Page 70 of Brutal Heir

He gave me a once-over. “Yes, it is presumptuous. The position comes with a thirty percent pay raise and a six-month contract.”

“I’ll take it. Thank you.”

He gave me another once-over then tapped the top mood board. “Don’t forget. The other clutch.”

After blowing Yelena a kiss, he left.

I joined Yelena by the espresso machine at the opposite end of the studio.

She side-bumped me as she tamped down the espresso grounds and locked the portafilter. “Congrats.”

I leaned against the counter, grabbed a Pirouette cookie, and unwrapped it. Sucking on the dipped chocolate end, I shrugged. “I guess so.”

She gestured for the milk. I handed her the carton. She poured some into a small metal pitcher.

“What’s wrong? And does it have to do with you wearing a tracksuit?” she asked as she frothed the milk.

I looked down. “It’s not that bad. It’s sporty.”

She raised an eyebrow while she spooned the froth on top of a cup and handed me the café au lait. “People like us don’t do sporty.”

I spooned several teaspoons of sugar into my drink.

Yelena wrinkled her nose as she watched me. “Why are we friends?”

I laughed, licking the spoon clean. “Because I was the only person willing to talk to you after your super scary husband terrified the rest of the staff when you first arrived.”

She tamped the espresso grounds down for her own cup. “Oh yeah. That was funny.”

Funny was one way to put it.

Her husband, Damien Ivanov—a man rumored to be a boss in the Russian mafia—had once made an AV tech literally piss himself after grabbing him by the throat for whistling at Yelena.

She was also the only person here who could possibly understand my dilemma as a sliver of doubt started to take hold.

“What if I was only offered the job because Sebastian Diamanti chose me to showcase his diamond last night?”

Two dream offers in one morning, and I couldn’t be sure either of them was legitimate.

She arched an eyebrow. “Showcasing his diamond? Is that what the kids are calling it nowadays?”

I destroyed the soft curls of milk foam in my café au lait by over-stirring, trying to ignore my heated cheeks. “What? No. Of course not. You know what I mean.” Then I blurted out, “Nothing happened.”

Leaning a hip against the counter, she stared at me over the rim of her coffee cup. “I didn’t say anything did. You know, for a Cancer sign, you’re a terrible fucking liar.”

“There is nothing between me and Sebastian Diamanti. I literally met the man yesterday.”

“And last night?”

I clanked my spoon against the porcelain edge of the cup. “What about last night?”

“Rumor has it, he showed up at the café and dragged you off into the night like a jealous lover. A rumor I’m inclined to believe given your walk-of-shame outfit this morning.”

There were already rumors? This was so fucking bad.

Even with me turning down the job at House of Diamanti, people were still going to talk. Dammit.

I tugged on the cropped hoodie hem. “A walk-of-shame outfit would be the same outfit from the day before.”