Page 6 of The Bratva’s Stalked Pregnant Bride

I pulled Laurel’s resumé out and laid it on the desk, turning it around to face her, all while watching her cheeks turn pinker by the second.

“Less than a year of experience as sommelier at the Five Horses before going on, what? Vacation for a year?” She gulped, opened her mouth, but closed it again. “It looks like you’re far more experienced as a server, so when the time comes to hire the wait staff, would you like to be considered?”

“Mr.—Mik, are you…”

“I’m not firing you,” I said, unable to take the sudden welling of tears despite her getting under my skin. “However, I’m not convinced you actually want this job.”

She knew damn well she was free to leave, but the look on her face told me she wouldn’t.

Good. She might end up being trouble, but something wasn’t going to let me give her up.

Chapter 3 - Laurel

I didn’t know how I left the office or made it to the bus stop, but by the time I got on, I was still fuming. It was past rush hour, so I had a seat by myself, but I probably would have anyway since I was muttering under my breath and probably looked like thunder.

Oh, I couldn’t believe the audacity of that man. Did I really think he was handsome? I must have been out of my mind, blinded by those blue eyes that I now saw held nothing but spite.

It was humiliating that I couldn’t reference my last job, a year of my life down the drain. I had worked my behind off to prove myself after getting my certificate and taking the leap to go to wine country. Leaving the Five Horses Winery had been scary after being encouraged and nurtured by the owners, who treated me more like a daughter than my parents actually did. I had friends there, though I let them fall to the wayside, too embarrassed to keep them updated when my dream shattered.

But I had gained accolades in Napa and was starting to make a name for myself. Gone, all gone.

No, it wasn’t. I could shout out my old job if I didn’t want to be beholden to my ex. Or let him know where I was. I wasn’t hiding what I had been doing for the last year; I was just plain hiding.

It was the same old story, just this time it happened to me. Rand Eckvald started out charming, sweet, and generous. And after we got together, he stayed that way as long as there were witnesses around. At home, it was a different story.

All those years, I thought my parents were the masters of emotional torture, but he truly figured out how to whittle away my hard-earned but fragile self-esteem. I thought I had grown immune to gaslighting and could see my way through any maze of lies.

I was wrong.

When things got physical, it got more difficult to pretend everything was fine to the other people at the vineyard, and as I started to give up, it was easy to see that Rand was whispering in their ears. I was the problem, not him. And he was so good at it that I started to believe it. Started to think I really did deserve what I got, that the fat lip was because I ran into a door.

That was all over, and if it meant having to put up with a new, tyrannical boss, thinking I wasn’t qualified to tell him that you didn’t drink sweet wine with a pasta covered in cream sauce, then I’d just have to breathe through it.

It would help to start now, because I almost missed my stop, and hurtled off the bus to my apartment. It wasn’t much, but I earned it and was going to keep it, just like I earned my job and was going to keep that, too. No matter how demanding or demeaning Mikhail Fokin got. Ugh, Mik.

He didn’t know what I was used to.

The next day, I was full of resolve, praying the bar wouldn’t already be broken down. That white marble was so beautiful, I didn’t know what Mik thought would look better. He must have had people in there before dawn, because the bar was gone, and wide sheets of shiny, hammered copper were being carried in.

Okay, they were actually gorgeous, but it didn’t matter if the bar was halfway across the restaurant and the poor servers had to scramble from there to the wine cellar for every order. My way was better, and maybe, just maybe, we could come to a compromise.

I didn’t see the new boss until lunchtime, and that was much too soon, but my discouragement at seeing his chiseled, set-in-stone face was shaken off by the announcement of a special lunch. Cooked by Andre no less.

I still hadn’t tasted more than a sample of one of his appetizers, which the mere memory of made my mouth water. Nobody could diminish my excitement to eat some of the world-renowned chef’s food. And this would be the perfect opportunity to prove myself a little bit to Mik. If he saw how great my wine pairings were, he’d sit back and let the experts do the work.

After all, it wasn’t his fault that he didn’t know I was qualified. Not my fault either, really.

The sample meal was laid out for all of us who were there that day, and it looked divine. Chase kept taking pictures to send to his husband, who was on his way home empty-handed, hopefully not out of a job, since Mik was determined not to do anything according to the original plan.

When it was time to open the first wine bottle, my heart sank when it wasn’t one of the choices I had suggested yesterday, right before Mik decided I didn’t know anything. Nobody uttered a word, not even when I gave Chase a long look. Because the food was so good, everyone took the easy way out and kept quiet. Or maybe they really didn’t understand how much better it could be.

“What do you think, Laurel?” Mik asked, looking way too smug after seeing how much everyone enjoyed the meal. “You’re the only one who hasn’t given your opinion.”

I could just as easily not rock the boat. That probably would have been the best idea. “The food was sublime, and no offense to Andre, but I think it could be better.”

Andre groaned. He knew exactly what I meant, but he had a lot more at stake than I did with his multimillion-dollar salary on the line.

Mik’s self-satisfied grin didn’t falter. “Prove it, then, Miss Expert.”