ELIZA: He wrote his number on the aftercare card he gave her before she left the shop.
AMARA: Classy. Keep an eye on him. Anyone who pierces underage noses has to be a creep.
ELIZA: I think he’s underage too. It’s his brother’s shop. Don’t worry, Gianni already ripped him a new one. He’s seventeen and, thanks to our hot-headed little brother, he’s now very much afraid.
I smile at that. It sounds like things are going okay. Mostly. Pierced noses and scared teenagers aside.
But at the same time, my stomach is sour. My dad found the card. A good chunk of the money I’d sent Eliza is gone now, pissed away in some gambling den. Likely both.
I comfort myself by remembering the other cards. I know the amount on each by heart, and I know it’s enough to get them by for now.
But life isn’t cheap for three people and a dead weight. And if that dead weight goes snooping again? There’s no telling how quickly the rest of our savings will turn into wine.
Which is exactly why I need this job. And it’s why I’m standing here, holding Ransome’s coffee with his schedule on his desk as it should be.
No matter how badly he treats me or what he demands of me, I can’t walk away. I don’t have that luxury. He may turn out to be the devil himself, and I’d still have to paste on a smile and sign my soul away.
Speaking of the devil…
Ransome suddenly comes flying into the office, slamming the door shut hard behind me. It catches me so off guard, the coffee spills out of the black mug, dumping onto his desk all over the schedule.
Shit.
18
RANSOME
Everything is exploding.
My phone has not stopped going off since last night, everyone from Mav to Baron to my parents to people at Apex. I can’t say that I am surprised. It’s been a hot minute since I’ve kissed someone publicly enough for it to go postal. And the fact that there are photos not just of the kiss, but the date too, has the world in an uproar.
Thankfully, there are no photos of Amara signing the contract.
And speaking of Amara…
The moment I walk in the office, she’s a mess. She drops her phone, spills my coffee, and blurts out another unsavory word.
“Shit! I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You scared me and?—”
“What are you wearing?” I bark out, and Amara looks down at her tube-tight dress. The same one she wore last night on our date.
“The only thing I had in your penthouse that I could wear,” she answers, and I grit my teeth. She’s not wrong. I took her back to the penthouse but didn’t think about the wardrobe issue.
“Does that mean you’re wearing the same panties too?”
“What?”
“Nothing. Clean this up.”
“Right away, Mr. Rozanov.”
I watch as Amara hurries around my office, wiping the outside of my coffee, handing me what’s left of it. I narrow my eyes at the third a cup and take a sip. At least it’s still hot.
She then proceeds to wipe up my desk, tossing the drenched schedule in the trash before making her way to the door.
“I’ll print another one right away,” she says. My eyes fall on her ass. The dress is so tight she can hardly move her feet. I don’t know whether to be turned on, entertained, or pissed off.
But when I noticeothereyes following her ass to her office, I go with the latter.
