Chapter 10 Roman
ROMAN
The steam from my coffee cup swirls upward in a hypnotic dance as I watch Mila move gracefully around my dining room.
She seems different this morning—lighter than the past few days.
Her outfit, clearly chosen from her own wardrobe, flatters her figure and makes it difficult for me to focus on anything else.
The fabric clings to her curves, hinting at her shapely body beneath, and I find myself admiring those curves as she sets a plate of food in front of me.
"I expect you to be on your best behavior today," I tell her as her eyes rise to meet mine. She bats her eyelashes at me and turns back to the serving cart as I continue. "We're going to a draft for my fight team, and I need you to pay attention and take notes."
She hasn't had much responsibility yet, though that's mostly because I’ve been busy.
With so much going on, it has challenged me to think of ways to put her to use.
I do most of this on my own, and adding her into my routine hasn't been easy.
It has to look purposeful, not like a rushed afterthought.
If she feels like I gave her this position as a means to babysit her and not because I saw some sort of talent she possesses, she'll resent me and it will put a barrier between me and my goal.
Mila nods and dips her head, moving a glass of orange juice from the cart to the table.
"I understand." So far, everything I've given her has been busy work intended to keep her near me while I continue to dig into her life and the life of her stepmother.
But she'll catch on soon, and I don't want her to think this move is merely about controlling her.
"Did you do much with your father's business?" I ask. The question is twofold—if she has knowledge of his organization, it'll be useful to me in the future. And I'm hoping to understand more about that family dynamic too.
"I sat in on meetings from time to time, but mostly because Papa had this idea that I could marry someone to help his plans along." Mila's tone is more somber than sour. I gather she misses her father, but not necessarily his actions or motives.
"So you understand how to conduct yourself during business?"
Her eyes narrow on me and for half a second, I feel like she'll spit her venom, but she sighs and says, "Yes, sir. I won't embarrass you."
The way she says it stings a little, like I've personally wounded her by my treatment. Maybe I've been harsh with her at times, but it was for good reason. I didn't think things would evolve the way they have or that life would show me Mila is just another broken thing that needs fixing.
"Mila, I want to—" My phone buzzes, and I glance down to see Vera's name on the screen. Mila stands watching me, waiting for me to finish the apology that's on the tip of my tongue, but it'll have to wait. With a sigh, I answer the call, already knowing what she's going to say.
"Roman, darling," Vera purrs, and her voice drips with false sweetness. "How are you?"
"Ms. Koval," I say, and I watch Mila's face crumple before she turns her back on me and wipes down her cart. "What can I do for you?"
"Well, I was just thinking about how much Sofi would love to spend some time with you this week. Maybe you could take her out to dinner, or maybe a show?"
I grit my teeth, annoyed by her transparent attempts to push her daughter on me. I have no intention of marrying either of the Koval women. I've already made up my mind that Mila is the one I'd choose, but I know that keeping Vera close is important. Friends close, enemies closer, as they say.
What's really interesting is Mila's response to her stepmother's call. She wilted like a flower in summer's heat as soon as she heard me say Ms. Koval. It can't be jealousy because Mila knows nothing about what I'm planning. So it must be bitterness, or maybe fear.
"Of course," I answer, but I have to force the words out.
Enduring this torment is worse than watching a bad fight.
At least at the gym, I could call it and be done.
This game may play out for months yet. "I'd be happy to entertain Sofi later this week.
Have her call my assistant to set something up. "
Vera's delighted laughter grates on my nerves, but I chuckle with her and watch Mila's spine straighten.
She pushes the cart toward the door, then grabs the feather duster from beneath it and twirls it around the sconces on the wall on either side of the door.
She's trying to distract herself from my conversation, and I'm finding her equally as distracting in that dress.
My eyes rake over her body, and I feel myself getting aroused and completely ignoring Vera, whose voice still rattles on through the phone.
I add an appropriate grunt or "uh-huh" now and then as I examine why my body is so attracted to a woman half my age.
