Page 30

MIA

I wake up to fresh sheets, perfumed pillows, and a four-poster bed.

Shit.

I sit up like a cartoon spring, minus the sound effect. Memories of last night flood my mind, turning my cheeks redder by the second.

Yulian kissed me. After the meeting with his vores or whatever, he—he kissed me.

And I let him.

Then he did a whole lot more to me, and I let him do that, too.

Panicked, I check the other side of the bed.

Empty.

Which doesn’t mean what happened last night was a fever dream, though. At least, a very specific part of me seems to remember every detail.

Oh. My. God. We fucked. Like, seriously fucked. I saw his cheese grater abs and every other kitchen implement he’s been endowed with by nature, and holy shit, the tabloids did not lie for once.

I bury my face in my hands. This is the most mortifying day of my life. I didn’t just fuck my boss—I begged my boss to fuck me. I was so far gone, the brain upstairs took its PTO while the brain downstairs overhauled every single rational decision I’ve ever made.

That’s what you get for letting cobwebs grow down there. I can hear Kallie’s voice like she’s physically here, snickering at my expenses.

Then I remember.

Kallie.

Eli.

Shit!

I glance at the snazzy curtains again and realize it’s light outside. Double-triple shit with a cherry on top.

I spring to my feet before realizing I’m still naked, then wrap the sheets around me. The effect isn’t quite modest-but-sexy Hollywood starlet, but I couldn’t care less. Yulian isn’t even here, for fuck’s sake.

I try not to linger on how empty that thought makes me feel. That, after last night, he couldn’t even stick around.

Instead, I rush into the bathroom to grab the fastest shower of my life?—

—and I collide with a brick wall.

No, not a brick wall. A cheese grater wall. The very same eight-pack I’ve been ogling since day one. What’s that they always say in children’s movies? “Careful what you wish for” ?

“You’re in a hurry.” Yulian’s husky voice snaps me out of my panic. It isn’t a question—it never is.

“Sorry,” I blurt, “it’s just, it’s super late and I was supposed to be back last night and I can’t even remember if Kallie had a shift and?—”

“Car’s downstairs,” he cuts me off. “Maks will take you.”

It’s only then that I finally meet his gaze.

Cold. It’s the first thing I notice, a feeling more than a thought. A chilly, unwelcome sensation spreading down my naked body.

Last night, there was a storm in Yulian’s gray eyes. It was a storm of desire, of want, so raw no one could possibly deny it existed.

Now, they’re as cold as steel.

He sidesteps me, giving me space to enter the bathroom.

“Wait,” I call after him. “That’s it?”

Slowly, he turns. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“We just had the craziest, most unhinged sexathon ever, and that’s all you’ve got to say to me?”

His gaze turns sharp. I try to ignore how much it hurts—or how familiar it feels.

“It seems,” Yulian starts, as glacial as I’ve ever heard him, “you’re under the mistaken impression last night meant something.”

Hurts, hurts, hurts.

Fucking hurts all the way to my heart.

“Didn’t it?” I rasp, too raw to be anything less than vulnerable right now.

But Yulian doesn’t grant me the courtesy of handling me with care. He’s ice and steel, flat and unfeeling. Whatever was in his eyes last night isn’t there now. Maybe I just dreamed it up.

“No,” he says, cold and final. “It didn’t. It never does.”

It never does. Those words sink their claws into me, right into the scars I’ve done my damnedest to cover up. To heal ugly and fast, anything so they’d just stop bleeding.

I’m no stranger to being used. To being treated as a warm body, a servant, a thing.

But somehow, I thought Yulian…

Thought what? my rational mind mocks. That he’d be better? That he wouldn’t be just like any other bad boy billionaire who’s ever made you suffer?

That he’d be different?

“Right,” I answer tightly, pushing past the lump in my throat. “How silly of me.”

Then I slam the door and lock it.

I take the fastest shower of my life, blinking back the tears under the spray. But once I’m done, I hesitate to open it again. I don’t want to see Yulian—not like this.

When I peek my head out, no one’s there.

He left. I don’t know why the realization leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. Isn’t it better this way? That I don’t have to face him again so soon?

You wanted him to stay.

“Shut up,” I say out loud. “Just—shut up.”

I find women’s clothes in the dresser. With a flash of outrage, I realize where I’ve landed: Yulian’s fuckpad. His man cave. His playroom, though with an astonishing lack of whips and leather handcuffs.

Right. He probably keeps the good stuff at home. Why waste his Bad Dragon haul on the help?

I pick out a dress and underwear—still with their price tag, thank God—and hurtle down at the speed of light. I don’t head for the Maybach, though.

Instead, I flag down a good, old-fashioned cab and disappear into Manhattan traffic.

I pay the driver extra to ignore all traffic laws. Some physics laws, too, judging by the way we’re zooming through the city.

