeping in his bed—”
“Shh!” I try to cover her mouth with my hand, but she keeps going.
“No wonder you’re working so many hours. It’s because you’re working so many hours.”
I shake my head again, but I’m smiling. “I’m going to the bathroom,” I say, and walk off before she can say anything else.
Meanwhile, I can’t stop smiling.
I make my way down the dark moody hall, lit with lanterns on the walls, passing smaller, more private rooms and coves where other couples are sitting.
Then, as I round the corner, I stop.
Because standing in front of the women’s room, blocking my way both ways, is Tristan.
“Hello, Amara,” he says, and I hate the way my name sounds on his nasty lips. It doesn’t belong to him.
“Tristan.” I square my shoulders.
“You know, when Ransome first said he was turning my supermodel of a cousin down for his assistant, I didn’t get it. But seeing you now… I get it.”
“What do you want?”
He studies me. Then he sucks in a breath through his grinning mouth and take a step closer.
I take a step back.
“Does he know you’re here?” he asks.
“Of course,” I lie. “He always knows where I am.”
“And he’s okay with it? With you dressed like this?” Tristan tugs at the hem of my dress.
I swallow hard as my breathing becomes more jagged.
“Our relationship has nothing to do with Jenica,” I say. “It’s deeper than that.”
“Really?” he asks, inching closer still.
“Yes. We started seeing each other before the arrangement with your uncle.”
“Funny, because I think it has everything to do with him becoming pakhan in a few months.”
My mind is racing like a train with no breaks. Tristan knows. He knows the relationship is fake. He isn’t saying it, but that face says it all.
“What do you want from me?” I repeat the words, knowing how dangerous they are yet having no choice.
He backs me into the wall. “I want to know how big this gig is that your boyfriend has going on.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I try to duck around him, to walk away. To run.
But Tristan grabs my arm and yanks me back.
“Except I think you do. I think you’re lying to me. Which is very, very stupid.”
After a moment that is more survival instinct than bravery, I yank my arm back.
“I don’t know anything,” I say again. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”
Tristan steps closer still, his mouth only inches from mine. There are people around, but no one seems to see what’s going on.
“I can see why Rozanov likes you. You’re spicy. And loyal too.”
I duck around him and head back down the hall. Then I hear him say, “Everyone’s loyalty can be broken though, Amara. Especially if someone you love is in trouble.” He chuckles. “Or, in your case, three people.”
I stop.
Then I keep walking.
He’s trying to scare you.
I repeat the words over and over in my head, forcing myself to believe them.