Page 29

Arielle

“I said to use the Montserrat font for the entire document. Why is the heading looking different?” Mikhail barked, tossing the file back at me.

This was the fifth time he changed his mind about a font today. The worst is, he refuses to look at them until they’ve been printed, then he just tosses them back at me or into the shredder.

I took a deep breath, infusing my tone with every bit of professionalism I could. “The last time you said using the same font for both header and body made the document appear flat and boring.”

“And what did I say this time?” He shot back, and I felt my blood run a good five degrees above the normal body temperature.

He’s been like this for the whole three weeks I’ve been working with him. If it wasn’t the fonts, it was the style. And if the style was fine, it was the paragraphing. Who needed that much paperwork in an era when you could just send an email?

Then, there was the case of coffee and getting it exactly how he wanted it. The bastard claimed he did not like it when the spoon touched the cup while it was being stirred, but I’ve heard him practically assaulting a mug with a spoon in the past.

Don’t even get me started on the extra work hours and how I have to accompany him to every meeting, both professional and otherwise. Make no mistake, he makes it point that I’m positioned outside the conference room or out of hearing range. I wasn’t his secretary by any means. I was a glorified slave in a black dress. Yes. He made a whole case about my wardrobe. Red was prohibited, and anything colorful gave him a headache. I’ve never been more frustrated in my life.

I tried to calm myself with hourly pep talks in the restroom, reminding myself how exceptionally good the pay is, how it has elevated the living standard for Jason and me, and most importantly, how I deserved far worse than he was treating me. I had expected a paper bag over my head and to be whisked off to some underground facility when I saw him, but he had a very different plan. He probably figured killing me would give me an easy way out and resorted to slowly making my life miserable and making me lose my senses over time. He was winning.

He made sure I had no social life away from work, and he successfully occupied my weekends with business dinners, which consisted of him flirting with half-naked women the whole time and crushing me inside. The daily updates I got about him from The New York Times and the GQ had said nothing about him seeing other women, so I wasn’t prepared for the level of pain I felt watching him shove his tongue down another woman’s throat.

Ah, yes. Did I mention I signed an NDA and was thoroughly searched before I entered or exited the building? What he was doing was illegal, but I couldn’t afford to bring attention to myself with a legal case, and he thrived off it.

The only thing that has kept me sane is Jason, and every day, I took a different route home to make sure I lost anyone who followed me. If I thought Mikhail was being cruel now, I didn’t want to know what would happen if he found out he had a son and I hid him.

“Is there a reason you’re still here?” he asked, not taking his eyes off his laptop.

I opened my mouth to reason with him but decided against it. What was I supposed to say? ‘Sorry I came into your life to ruin it, but you can’t blame me, you’re a criminal. I just didn’t expect things to turn out the way they did, and if you let me go, I promise not to do it again?’

So instead, like any good secretary, I said “Vogue for the heading and Montserrat for the body?”

“Yes, Arielle, do you need me to paint it across my head for you to see?” he asked, briefly taking his eyes off his laptop to give me a look.

“No, sir,” I replied robotically, picking up the file and making my way out of his office.

He knows the effect it has on me whenever he calls me Arielle, and he has refused to let go of it. He made sure to use the name at least five times a day, and he never said it like a name. He said it with the same tone an executioner would use to pass a death sentence, like a stain they wanted to eternally embed in your skin. I, on the other hand, decided to keep things professional and call him sir in place of Mikhail.

I returned to my desk and proceeded to retype the document. It wasn’t like I had a choice. Jason finally got his toy and was enrolled in a nice school, and I could finally afford a babysitter whenever Annalise was busy. That was all that mattered.

However, something I found increasingly suspicious was how he never asked any questions about Father. I had expected him to try to force out every bit of information from me, but he has not once mentioned anything. He either knew I was on the run, or he had something far worse planned. Either way, a part of me was longing to get the smallest details from him, a little insight into what had been happening in New York since I left, but he never mentioned anything about it, not even in passing.

Finally satisfied with my job and giving my knuckles a gentle massage, I made my way back into his office with the new files. “Here it is, sir.”

He didn’t even glance at them. He merely dismissed me with a wave of his hand and returned to whatever he was doing on his laptop.

“Arielle,” he called in a taunting voice. “For lunch, I’ll be having sfogliatelle, and my guest will have the sliced chianina beef with chili sauce from de Lorenzo.”

My fingers paused on the doorknob, my expression morphing into the picture of disbelief, and I whirled around to find him clicking away at his laptop. “De Lorenzo is in Florence.”

He glanced lazily at the wall clock. “Then, I suggest you get a head start. My guest was very particular about her request.

Her? Of course, it’s a fucking woman. Who else would want to eat a fucking beef in an office on a Friday afternoon?

“What about the proposal you asked me to prepare?”

“You can do that when you return. The meeting is not until six.”

“Six p.m.?”

“Have you suddenly developed some form of hearing defect?” He finally pulled his attention from his laptop to look at me.

“That’s a bit too late for me. A meeting starting at six will be ending by eight.”

“Why, Arielle, do you have a hot date waiting for you?” he sneered, and I flinched from his tone.

