But even after we got here, he still didn’t say anything. As if I wouldn’t find out.
And that explains a lot of things.
Like why I am staying here instead of his inherited estate where he actually lives.
And why he doesn’t stay the night.
And maybe even why he didn’t want to touch me and left before anything could happen.
It makes sense that he is trying not to get in trouble, seeing as how he’s married for the sake of keeping the peace and all that Bratva bullshit. But it also has me questioning other things. Like were all those things he said when we were in Montana true? Is he sorry? Does he believe he was wrong? Does he care about me? Or is it all for the baby?
And if it is all for the baby… where does that leave me, three months from now?
19
RANSOME
“Can I get you anything else, Mr. Rozanov?” Mary asks.
It is Mary, isn’t it? I don’t fucking know. I’ve been going through secretaries like toilet paper since Amara left. I think this is number five. Maybe six. I can’t say.
“Well, Mary, considering the fact that you were late to work?—”
“I had a run in my tights. I didn’t think you’d want me showing up with a run in my tights.”
“If your tights are the problem, wear pants. And don’t be late,” I say as I wrap up things on my computer.
“Molly,” she says.
I close my lap top and look up at her. “Excuse me?” I ask.
“My name. It’s… it’s not Mary. It’s Molly.”
I stare at her.
She blinks, and I swear both eyes function separately from each other.
“The coffee was cold and the order was wrong,” I start. “The schedule was missing two of my meetings. And my dry-cleaning was?—”
“Oh shoot! I knew I forgot something.”
“I think it’s safe to say I don’t need anything else from you, since you didn’t do any part of your job correctly.”
“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry. I’ll be sure to do everything right next time,” she says eagerly.
But I just shove up from my chair and grab my things.
“No need. There won’t be a next time.”
“Are… are you firing me, Mr. Rozanov?” Mary—Molly, whatever—asks as her eyes follow me around the room.
“You’re no longer employed here, if that’s what you mean.”
I don’t have to look at her to know the drill. Her chin is quivering, her face is scrunching up, and she’s about to lose it in three, two, and?—
“Ugh!” Molly cries out and runs out of my office in a sobbing mess.
I let out an exhausted sigh.
