“Oh please. I’m not stupid, Ransome. This is an Apex party. And anything that has Apex on the name requires your immediate staff. Meaning, that little tramp you have shacked up at the other estate.”
I suck my teeth for a moment. I’m not going to lie. Amara’s re-hire at Apex actually slipped my mind for a minute. Not thatshehas slipped my mind. In that dress, with those lips, that would be impossible.
“I’ll take your silence as a confirmation of her RSVP,” she says with a bitter smile. I can hear it in her tone. “I knew it. You just can’t go anywhere without her, can you?”
“She’s my personal assistant,” I tell her. “And this is an Apex business dinner.”
“And I’m your wife. One might be more important in the office, but don’t forget who is more important in your personal life. Not to mention for yoursem’ya.”
“Don’t worry.” I lace the same tone she’s been using around my words and toss them back at her. “I haven’t forgotten anything.”
I end the call and shove my phone back in my pocket. She may be my wife, and that may be part of a truce that is keeping at least some of the peace between the Rozanovs and the Chadovichs, but tossing the wordfamilyin my face is a pretty bold move.
Especially since the woman she is threatening happens to be carrying the deepest bloodline of them all.
32
AMARA
I am in the middle of picking the blue cheese crumbles out of my cobb salad when someone knocks on my door.
“Come in,” I call out, popping a piece of bacon in my mouth. If I had known that blue cheese would turn my gills green, I would have 86’d it from my order. Oh well.
I look up to see Ransome standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his broad chest. “Yes, sir?”
“What are you doing?”
“Right now, I’m getting rid of moldy cheese so I can eat my lunch without barfing,” I tell him, wiping my hands on a napkin.
But Ransome isn’t smiling. Not that that’s out of character for him. Ransome only smiles when he’s amused, which is almost never.
“I mean, what are you doing at the office?” he asks and I look up at him, mid-chew.
“I work here?” I state with the lilt of a question.
“Correction,” he says. “You work here from seven to noon. It is now…” he looks down at his Patek Philippe watch. “Twelve thirty-seven.”
I smile and wipe my mouth with a napkin. “For what it’s worth, I’m not really working. I closed my laptop fifteen minutes ago and I’m now taking my lunch break.”
“That’s not really worth anything. You can’t take a lunch break. You’re not on the clock.”
“Alright.” I shrug. “Then I’m just out to lunch. In my office. Because my fancy new swivel chair that my boss bought me has lumbar supportanda heated seat.”
Ransome stares at me. I stare back. Then I ice it with a smile and he proceeds to walk over to my desk, staring down at me.
As usual, I crack. “Fine. I’ll go home. As soon as I finish eating.”
“Actually,” he says, “You’re not going home.”
“No offense, Mr. Rozanov, but you’re sending a lot of mixed signals.”
“You’re not going home because you’re going shopping. For a new dress.”
I look down at myself. “Is there something wrong with this one?”
“No. Not at all.” He licks his lips for a second. The motion has me feeling hot all over. “But it’s not exactly Apex company dinner at the Beaumont appropriate.”
I spring up. “Wait. I get to go to that?”
