by Fiona Murphy
“Christina.” I stop but don’t turn around.
“Eight o’clock tomorrow morning, be here. I will come for you and you will regret making me do so. And while you get the bonus starting tomorrow to rectify your clothing situation immediately, your salary will not increase until I have found Rebecca’s replacement.”
I do the only thing I can. I walk away.
***
Ivan
It is a challenge to stay where I am. I do not trust myself to follow Christina. To force her to say she won’t go, to make her stay. The ding of the elevator is loud; my eyes close as I fight for control of the anger, of the sexual desire ravaging through me. What the hell was that?
One moment I was demanding her apologies for angering me, the next I had lost every sense of self I have. I was desperate to keep her, whatever it took, any way I could. And it had nothing to do with the money she has made me.
It was because the idea of her walking away from me, of never seeing her again, was unacceptable. Claiming her was necessary, for the both of us. She was mine and she had to know it. I needed her to admit it. On the verge of taking her right there on the floor, all I could think of was that I did not have a damn condom.
The thought shook me. What the fuck was I doing? What was she doing to me? This is not me. I have never had a single thought as I did tonight. I move fast; rarely do I need to have more than one encounter with a woman before I know I want to fuck her, and often I do so the same night. I know what I want, and I do not like waiting for it. However, this need, this hunger, this intense—fuck, I cannot call it need because it is so much more than that. This had to end. Now.
I know I hurt her. The pain was clear on her beautiful face. I wanted to recall the words, to erase her hurt, yet I could not. It needed to be said. Her pain would be far worse once this came to an end. I will not open up myself or her to the misery of dealing with the fallout when things end. We will not last. I do not want us to. I do not want a long-term relationship, with anyone. It is not about Christina; it is about me. This was the best thing for the both of us. Whether she understood it or not.
***
Christina
I make it all the way down to the street before the tears fall. The second time I bump into someone because I can’t see through my tears, I give up and duck into a quiet coffee shop then into the restroom, needing somewhere to hide.
I look like crap. I can’t go home like this. I flood my face with cold water, trying to get myself under control. It isn’t easy when I can’t stop thinking about what happened and cringing at the memory. There is no way I can face Ivan again. No way I can pretend it never happened. I don’t want to see him again. He can’t force me to stay.
I’ll leave Chicago if I have to. If we sold the house, we might have enough to live for a while if we went to Havana. The cost of living there is shockingly low. I could try being a virtual assistant—as long as I had an internet connection, I would be able to work. I’ve heard of people all over the city doing it.
I wince at the idea of trying to talk Abuelo into it. What could I tell him? The truth was too painful: he wouldn’t let me leave either. Abuelo was a fighter; he would demand I fight back. My problem was I was only a fighter with people I couldn’t care less about. When it came to people I cared about, my grandparents, when I was with Brandon, I folded like a wet paper bag. I hated how I was as weak as Ivan accused me of being, but anger and yelling hurt too much for me to even try.
The one time I did try, Ivan cut me until I was bleeding. Closing my eyes, I can still feel Ivan’s hard body against mine, his arms around me, the taste of his tongue. A shudder tears through me. It doesn’t matter if I leave or not; there is no forgetting. Nowhere far enough for me to go, no hole deep enough to hide from it. Why did he have to kiss me? I might have been able to talk myself out of thinking I was in love with him if he hadn’t done it. But that kiss...
No. Shaking my head, I fight not to start crying again. I am not in love with him. I do not love that asshole. How could I even think I do? I’ve known him all of three days and they were filled with nothing but anger and frustration. I need my head examined. Am I so pathetic I am willing to take any attention, even if it’s bad?
Ivan...that’s not fair to him. He had praised my work, my intelligence. It wasn’t my body that was important to him, it was my mind. He lashed out at me but none of it was mean, exactly, I understand now. It was his way of keeping me from getting close, only the moment I tried to walk away, he wouldn’t let me.
