Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 100716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
After working my jaw side to side, I get to the source of my frustration. “Where is she?”
I haven’t spoken to Mara since my disastrous attempt at acting like I wasn’t choked with fear that it took my team over an hour to find her Friday night, but she gave me her word that she would be here today.
I never considered the possibility she would change her mind. She seems too honest for that, too determined, and I hate that I don’t know her well enough to be one hundred percent confident in my assessment of her traits.
I hear Rafael twist his seedy mustache before his tone switches from teasing to understanding. “We adjusted her roster, remember? You wanted to give her more time with Tillie, so you changed her schedule so she could drop Tillie off at school and pick her up.” The unease making my skin hot soothes when he murmurs, “She’s looking good. A little tired, but definitely good.”
When a growl finalizes his statement, one rumbles in my chest.
Rafael’s laugh is cut short when I say, “When she arrives, send her to my office.” I try not to look desperate. “The bookshelves need dusting.”
“Bullshit. It is because your office is like your bedroom. Out of bounds for anyone not named Ma—”
I disconnect our call before shifting on my feet to face the floor-to-ceiling window of my office. The hope of witnessing Mara’s arrival at work trickles through my veins and doubles the output of my heart.
I have an obsession I’m confident isn’t healthy, but I have no clue how to alter it. I have had infatuations before, but not like this. Mara truly fascinates me. I don’t think, drink, or eat without her beautiful face sneaking into the picture. She is the first thing on my mind when I wake up and the last thing before I sleep.
Before you ask, hardly any of the things I imagine include her stutter or how she got it.
I’m pulled from my thoughts when I sense I am being watched. The heaviness of his footing announces who it is half a second before I turn around to greet him.
Fyodor is a little overweight in the midsection, and since he must counterbalance his stomach, he walks heavily on his heels. His stomps could wake the dead.
I’m shocked when Fyodor isn’t the only soul in my office. The woman who forced me to stroke my cock in my office bathroom the past three nights because her perfume is too distracting to discount is standing at his left, looking smug.
“What the fuck is she still doing here?”
Veronika isn’t turned off by either my scold or the fact I spoke as if she isn’t present. “Saving you from making a mistake.” She steps closer, her overly floral perfume hammering my sinuses. “I get it. The maid—”
“Mara.” My bark announces I wouldn’t allow my mother to disrespect her, so there’s no chance in hell I’ll stand aside and watch her be belittled by a woman who’d sell her soul for half a million Instagram followers.
“Mara”—Veronika’s eyelids twitch as her eyes roll—“is beautiful. I understand your fascination, Ark.” She should stop there. It may be the only way she will make it out of my office in one piece. “But she is not wife material.” My fists stiffen as rapidly as my cock when she says, “That’s why I’m giving you a free pass. Fuck the mai—” She recovers quickly. “Fuck Mara, get her out of your system, and then we can move on to a mutual collaboration that will shoot our stardom to superstar status.”
A mutual collaboration?
That’s what she calls a possible eight years of marriage—a mutual collaboration.
I’m so shocked I can’t speak.
Fyodor mistakes it as a consideration. “Veronika is right, Arkadiy. Early polling this morning has forecasters predicting a surge in your approval rating.” He fumbles through an oversized newspaper and reads from an article printed several pages in. “If predictions remain ingenuous, Arkadiy Orlov could enter the race ahead of his main competitor.” He backhands the newspaper, his chubby hand tearing through the page before he lifts his eyes to mine. “The articles printed over the weekend about your flourishing relationship with Veronika are responsible for this. The voters love the idea of you settling down—”
“Yes, settling down. They don’t care with who.”
Veronika huffs but remains quiet, leaving the floor to Fyodor. “They approve of this relationship”—he thrust his hand between Veronika and me during the “this” part of his reply—“because of the excitement of possible future endeavors. The courting, engagement, wedding, and commencement of fatherhood.” He lowers his tone to barely a whisper. “A ready-built family is not what the voters are looking for.” I’m already on the verge of blowing my top, so you can picture how perverse it becomes when, instead of going down with a sinking ship, he throws others overboard so he has something to cling to. “Your mother agrees with me. She saw the struggles your father faced when they wed—”