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Ruslan stands and shoots his cuffs. It’s effortless, just like everything else he does. You’d be forgiven for thinking he’s a model forGQ. He cracks his knuckles, then his neck, watching me the whole time.
I sit in my chair and focus on my breathing.
Eighteen months is long enough that I thought my infatuation would have worn off by now. I’d have thought wrong, though. If anything, he’s even more beautiful than he was the day I first walked in.
I still remember how that went. I rounded the corner and stopped, dumbstruck and drooling like a lunatic.Thisman ran the biggest home security enterprise in the world? Were we sure he wasn’t a Hollywood body double?
For his part, Ruslan took one look in my direction before asking, “Are you going to make my life easier or harder, Ms. Carson? If it’s the latter, don’t even bother setting your stuff down; just turn back while you still can.”
That pretty much set the tone for our working relationship.
“I’m leaving,” Ruslan announces back in the present moment. “Make sure the folders are set out for the department head meeting in the morning.” He rounds the desk and strides toward me. My heart quickens when he gets close enough for me to smell his cologne. Today’s is woodsy. Smoky. Crisp.
“Yes, sir,” I croak quietly.
“Oh,” he adds, “I also need my tuxedo brought to the penthouse on 48th. Tonight.”
“Tonight?” I balk. “But I have to—”
He’s already gone. Swishing out the door without bothering to look back. The only thing left behind is the trailing tendrils of his cologne.
* * *
An hour later, I am the walking dead. Every nerve ending in my feet is on fire. I trekked my booty across town to Ruslan’s tailor, picked up his tuxedo, and trekked back to Midtown to his penthouse.
When the elevators let me out directly into his foyer, I release a sigh. One final task on this Tuesday custom-designed by Satan.
Not that tomorrow will be any different.
My shoes clack as I walk down the marble flooring and emerge into the living room. It’s floor-to-ceiling glass windows on three sides, so I can see the entire city wrapped around me, bejeweled and glistening in the night. The furniture and finishes are every bit as gorgeous as the man who owns this place—and every bit as brutal. It’s all black matte and sharp edges. Grotesque modern contorted sculptures in the corners. Grotesque modern contorted paintings on the walls.
I once looked up the price he paid for this place and almost threw up in my mouth. It had a few too many zeroes for my comfort level. The most sickening part of all is that he comes here once a month at most, usually with one of his many actress/influencer/model dates on his arm. It’s pretty much just the world’s most expensive fuckpad.
I drape the suit over the back of his black suede couch. It’s weird being here, in Ruslan’s personal space. It smells mostly like cleaning product, but I swear, every time I turn around, I catch just a whiff of that cologne again.
It’s making my head swim.
I want so badly to curl up on the suede couch and sleep for the rest of my life. But I have to keep moving. People are counting on me. Three little ones in particular.
So sleep is off the list. My next thought is how nice it would be to get some kind of petty vengeance against the bosshole from hell for the wringer he’s put me through today.
My sister wouldn’t have hesitated for a second.
* * *
“Sienna, don’t you dare pee on his car!”
But my sister was already clambering up on the hood in her way-too-short, way-too-pink nightclub dress, cackling like a madwoman. I was mortified. Her laugh was infamous across campus, so I had no doubt that someone was going to recognize it, open their dorm window, and look out in the East Campus parking lot to see the Carson sisters up to no good, as per usual.
Correction:Siennawas the one who was always up to no good.Iwas the one who was always trying to rein her in. Not that it helped; Sienna did what she wanted.
Always had. Always would.
And when she saw my dirty, rotten, cheating ex’s car gleaming in the primo parking spot, it sparked an idea that she absolutely refused to ignore.
Which is how I ended up holding her hand for balance as she squatted on Tommy’s Range Rover and let loose.
I can’t say he didn’t deserve it; this just wouldn’t have been my preferred method of vengeance. “Screw that,” Sienna said when I told her that living well was the best form of revenge. “Don’t get even; get ahead. That’smymotto.”