A shimmer of hope breaks through as I remember the way his control snapped. How he thundered at me that I wasn’t going anywhere. The cold, clipped, cultured accent was gone; grit and fire raged at me. It wasn’t about the money I made him in that moment, it was about me. I wasn’t allowed to leave him because he wanted me for me. It had been there in his kiss. Despite the words he spoke, when it came to his kiss, it had nothing to do with money.
How do I stay, though? How am I supposed to work beside him for even another week and pretend that I don’t care? And then after that, I get to see him once a week in a room filled with people and act as if I don’t know what he tastes like?
I’m an easy read, I won’t be able to last long. Ivan could pretend, though. No one would know, they would think I’m the bunny boiler stalker. Only I know the truth...wait a minute. Rubbing my eyes, I catch my breath. Would he really be able to pretend? And if he could, for how long? For the entire three years I planned to stay. Three years, god, it sounds like a prison sentence.
My phone goes off with a text from Emily, asking if I could stop and pick up more Cuban bread. I respond of course, I’m leaving work now. Even as I say the words, I’m wincing. I hate lying, to anyone.
The memory is sharp: I had asked Abuelo once if he knew the same way Abuela had that he was going to marry her when he first met her? He laughed—of course he had. Then why did he tell her to go away? His sigh was heavy as he replied it was because he loved her. She was too young, there were things she still had to learn. He didn’t want her to regret anything when they married because he was never going to let her go. So he lied. He lied because it was the right thing to do at the time.
That was no excuse for me to lie, though, he cautioned me as a teenager who had discovered there were far more liars in the world than I was led to believe. But what if I was a liar? What if I lied to Ivan the same way he’s lying to me?
8
Christina
I eye the makeup case, wondering if I dare to do it. Then shake my head. I’m pretty sure I have pushed my luck as far as I dare, for a little while at least. Besides, weirdly I fell into bed last night before ten o’clock from pure exhaustion and slept for nine full hours. That hasn’t happened in what feels like forever.
I don’t need makeup today, there are no dark circles under my eyes, and my skin is glowing and even. But since I’m not backing down completely, I brush on some mascara then run the wand through my eyebrows to thicken them, curl my lashes then line my lips in a dark red, filling them in with lip crayon. I tuck the lip crayon into my purse for after breakfast.
Getting dressed takes a few minutes. I give up, none of my blouses fit right to please Ivan. Shame fills me at just how badly I want to please him.
I pick a black wrap dress, tightening it the most I have in the few times I’ve worn it. I try to ignore the way my breasts nearly burst out of the neckline. All the better to show Ivan what he is missing out on.
Abuelo has breakfast waiting again.
“Again? You’re spoiling me. I need cream, don’t make that face,” I warn as I heat the half and half.
“You look better this morning.” His frown is deep in the lines of his forehead.
Caught off guard by his concern, I wonder how badly I hid my distress. I thought I did a good job, obviously I was wrong. “I meant to tell you last night, but I was just...” I shrug. “Simon got fired and I get his office.”
For the first time since his hea
rt attack, he smiles at me with joy on his face. “Finally, you deserve it. You have worked hard. I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you, but I don’t get the office just yet. I’m working for Volkov as his personal assistant until he can find a new permanent assistant. It shouldn’t be long, a few weeks at most. He’s just—” I bite my tongue—Abuelo doesn’t like me swearing. He can swear all he wants, but a lady doesn’t swear and he and Abuela raised me to be a lady. “—really demanding, so I’m a little stressed.
“But it’s worth it. I get a raise when I take over Simon’s office and it’s huge. We’ll be able to not just pay off the mortgage this year, but we can afford to go on a vacation. We deserve it. Somewhere nice and warm. What do you think? Want to spend Christmas somewhere they don’t have snow?”
It stings when he shakes his head. “I don’t want you wasting your money.”
