“Then I will pay you to go somewhere else,” I snap.
“That’s not really how this works, Miss Parker.”
“Amara,” I cut him off. “You don’t have to call me Miss Parker. You don’t work for me.”
“Which is why I can’t just take you wherever you want.”
“Jesus!” I cry out, though Ivan doesn’t even flinch. I am under the impression he is used to seeing people get upset, and part of his paid job is having no reaction to it. “Does everyone take orders from this fucking man?!”
“Only the ones who don’t want their fingernails pulled off with a pair of needle-nosed pliers.”
“Like he would actually do that to us.”
Ivan turns in the direction of the penthouse without answering. This time, his silence is very, very telling.
I decide to push all thoughts of pliers out of my mind. “Are you aware that he is basically holding me hostage?” I ask instead.
“I find it in my best interest not to be aware of too much other than which directives to follow.”
“But I?—”
“I answer to Mr. Rozanov alone.””
I cross my arms and glare out the window. “So what happens when the cops show up becauseMr. Rozanovis holding his personal assistant hostage at this penthouse?”
“I am more afraid of him than I am of the cops,” he says. “You should be too. Also, you should be grateful that he’s keeping your prisoner at his bougie apartment. Most people that cross Ransome just end up on the missing posters at the 7-Eleven.”
My eyes widen because I can’t tell if Ivan is joking or not. I’m leaning towards not.
We pull up to the apartment and I open the door. Ivan immediately follows.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Seeing you to your room.”
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”
“Actually, I do. But I told Mr. Rozanov I’d see you to your room.”
“To lock me inside?” I ask, though it’s more of a statement.
“I’m under orders not to lock the door anymore.”
He’s not locking me in? After the tantrum he threw earlier today?
It’s odd, but I guess I should take it.
“Great. Then there’s no reason to see me to my room, is there?”
Before Ivan can answer, I walk away into the penthouse.
Of course, once Ivan is gone, I walk back out again. Because fuck Ransome.
Elsie’s Martini Bar is conveniently located less than two blocks from the penthouse. It’s dark, swanky, and has room at the bar. I pull up a stool and a dark, curly haired boy with a tattoo of a compass on his wrist nods over at me.
“What’s your poison?”
“Anything that will kill me,” I mutter. “Or a gin and tonic.”
