Page 6 of Broken Vows (Marital Privileges #4)

Mikhail

I n less than twelve hours, I watch Emerson walk away from me for the third time. It stings, but this, her family’s legacy appearing more like a shanty than an establishment that once attracted a thousand patrons a night, fucking burns.

Inga’s pride and joy was once Lidny’s hotspot. It catered to all walks of life. The rich, the poor, and everyone in between. It was so popular that I emulated its success in numerous bars and nightclubs across the country.

Its business plan made me rich.

What the fuck happened?

As disappointment smacks into me, I fight to hear both the pleas of my heart and my head. I should walk away as per Emerson’s many requests, but I wasn’t lying when I said I bought half this bar from her mother as a wedding present for Emerson.

My share of the once-thriving establishment gave me the capital to purchase my first watering hole. I’ve added two a year to my portfolio ever since.

My eyes fall to the ledgers Emerson was going over when I watched her from afar for the past hour. I only interrupted her when the gleam her eyes got at the last call for drinks sparked through her tired gaze for the quickest second.

The last call signaled that we were only an hour away from the rest of the night being solely about us. No drunk patrons, no wandering hands. It was just two teens in an empty bar that inaugurated my obsession with the retail industry that serves alcoholic beverages.

I had no clue what I wanted to be when I grew up until I walked into this bar, locked eyes with the pretty girl behind the counter, and grew an obsession with anything she had an interest in.

I didn’t even have a favorite color until I took in Emerson’s sea-moss-green eyes for the first time.

With my reputation on the line and my name still on the deed, I ignore the niggle in my gut warning me that this is a bad idea.

I snatch up the books months overdue to be balanced and a bottle of whiskey from the shelf before I kick open the door of the only space that offered Emerson and me an ounce of privacy from a world determined to tear us apart.

I don’t know how much time passes before I detect that I’m being watched.

My ass is dead, the whiskey is half-empty, and I’m reasonably sure the wetness in the corner of my mouth is drool.

It isn’t thick enough to announce I’ve been asleep for hours, but it indicates that I slept sometime between Emerson’s departure and her return.

Emerson’s eyes, just as puffy as mine, shoot down to the books I’ve balanced before they return to my face.

“Before you say anything,” I blurt out before she can speak.

My head is thumping and I drank on an empty stomach, but none of that matters right now. This— she— is far more important.

“Your supplier is overcharging. The price list he gave you is the retail price of the goods, not the wholesale cost.” I hold my finger in the air when she attempts to interrupt me.

“When you cut deliveries from three deliveries a week to one, he didn’t remove the extra two charges from your monthly statements.

He’s also charging import fees on products made right fucking here in our own country. ”

Emerson’s expression matches mine when I unearthed the error. “That dirty rotten scoundrel.”

I nod, agreeing with her. “I contacted Darris on your behalf last night. He wasn’t happy about my midnight call, but he shut the fuck up when I reminded him whose name is also on the deed of this business.”

Her brows are tightly knitted, but they don’t match the relief shooting through her eyes.

Her angry expression switches entirely to thankful when I say, “Your account will be credited with the missing funds before the bar opens this afternoon. The amount isn’t life-changing, but it will cover most of those .”

I wave my hand at the overdue bills tacked to the noticeboard next to her desk before standing to my feet and stretching. My body is all twisted up, and I’m sure I’ll be dodging bullets soon, so it’s better to stretch now than after I’m shot.

Emerson surprises me. She doesn’t come out lock, stock, and barrel for me interfering in a business I will never see as mine.

She takes in the updated books with the eagle eye of a first-year accountant before she strays her eyes to the bottle of whiskey that kept me awake long enough to unearth the numerous injustices.

This is the one part of my business I hate. The larcenous pricks who think they can take you for a row because you’re young, and in Emerson’s case, female. I’d be nowhere near as successful if I had tits instead of balls, and the knowledge pisses me off.

When Emerson’s eyes, now narrowed, return to my face, and she cocks a manicured brow, I reach for my wallet. “Do you take Amex?”

As her teeth get friendly with her bottom lip, she nods. “We do, but…”

I’m not a fan of delayed gratification—for anything. But it is worse with this woman.