“Abuelo, this isn’t wasting money. Neither of us have had a real vacation in more years than I can count. Taking Abuela to Cuba doesn’t count.” It was her last wish to see Cuba before she died. We spent a week there when the doctors gave up and sent her home to die in peace. Only three weeks after we got back to Chicago she died.
“We both deserve this. It isn’t a waste. Just a week or so. I don’t have much vacation left but if you don’t come up with a place, I’ll pick and leave you here.”
A firm nod. “Do that, go and have some fun, all by yourself.”
I’m not laughing. “Abuelo, I would be miserable if I were by myself. Why do you say stuff like that?
“Christina.” A sigh as he rubs his head. “I want you to do things that make you happy. To have more fun. You’re young and you need to find a husband before—"
God, this again. I am so sick of him harping on me finding a man and getting married. “I am happy. Just because I’m not going out to a club and getting drunk and being with random men doesn’t mean I’m not happy.”
Stern, “I didn’t say be with random men. I said a husband. You deserve a good and honorable man and you aren’t going to find them in a club.”
“Abuelo, getting married is not the end all and be all for a woman.”
“It’s not about getting married. It’s about finding someone to love and who loves you. I won’t be around forever—”
“Stop talking like that,” I yell as I push up from the table. I hate when he does this. No, I’m not listening. Without another word I walk away. He keeps talking, yelling at me, but I’m not listening anymore.
Giving in to my anger, I slam the door as I leave the house. Then I step out from under the porch. The bright, sunny day instantly changes my dark mood. It’s a beautiful day, especially for March; sometimes it feels like they are so rare in Chicago every one has to be appreciated.
A black Mercedes is in front of the house, idling at the curb. Ivan steps out of the back seat. We stare at each other until my eyes blur with the need to blink. I watch his jaw work in fascination.
“We have an appointment. We need to leave now.”
I just nod. Questions are swirling but my tongue won’t work. The drive in the back of the chauffer-driven car where he doesn’t look my way once is made in complete silence. The car pulls up to a department store so exclusive I’ve never even been in it before. I couldn’t afford a pair of socks in here.
I want to argue, if only to say something, but I know resistance is futile. I follow him up through the store, careful to keep my eyes off him. A woman is waiting outside the elevator. Tall, at well over five foot nine she should be overwhelming but she’s not. Maybe because of her soft brown eyes, and the way she’s a plus size too. Although, I am seriously jealous of how curvy she is.
Her smile is welcoming to me, but she barely nods at Ivan. “Hi, I’m Lydia. I’ll be helping you today. Your big bad boss gave me his orders. But me and you, let’s talk about what you feel comfortable in.
“You can go, Mr. Volkov. I have your credit card information. Work clothes of the highest quality with a fair amount of work-appropriate dresses no shorter than two inches above the knee. And everything that looks good on her in every color that flatters, so that she has something to wear for the next five years if need be.”
She waves at Ivan with a wiggle of her fingers and a sassy smile. Then she takes me by a firm hand and drags me behind her. I follow with a sense of comfort I wouldn’t have thought possible considering how much I hate shopping. Maybe it’s because she’s plus size too.
I chance a glance back to find Ivan frowning, standing right where Lydia left him. His eyes meet mine, and he nods. I watch helplessly as he turns away, pressing the button for the elevator.
We’re stopped in front of a dressing room that is two times the size of my bedroom. Through the open door I see a silk chaise lounge, mini fridge, large leather chair, and a half circle of mirrors.
“I’ve pulled several things, but nothing is written in stone. You don’t like it then you don’t wear it. Yeah, your hunky boss who so wants you brought you here, but this is about you. Good job landing a great white shark like Volkov.”
Wait, what?
Lydia winks at me. “Not going to lie, when Elise asked for a favor, which she never does, by the way, she stopped me dead at the mention of Volkov. The guy is notoriously tight with his money and time and favors—giving or receiving. If he took the time to call Elise and ask for something, it had to be a big deal, and I had to know the scoopy scoop. Don’t worry, I swear I don’t gossip. I just love knowing stuff no one else does.”
