“Is anyone around here going to work or do I need to write up the termination papers now?” I bark out. The second I do, everyone’s heads drop as they make themselves busy.
I walk back into my office and slam the door.
My phone buzzes again. And again. I fish it out, frustrated, and stare for a long second at the name on the screen.
Otets.Father.
OTETS:If you won’t pick up, then we’ll do this in person.
OTETS:I’ll see you at 5 P.M. at the usual place for drinks.
I rub my temples hard. As good as whiskey sounds right now, I don’t want to deal with him. He seems to forget, I have a company—an empire—to run.
Bratva operations need a cover. Something to hide behind so people don’t go peeking under rugs. And in our case, that cover is Apex, a multi-billion dollar company that I oversee.
Or I would be overseeing if I had a fucking schedule on my desk.
I march out the door and into Amara’s office. But the second I walk inside, we collide—again.
“Goddammit,” I growl. I hold my arms out to the side in a T, but not quickly enough to protect the rest of my coffee from spilling, this time all over the floor.
Amara looks white in the face, with a tinge of green that matches her dress.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Rozanov. Sir. I was just… Here’s your schedule.”
I take in a sharp breath and let it out. Then I swap her the empty cup for my schedule. My eyes run over it quickly and I suck my teeth before nodding once.
“The meeting with Ahmad is in fifteen, sir.”
“I see that,” I snap.
“It’s a 7 hour difference and?—”
“I know what time it is there.”
Amara flinches, snapping her mouth shut. For a split second, I feel bad. But my coffee is gone, my name and face are all over the internet, my dad is pissing me the fuck off with his business hours meetings, and that dress is too fucking distracting.
I make a mental note to have her wardrobe sent to the penthouse later.
I turn around and head back to my office, then decide I really, really need that coffee. I stop and turn around and as I do, I nearly run into her again.
“I’m sorry,” she says for the hundredth time.
“What now, Miss Parker?”
“I was going to ask if you want me to get you another coffee.”
I deadpan her, almost annoyed that she read my mind. I don’t know if it’s because she’s been stalking me for two months or if she’s just really that good at being my personal assistant. Either way, I’m annoyed.
“Yes. Get me another coffee. And try to keep this one in the cup.”
“Yes, sir. Of course.” Amara turns to leave, but I call out to her.
“Oh, and Miss Parker? One more thing.”
She looks back at me, her dark brown eyes like Bambi’s and her pink lips pouting in concern. “Yes?”
Fuck me, she is gorgeous. I want to rip that dress off her body with my teeth. But I can’t. I can, however, remind her of her place. Hernewplace.