“Get me my lunch, prepare the proposal afterward, and be present at the meeting. I don’t care what you do with yourself afterward.”

I left his office without any objections and hurried to the restroom, feeling tears collecting in the corner of my eyes. The biggest downside of motherhood is how increasingly emotional I’ve become over the years, and how tears pooled in my eyes at the slightest inconvenience. I absolutely hated how weak it made me feel.

*****

I glanced at the watch for the hundredth time, it was past nine and Mikhail was still engaged in whatever business deal he was trying to close. Per usual, I was sitting at the far end of the private lounge and couldn’t hear much of their discussion.

My knees bounced uncontrollably as I thought of Jason. I already sent Anna a text to inform her of the situation, but I hated not being present to tuck my baby into bed. It was a nightly ritual we performed every day where he told me about his day and I told him about mine, and right now, Mikhail was currently robbing me of that to chat over a glass of Hennessy.

“Sure, you don’t want a cocktail or something?” Antonio, Mikhail’s project manager, asked a third time, and I declined a third time.

I’ve not sipped alcohol since I arrived in Italy, and I intend to keep it that way. I had more than just myself to look after.

“How long will it be till they’re done?” I asked, watching as Mikhail threw his head back in laughter at whatever the man said. He looked so carefree and in his element.

“That? The deal was concluded a long time ago. Everything else is just formalities to create some form of cordiality between both parties,” Antonio replied, lighting himself a cigarette. I’ve always wondered if he was a part of the mafia or a regular employee like the rest of us.

Right before my eyes, three women wearing next to nothing were brought inside the room, and Mikhail made his pick, a tall, skinny blonde with a nice ass. The rest were dismissed.

I watched as she settled onto his lap, giggling as he whispered something into her ears, his hands traveling from her thighs to casually hover above her crotch.

I felt bile travel up to my throat, leaving a bitter taste and the strong urge to throw up. I tore my eyes away from them, taking multiple gulps of water to calm the heat cursing through me.

“Boss has serious hots for blue-eyed blondes.” Antonio chuckled, puffing out a smoke.

Blue-eyed blondes. His comment felt like a slap in the face, and I forced a smile, hoping he didn’t notice me falling apart before him.

Because I’m a sadistic bitch, and I like to subject myself to pain, I returned my gaze to Mikhail’s end of the VIP booth and found the men whistling and leaving him with the blonde, who currently had her tongue stuck deep in his throat.

“This is my cue. I have to follow up with the deal,” Antonio snuffed out his cigarette and went after the men leaving the lounge.

I sat there, watching as the blonde adjusted to straddle Mikhail and his fingers dug deep into the plump flesh of her ass. Disgust and rage traveled through me as he rolled her hips into him, practically dry-humping her.

Pain seared through me, and my mouth went dry. I wasn’t jealous, not by a long mile. I had no right to be. I was only angry that he was wasting my time making out and forcing me to watch while my son waited for me at home, probably unable to sleep because I wasn’t home. I wasn’t jealous. I could never be jealous of a woman getting her ass squeezed in the VIP section of a club by a man, even if I harbor unresolved feelings for the said man, and I know firsthand that he fucks like a god.

His hands traveled up to her back, toying with the straps holding her halter neck top together, and I was up on my feet and storming towards them before I knew what I was doing. My emotions got a hold of me, and I refused to be disrespected in that manner.

“Get out.” My voice dripped of poison, and God knows if she hadn’t gotten off him that instant, I would’ve dragged her by the hair.

Mikhail maintained his position, head thrown back on the backrest of the sofa, lids heavy and a dazed look dancing in his eyes. Even his lips looked unnaturally pink and swollen from the kiss. What was he thinking kissing random girls in a club? Didn’t he worry if they had some sort of STD?

“If you’re going to interrupt my private time and walk my woman out, you better have plans of replacing her,” he said, and I let out a dry laugh.

“Private time? Is that what you call practically having sex with a woman in a club in front of me?” He opened his mouth to say something, but I didn’t give him the chance. He had said enough for one night.

“Listen, I know we have our history, and frankly, I don’t even know why you decided to keep me around, but what I’ll not have is you disrespecting me. I don’t care where you decide to stick your cock or whose pussy you decide to eat just don’t drag me into it. It’s past nine in the night, and you keep me here to watch you make out with a girl. What are you? A hormonal teenager!?” I took a steadying breath, realizing I was practically screaming. He made no effort to interrupt me this time and only watched with a mix of surprise and something I couldn’t place.

“Some of us have more pressing issues to deal with and don’t have the luxury of sitting in a club and watching live porn, so next time, be sure to excuse me before you proceed.”

I didn’t give him the chance to speak before grabbing my things and storming out of the lounge. I don’t know how I’ll feel about my little outburst when I come to work tomorrow, but right now, it feels good. He can give me a sack letter tomorrow if he sees fit. I’ve had enough of his rubbish. I might’ve broken his heart and been a spy, but he wasn’t innocent either. He was a fucking criminal, and I was certain if my feelings didn’t get tangled up, he would be far behind bars and I’d be celebrating it. He wasn’t a victim.