Ninety days of letting him touch me. Use me. Fuck me however he wanted.
Heat crawled up my neck at the memory of his voice in the pantry.I'll make you come so hard you forget your own name.
Arrogant bastard.
Arrogant, gorgeous, terrifying bastard who'd been eye-fucking me since May and didn't even try to hide it. I'd noticed, of course. I wasn't blind. Olek Sidorov was the kind of man who made you notice—all that height and muscle wrapped in expensive suits, with a face that belonged on a movie villain and eyes that stripped you naked from across the room. Eyes that heated up every time they landed on me.
I'd told myself it didn't matter. That I was here to work, to save money, to stay invisible until I could afford to run again. I'd kept my head down, kept my distance, kept that wall firmly in place between employer and employee. But I'd noticed him too.
The way he moved like violence wrapped in silk. The way his voice dropped when he said my name. The way he'd started finding excuses to be wherever I was—the library when I dusted, the kitchen when I checked inventory, his study when I brought coffee. The way he looked at me like he wanted to devour me whole. And God help me, some traitorous part of me had wanted to let him.
I pressed my palms to my face. "You're thinking about it. You're actually thinking about it."
My phone showed 10:47 PM. One hour and thirteen minutes until midnight. I grabbed my hoodie and slipped out of my room, moving quietly through the staff wing. The mansion was different at night. Empty, dark, full of shadows and secrets. Most of the staff had gone home. Only a handful of us lived on-site,and they were all asleep by now. I knew where I was going before I admitted it to myself.
Up the back stairs. Down the main hallway. Past the formal rooms that nobody used and the art that cost more than I'd make in a lifetime. To the door of his study. Light spilled out from underneath it. Of course, he was still awake. Probably sitting at that massive desk, drinking his vodka, waiting to see if I'd come crawling back. I should leave. Go back to my room. Figure out literally any other solution that didn't involve selling myself to a Russian mob boss. Instead, I knocked.
"Come in, Katrina."
My heart jumped. He'd known it was me. I pushed open the door. Olek sat behind his desk, jacket off, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms that had no business being that distracting. He wasn't working. No laptop open, no papers spread out. Just him and a glass of vodka and those pale eyes locked on me like a predator spotting prey.
"You're early," he said. "Still have an hour."
"I'm not here to give you an answer."
"No?" He leaned back in his chair. "Then why are you here?"
Good question.
I closed the door behind me and crossed my arms. "I want to negotiate."
Something flickered in his expression. Surprise? Approval? "Negotiate?"
"You laid out your terms. Now I want to lay out mine."
He gestured to the chair across from him. "Sit."
"I'll stand."
"Suit yourself." He picked up his vodka. "I'm listening."
I'd rehearsed this on the walk over. Had the words lined up like soldiers. But now, standing here with him watching me like that, they scattered. I forced them back into formation.
"If I agree to this—if—then I have conditions."
"Such as?"
"First, no marks. Nothing visible. I still have to work here, and I can't have the staff asking questions."
He nodded slowly. "Acceptable."
"Second, I stay on birth control. That's non-negotiable."
"I'll need to see proof."
My stomach flipped. "Excuse me?"
"Proof that you're taking it. I'm not interested in baby-trapping scenarios."