It's not like me to let sex deter my focus.
It's a tool in life to bring pleasure, and I've never let any woman break my focus like this.
"Are you listening?" Vera says, pausing for my answer.
"Of course I am, go on," I reply, and she does.
For ten straight minutes, while I admire how hard Mila fights herself to stay calm and not react emotionally to my conversation.
And when she knocks a trinket off the mantel and bends to pick it up, I grit my teeth and adjust my dick in my pants.
I've been seeing her as a problem at first, and then an opportunity.
When my more primal side took over, I didn't allow myself to tap into that desire because this woman stole from me.
But if I am really going to push to marry her and absorb her father's empire, it can't hurt to enjoy it. And she isn't an unattractive woman. I just haven't allowed myself to see her until now. I like what I see.
"Vera," I say, interrupting her story, "I apologize, but something’s come up, and I have to run. I'll look forward to hearing from Sofi. We'll have dinner."
"Yes, of course, dear. Have a good day." Vera has tact, at least, and it's easy enough to end the call, likely because she thinks she's getting exactly what she wants.
When the call is over, I push my plate away. That conversation made me lose my appetite, but I have miraculously developed a new one. And it's not something I typically allow myself.
"We're leaving for the fight lounge in ten minutes," I tell Mila, pushing back from the table and standing up. She looks up at me, and there are still traces of her frustration on her face. "Grab your things and meet me at the car."
Mila nods and hurries off to collect her belongings, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I walk to my office where I pick up my wallet and pause to imagine what it would be like to have Mila as a wife.
It isn't hard to picture a life with one of Vera's daughters—they'd spend my money, demand far too much attention, and probably cause a lot of drama.
But Mila is quiet and intelligent. I doubt she'd be the sort of woman to be wasteful with spending, and so far, the only thing she's asked for is to go home.
Though I'm a man of great self-control, I wonder why she dresses so modestly, and just then as she was serving me, I found myself wishing her top were a bit more revealing.
Maybe it's not good that I'm letting her get to me, or maybe it's just been a long time coming.
I am human, after all, and every man has desires.
But I push them away and head toward the front of the house because business comes first, then pleasure.
I have all the time in the world to figure out what I want to do with Mila Radin and limited time to make arrangements for the next few weeks of fighting.
I meet Mila out front and the ride to the fight lounge is quiet.
With Yegor driving, it frees me up to go over the etiquette I expect from her during the meeting, watching as she listens intently and nods along with my instructions.
I like that she's taking this responsibility seriously.
It pleases me to know she's respectful in that regard.
"You're there to observe and take notes," I remind her, handing her a tablet as we pull up to the building. "Keep your opinions to yourself unless asked, and don't interrupt."
"Yes, sir," Mila says as she takes the tablet and follows me inside.
We ride the elevator to the third floor and make our way to the conference room which is already full of men.
Mila is the only woman here, and I watch her shrink a little as she enters, so I slide my hand into the small of her back and guide her forward.
Her cheeks darken to a warm pink and she bites her lip, blinking hard a few times.
The room quiets slowly as we walk in, and most of the men here turn to look up at me. My brother and a few other family members, along with several fighters, all settle down when they see I've arrived.
I clear my throat. "This is Mila Radin. She'll be attending as my personal assistant today. I expect you to accord her the same respect you would me."
Kazimir raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing at his lips. "Wasn't she the one who tried to steal from you? And now she's your assistant?" He chuckles, and my cousin elbows him but snickers right alongside him—two class clowns who think they know it all.
My glare calms them as I say, "Her role here is not up for discussion. Let's focus on the task at hand, shall we?"
Kazimir's smirk fades, and he gives a curt nod. I gesture for everyone to take their seats as I settle into my chair at the head of the table, Mila taking her place beside me.
Yegor clears his throat and begins the meeting. He slides a stack of files across the table, each one labeled with a fighter's name. "These are our top prospects for the upcoming season," he says. "We need to decide who to sign, who to cut, and how to match them up for the most exciting fights."