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“Promise?”
I kiss her playful grin. “Greedy little flame.”
I hold the door open for her. Daphne barely allows her gaze to slide over Paris as she turns to leave. Like the woman isn’t even worth her attention.
“Daphne, one second.” I gesture for her to come back over, then wrap my arm around her waist to tuck her into my side. “I almost forgot.”
Her brows pinch with confusion, then worry. I kiss those furrows away before I turn to Paris and say two words I should’ve said a long time ago.
“You’re fired.”
Paris balks. Daphne stifles a gasp.
“You have one hour to collect your things,” I continue. “I’ll have security escort you safely to your car, after you turn in your keycard and badge at their front desk downstairs.”
She stands up so fast, her chair nearly topples. “What the hell?! Why?!”
“Where do I begin?” I can feel Daphne wanting to pull away and avoid this confrontation, but I hold her snug to me. She needs to witness, to feel what it’s like to be defended and protected. “You are highly unprofessional. Despite me turning you down, repeatedly, you don’t seem to understand the word ‘no.’ You have zero respect for my personal space or my family. You’re a walking sexual harassment suit waiting to happen and, while I have allowed my guilt over our past to maintain your employment, you have made it very clear that I cannot trust you.”
“But Pash—I mean, Mr. Chekhov!” Paris scrambles to tug her dress down to a more appropriate height, but it’s not working. “I’ve been with you for years!”
“Which is why I am especially disappointed to see how little you respect me and mine. You should know by now that I will always put my family first. What were you going to do after my daughter is born: deny she exists?” I shake my head. “I need someone loyal. Someone I can count on to assist me and prioritize my family. Not insult my girlfriend and try to make her feel less than the queen she is.”
Paris’s bottom lip trembles. She glances between Daphne and me, as if she’s just now doing the math. “Excuse me,” is all she says when she rushes away toward the bathroom.
The second she’s gone, Daphne breathes a sigh of relief. “I can’t believe you actually fired her.”
“I can’t believe you’re surprised.”
She looks up at me, all smug and still tousled from our extended meeting. “Can I make a recommendation for your new hire? Get a man. An older, sweet, just-hitting-retirement-age man who won’t want anything to do with your pants. Or what’s in them.”
I chuckle. “Anything you want, moya plamya. As long as I get to have you.”
63
DAPHNE
After the sexual and emotional whirlwind in Pasha’s office, I’d been having a good day.
Until now.
Now, my thoughts are stuck on a three-word loop as I stare in horror at the two silhouettes darkening my office door.
This isn’t happening.
This isn’t happening.
This cannot possibly be happening.
“Oh, Daphne. You look terrible.”
I force a polite smile and rub the bridge of my nose to ease the sudden, pulsing pressure of a headache coming on. “I’m fine, Mom.”
Ophelia throws her hands in the air as she paces around my office. “Clearly, you are anything but fine! You’re puffy, sweaty… How much weight have you gained?!”
“Gee, Mom, I can’t remember. Hold on while I check my prenatal records.” I shove a desk drawer shut just to feel it slam. “You know, because I’m pregnant.”
She turns on her heels to glare at Dad. “Stewart! Say something!”