I try to reach Kallie the whole drive over, but her phone’s off.

Please, let him be okay. For the rest of the drive, I swing wildly between the five stages of grief.

It’s not that late after all. Denial.

Why the hell didn’t Yulian wake me up?! Anger.

Maybe Kallie’s still there. Maybe she’s called Reese to take over. Maybe she brought Eli with her to the hospital. Maybe she didn’t have a shift at all and they’re both still asleep. Maybe they’re making pancakes. Bargaining.

I’m such a horrible mom. How could I fall asleep like that? How could I let last night happen at all? Depression.

And, finally?—

No fucking way.

“Ms. Winters.” Howard Lee greets me from my own door in his perfectly pressed suit. “We were starting to wonder if we shouldn’t send out a search party.”

“Mr. Lee, I—” I fade off, not knowing how to end my sentence. My heart is sinking with every thought.

CPS is here.

They beat me to it.

They’re going to take Eli.

I’m never going to see my son again.

All for stupid Yulian Lozhkin.

At his side, Mrs. Deloera gives me a sad, pitying look. Somehow, I feel like I’ve disappointed my favorite teacher. Like she’s telling me, I really wanted to save your ass, but you just couldn’t keep it in your pants.

Worse—I’ve disappointed my son.

“Now,” Mr. Lee urges, “are you going to let us in?”

My shoulders droop. Dejected, I put my key in the door.

I turn it.

I push.

And then I blink.

Because this can’t be my apartment, can it?

Clean floors. Like, super clean floors. Tidy surfaces, every single one of them. Toys neatly tucked away in colorful boxes, organized by type.

And fresh, unburnt pancakes on the counter.

“Hello, Ms. Winters!” a jovial, unknown female voice greets me.

Mr. Lee’s eyes are practically bulging out of their sockets. I can only imagine what mine must be doing.

“Hi,” I breathe, not knowing what else to say.

“I took the liberty of tidying up a little.” The unknown woman smiles. She looks about my age, only with a way better skincare routine.

“Hello,” she says to the CPS caseworkers. “I’m Tamara, Eli’s new babysitter. Nice to meet you. Mia here has said so many good things about you.”

Mr. Lee’s eyes immediately narrow with suspicion. “She did?”

I did?

“Of course.” She welcomes them in, even going so far as to help Mrs. Deloera with her cane.

“Eli’s still asleep. I’m afraid I couldn’t quite make him stick to his bedtime.

” She gives a little apologetic shrug that probably endeared every single red- blooded man in the span of ten miles, even though they didn’t see her.

“I made breakfast, though. You want some?”

“No, thank you,” Mr. Lee bristles, as immune to feminine wiles as ever. “But I’d like to see the child.”

“I’ll take tea,” Mrs. Deloera chirps cheerfully. “Two sugars.”

Shaking his head in defeat, Mr. Lee heads for Eli’s bedroom. I follow.

And there he is.

Sleeping. Tucked into bed. Hugging his favorite Bluey plushie.

Safe.

A weight lifts from my chest. I don’t care what weirdness is going on right now—my kid is okay. He’s safe.

That’s all that matters. “Satisfied, I hope?” I ask Mr. Lee with a touch of acid.

Mr. Lee grunts his assent and heads back to the kitchen, presumably to swap out my sugar with rat poison.

By the time my two caseworkers leave—one looking very satisfied and the other looking murderous—I turn to Tamara. “Who are you?”

“I’m Tamara,” she repeats, all smiles. “Mr. Lozhkin sent me last night. He said you’d be needing my services. I was to take over from the other girl and stay as long as you needed me to.”

The other girl. That must mean Kallie . “And, um, how did you convince her to go?”

“She wasn’t very keen,” Tamara admits. “She made herself… ah, comfortable on the couch. Left just after dawn, and only once she’d spoken to Mr. Lozhkin.”

So she slept over. Part of me feels guilty, but another part is relieved. Kallie wouldn’t leave Eli with a complete stranger—not unless she knew he was safe. Apparently, she demanded that assurance from Yulian.

Yulian. So this is why he didn’t wake me. Granted, the sitter thing was in our deal, but that was for work. And last night… that didn’t count as work.

Unless it did for him.

“Will you be needing anything else today?”

Tamara’s voice snaps me out of it. Even now, she’s being annoyingly perfect.

For some reason, I can’t stand it. Can’t stand wondering if this is the kind of girl Yulian likes, all tall and flawless and Russian.

“No,” I almost snap. “Thank you, Tamara. You can go.”

With a nod of her perfect head, she leaves.

As soon as she’s out the door, I let out a breath. Yulian kept his word. He saved my ass. He saved my kid from being flushed down the foster system by Mr. Lee.

So why can’t I forgive him?