Stop. I forced myself to breathe.
I opened the door.
Mother pushed past me, walked into my apartment, and looked around with disgust curling her lip.
"Well, you've created one fucking shitshow of a mess for me...again."
My pulse hammered in my ears.
Any second, Darius could return.
Any second, he could walk through that door and see her here, see me talking to her, and think—what? That I'd betrayed him? That I'd called her?
"Hello, Mother, it's nice to see you too." I tightened my arms around my middle within the folds of the blanket, hyperaware of every sound in the hallway. "Why, thank you, I also like my apartment."
She’d just marched right in and started her rant. No apology for me being terrorized by a six-foot-three Russian mafia boss for four days because of her greedy backroom dealings. No comment about the injuries on my face. Just blame.
I sucked a breath through my nose, held it for three counts, then closed the door. My ears strained for footsteps on the stairs.
"Eleanor, why do you keep insisting on pulling these stunts?"
"I've told you a thousand times, I prefer Anna."
"Your name is Eleanor after Eleanor Roosevelt." She barked the words. "It was the first of many gifts I've given you that you stuck your nose up at."
"What do you want?" My fingers curled into fists, my knuckles pushing against the blanket fabric.
She looked around with puckered lips. "How can you live like this? It's so dim and old. Practically a crack house."
"The rent's affordable, and the drug dealer down the street is actually friendly." I frowned, trying to ease the tension headache forming.
"Your jokes aren't funny. What if a reporter heard you say that?"
"A reporter in my home?" My voice pitched higher than I intended. "Then we'd be taking them to court."
"I don't understand why you're wasting yourself in that dingy music store."
"Because the corner already has a drug dealer." I was done. Done with this conversation, done trying to win her love.
She narrowed her eyes, lips pursed, waiting for me to cave like I always did.
"If you keep holding your lips like that, it's going to deepen those wrinkles. Botox only does so much."
Her eyes blazed, but she stopped pursing her lips.
"Look." I pushed past her and sat on my couch with my plate and coffee, listening for any sound beyond my door. "I don't want you here, and you don't want to be here, so why don't you just get to the point?"
She stared at me for a long minute. Something flickered across her features—for a second, that little girl inside me hoped it was approval.
"I'm going to need you to fuck him."
I almost choked on my pancake.
"I'm sorry, what?"
"Darius Ivanov. I need you to fuck him. Keep him distracted until the vote later today."
"Are you serious? You're actually trying to whore your own daughter out?"
