Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106159 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106159 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
“We do now.”
After flipping the open sign to closed, she whizzes around the corner and races up the stairs of her boutique.
I stand motionless for several long seconds, unsure what to do next. I should probably go home and sleep off my hangover, but when has doing everything by the book kept things interesting?
Once I’ve written an IOU slip to Polina and slotted it between the bills I place into the safe for safekeeping, I hail a taxi outside the boutique.
“Can you please turn that off?”
The driver looks at me as if I have two heads when I gesture toward the dashboard camera instead of the meter.
“I’ll pay double the fair.”
Since he’s young and has no idea who I am pitting him against, he says, “Deal,” before asking where I want to go.
His smile droops when I recite Matvei’s hotel. The Ivanov name is known around these parts, but since Matvei can be accused of running when times get tough, his name isn’t as notorious as his brother’s.
The above is why I asked for the dashcam to be turned off. I can’t face my issues if Matvei isn’t willing to do the same. I doubt communication will ever be our strong point, but we won’t have anything if we don’t start opening up.
When the taxi driver drops me off at the front of the hotel, every male staff member takes a wide berth as soon as they see me coming. Even some of the female staff do.
I use the mirror in the elevator to check my makeup and to freshen up a little. I feel like shit, so I can only imagine what I look like. A laugh bubbles in my chest at how ridiculous I am when I recall Matvei kissing me every morning during our sleepovers.
You can’t get any worse than when you have rank morning breath.
Since I enter the Ivanov Industries offices via the second-floor stairwell, the receptionist can’t announce my visit before me. I enter Matvei’s office without bothering to knock, and then I’m pushed back three places by its disheveled appearance.
His chair is pushed back from his desk. His laptop, writing instruments, and mouse pad are dumped on the floor, and the Michael Bond painting behind his desk is hanging dangerously askew.
The last time his office was this shambled was the night he dragged his hand across his desk to make room for my backside. He didn’t want anything in his way when he brought me to climax two times with his mouth and fingers. Not even the wireless mouse I used to erase any trace of Tyler from his laptop.
I startle when a squeaky voice says, “Ms. Lefevre. Um. Hello.” The receptionist I’ve not been formally introduced to yet steps out of the attached bathroom, closing the door behind her. “Was Matvei expecting you?”
Matvei? Since when has she called him by his first name?
I recover from my shock quickly. “No. I thought I’d surprise him. Where is he?”
“Ah…” Even if deceit didn’t fill her eyes, a shower switching on answers my question on her behalf. He’s in the bathroom, showering at eleven in the morning. “He should only be a min—”
I push her out of my way before all of her reply can leave her mouth. When I enter the bathroom at the speed of a bullet being dislodged from a gun, my heartbeat roars in my ears. The steam billowing out of the shower can’t conceal several inconsistencies.
Matvei’s shirt he wore yesterday is hanging out of the cane basket. It is missing several buttons, like someone was too impatient to wait for them to be undone. If that isn’t bad enough, a red smudge is smeared on the collar, and a box identical to the one I found in the storeroom is open and resting on the vanity sink. There is also an empty wrapper in the bin next to the vanity.
As the world spirals around me, I snatch up the box of condoms, then stomp around the chunky marble wall that hides the shower from the main part of the bathroom. Even if Matvei can’t hear my heart pounding in my ears, there’s no way he can miss my stomps. They’re as loud as the roar that leaves my mouth when I peg the condoms at his back and scream, “You fucking piece of shit!”
When Matvei spins to face me, the situation worsens. His chest is red and houses several marks, and there are scratches down his neck.
As his pupils widen, they shift to the box of condoms before lifting to the vanity mirror.
Anger fills his face as he roars, “Get out!”
Shocked but hurt, I shout, “It’ll be my pleasure!”
Heartbroken, I spin on my heels and race out, bumping into the bumbling and apologetic brunette on the way out.
She should be grateful I’m in shock because if I were on my game, the threat I issued Matvei’s mother would have had the chance to transpire.