Her hand is on a long bar filled with clothes that blow my mind just seeing them on a hanger. My head is swimming, overwhelmed at what is happening and she’s saying.
Tilting her head, her eyes are big with concern. “Are you okay? You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”
I shake my head. “No, I want to. I just...I wasn’t expecting this. Are you sure?”
“Sure about what?”
“Ivan?” I can’t bring myself to repeat what she said.
“Oh, how Ivan Volkov has been caught and is off the market once and for all? Totally. I’ve seen the look more than enough times to know it. I get it though, he’s being a dick, right?”
I nod, almost against my will. Normally, I wouldn’t even think of talking to Lydia about any of this. Yet her open and honest nature has me feeling I have to respond in kind. And right now I need all the help I can get.
“Sadly, it’s going to happen. They get all skittish, they think they are losing something by not being able to fuck random women who won’t make demands on them. At the same time, they’ll be damned if they let you get away with thinking you’re going to fuck anyone else but them, because man oh man do you belong to them.”
She chuckles. “Poor guys, they are terrified to admit they belong to you too. It scares them—what are you going to do with the power you have over them? After being so used to having all the power not just in business, but their personal life, they are loath to give it up. You have to get him to understand he’s going to get far more back than he’s losing. Show him how happy you can make him by being with you. Patience, sweetie, you will need patience in buckets the size of the Grand Canyon.”
A shiver runs through me remembering the way Ivan said I wasn’t going anywhere. The way he kissed me as if branding me as his. Damn it, I’m in love with the fucker, and that terrifies me as much as it thrills me. What could happy look like? “I don’t if I’m able to be that patient. He’s not just skittish—he flat-out said it’s not happening.”
Lydia laughs. “Oh man, this is awesome. I have mad skills when it comes to making you feel good about yourself and comfortable in not just your clothes, but your own skin. I might also know a few things about billionaire bad boys and how to handle them. He has no idea the clothes he is buying you will be a part of his downfall.”
***
Ivan
For the fifth time I check my watch; it is only ten minutes since the last time I checked. In the backseat o
f my car for almost two hours is not how I envisioned spending my morning. When Lydia told me to leave, I was intent on going back to the office. Except by the time I made it downstairs I was unable to give Lawrence, my driver, the order. I needed to be here when Christina came out of the building, I am unsure if it is to prevent her from going home, or to be here if she needs me.
Forcing a deep breath, I attempt to work the tension out of my neck. How much longer? When I set the appointment this morning with Lydia Holt, in addition to the verbal tongue-lashing she gave me for waking her up she had made it clear she was only giving me an hour, and she was charging me double her normal fee of a thousand dollars. I hadn’t flinched at the price. I had wondered if she was worth the aggravation. However, Elise swore the woman was indeed worth five times her fee.
Then her daughter interrupted our conversation because she thought Elise was talking about her best friend Christina. It was not long before Elise had to end the call to deal with her cranky daughter’s demand to go shopping with Lydia and Christina.
My email box is back under control. I check the time, again.
“Sir, she’s coming out now.” Lawrence tosses the words over his shoulder before he gets out of the car to open the door for her.
Lawrence opens the door, giving me an unobstructed view of her gorgeous body in clothes that flatter her stunning figure and turn my cock to stone. From a casual glance, her outfit would not be much different than what she previously wore; however, the cut of the clothing combined with the superior fabrics of silk and fine cotton instantly elevate her appearance.
A pale pink blouse crisscrosses, leaving far too much of her chest on display, teasing the cleft of her high, heavy breasts. As she slides into the car, I see the black skirt is not just shorter than I demanded, it has a slit up one side to mid-thigh. I cannot take my eyes off the skin the slit reveals.
“Happy now?” she taunts softly.
