Page 14 of Pucking Snowed In with the Enemy

“What do you care?”

“Just answer the question.”

She crossed her arms and shook her head like she was scolding herself, which I was pretty sure she was. I loved that even though I hadn’t planned on sleeping with her last night, I had. She was so unraveled at the moment, and I fed off it.

“No, I haven’t eaten, but don’t think I’m going to eat anything with you,” she said.

“Fine, then you can continue to poke your nose into my business and never get the straight answers you’re looking for.”

Her mouth pressed into a firm line, and her eyes narrowed into thin slits. “What are you saying?”

“I’m offering to give you a full interview, off the books, but you’re free to ask any question you like. In return, you have breakfast with me. It’s the only meal I’ll get today, so I might as well eat with sexy company.”

The wheels turned behind her eyes. She was skeptical, and she should be, but I could also see the part of her that needed to have answers about everything.

“If it makes you feel any better, if I wanted you dead, you already would be.”

“Yeah, pretty sure that doesn’t make anyone feel better.”

I lifted my shoulders and casually let them drop as I pulled out my phone. “It’s still true. I could’ve poisoned your drink or choked you to death with my belt. I could’ve shot you in the head or knocked you out and had my guard bury you in some obscure place where no one would find you.”

“Are you openly admitting to you and your family being murderers?”

I looked up from my phone as I sent off a message. “I’m admitting to being a man who will do what is necessary. Regardless of what that is.”

“And you’ll answer any question I want?”

“I may not give you the answer you want, but I will answer the question.”

She took a step forward and swayed on her feet as she grabbed her head. Chancing her trying to hit me again, I went over and pulled her into my side to steady her.

“I don’t need your help.”

“Just sit down,” I said and helped her to the couch. She looked green, and I wondered if this would call for my mother’s recipe for a hangover and not just some food. “I’ll book us a place to eat.”

“I really don’t think I could,” she said. Her eyes lifted to mine. “I really don’t feel very—” She jumped from the couch and sprinted across the room like she was doing the hundred-yard dash. Grabbing my trash can, she began to throw up. I followed and pulled the loose strands of her hair out of the way, then hit the button for my secretary, who answered immediately.

“Yes, Mr. Mikhailov?”

“I need Doctor Joseph and tell him to bring an IV for fluids.”

“Understood.”

“You have a doctor on speed dial to come to your office?” She coughed and I gave the back of her neck a massage. Her body was shaking as she refused to look up at me.

“Why not?”

She shook her head. “Whatever. I don’t need a doctor. I just need my hotel room.”

“Not happening, and don’t bother arguing with me. There is a good chance you have alcohol poisoning,” I said and held out the box of tissues from my desk. She flopped down on her ass, leaning against the desk leg, her skin was pasty and pale, and her breathing was shallow.

“I really don’t want a doctor.”

“And I really don’t give a fuck what you want. You’re not dying in my building on my watch.” Her eyes rolled up at me, and if she could’ve gotten up off the floor, I was sure she would’ve punched me. If I thought last night was stupid, then forcing her to accept my help was the icing on the idiot cake.

CHAPTER

FIVE