“You don’t need to pay.” I mistake the sincerity in her tone when she snaps out, “I will remove its purchase from the funds I’ll transfer to you when you tell me how much I owe for the gift you allegedly purchased for me.”

I stare at her in shock, stunned by the harshness of her tone.

Is she joking? She can’t be mad. She has no right. I went on a limb to buy her a gift I knew she would love. The only reason I didn’t hand it over was because she left me. Yet she’s pissed at me?

Fuck that.

If she wants to be petty, I’ll show her petty.

“ My share of this business is not for sale.”

She looks ready to blow her top. Her cheeks are red, her neck is flushed, and her nostrils are flaring.

She could only look more ravishing if she was moaning beneath me.

I give myself a stern talking-to before getting this train back on track. “But I am open to compromise.”

Emerson’s dazzling eyes sparkle as they dance between mine. “For what? I have nothing of value to offer you. Except perhaps…” Her words trail off as the heat on her neck stretches to her chest—her barely concealed chest since she’s wearing an extremely fitted and low-neckline shirt.

It’s fucking winter. Did she miss the memo?

Her tits didn’t. Her nipples are standing to attention, begging to be touched. Goose bumps dot her areolas, and I stare as if I have every right, as if I paid for the privilege.

Her game plan smacks into me as hard and fast as I once took her on the very desk wedged between us.

Emerson knows her appeal, and a long time ago, I folded every time she used it against me.

I’m older now.

Wiser.

And seconds from drooling on my fucking shoes.

Emerson’s breasts are centerfold worthy. They were the second thing I noticed about her, only cheated out of the top prize by a face too beautiful for any painter to replicate.

Emerson stops fighting the urge to lower her eyes to my crotch to assess if her plan is working when I say, “Marry me.”

Her eyes rocket to my face so fast that she makes me dizzy. “Huh?”

“Marry me,” I repeat. “Then, if you survive a year, I’ll sign over my share of the deed to you.”

Spit flies from her mouth when she pffts me.

“I’d rather rot in hell.” She saunters around the desk, barges me aside, and then takes charge of the captain’s chair.

“It’s no skin off my nose if you keep your share of my business.

It isn’t like I’ll have to send you a small fortune every month.

” She peers up at me, her eyes glistening with impudence.

“At this rate, you’ll have to pay me to keep this place open. ”

She acts as if that line didn’t hurt her to deliver as much as it did me to hear it.

She’s full of shit, and I know it.

That doesn’t mean I won’t partially fold, though.

“The deed… and a cash settlement.”

“Not interested,” she responds, not bothering to look up.

I make her interested in a deal I know she won’t be able to deny. “A cash settlement in advance, hefty enough to allow your mother to undertake a treatment option she hasn’t told you about because she knows how far you’d go to lasso the moon for her.”

Now I have her—hook, line, and fucking sinker.

I play it cool—just.

“You were willing to sell a piece of your body to the devil to save this”—I wave my hand around the office before guiding it down her scarcely covered body—“so how far are you willing to go to save your mother’s life?”

“I’d sell my soul to the devil,” she answers without pause for thought, her scorn announcing who she believes is the evil half of our duo.

For some fucked-up reason, she’s lumped the title with me.

“But not just the part he chewed up and spat out a decade ago. I’d give him every piece of me.”

I fight the urge to tell her I’m not the bad guy. I only harness the desire because our combined stubbornness will shunt us back to the start of our game.

Neither of us has time for that, and Inga’s schedule is even tighter.

“Then accept my proposal.” I dump our marriage agreement onto the desk, minus the page that announces how wealthy she will be at the end of our exchange, before collecting my suit jacket. “The priest agreed to set aside thirty minutes for us today.”

“Today?”

I continue as if not interrupted. “Our allotted time is an hour away. If you make it down the aisle this time ”—she snarls with me during my last two words—“I’ll wire the money for your mother’s cancer treatment the instant we say I do.

If you fail to arrive…” I tsk like the money hasn’t already left my account.

“I wish you well in finding another way to fund her vitally necessary medical treatment.”

It kills me, but I walk away like she means nothing to me.