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Which is strange.
Maybe it’s the holiday spirit.
Regardless, I feel something like compassion for this girl, clearly just trying to do her job. And now that she’s made a mistake, well, she looks like she’s about to jump off a bridge or something.
I can kind of relate. I’m hard on myself too. Have been for as long as I can remember. That’s the way it goes when you’re the oldest of immigrant parents.
My folks saw some awful shit in Russia—they mostly only talked about it in code, I guess to spare my brother and me—and they wanted to make sure life in America didn’t repeat the past.
That manifested as a mother and father expecting nothing less than perfection from me, their oldest son. It was a foregone conclusion that I’d follow Papa into the ‘family business’ as he called it. He and his cronies from the old country established themselves in a few industries when they arrived in America, where a lack of oversight and ability to move large sums of cash undetected made it easy to basically carry out the same shit they had been in Russia. But America was better, Papa always said. Fewer crooks.
Or,not as many crooks, as Valentin says.
Sure, America has its share of criminals, but the percentage, compared to the population, is nowhere like it is in Russia, thanks to the turmoil caused by the fall of the Soviet Union.
Plus, here, there’s no price on my father’s head, like there was at home.
So, coming to America was a good move for the whole family, as long as we sons fell in line, which we eventually did.
“What’s your name, sweetie?” I ask the redhead when she’s back on her feet, staring at the red sauce covering my hand.
Fuck if she isn’t tall—nearly eye-to-eye with me thanks to the high heels she’s teetering in. Her lithe figure is tucked into a slim black dress that fits her like a glove, and she is wearing tasteful diamond stud earrings. Maybe I’ll make an exception to my no-fucking rule for the night. A little Christmas present to myself.
After business is addressed, of course.
Hearing me say ‘sweetie,’ Artem rolls his eyes long and hard, but because he’s behind the girl, she has no idea he’s mocking me. Although she’ll find out real quick if I give Artem the shoulder chuck he deserves.
Her gaze meets mine and she stumbles when she sees how intently I’m looking at her. I can’t help it. She’s dressed so simply, almost like a school librarian, but her bright red hair and plush lips make her, by contrast, deliciously kissable. And more.
The paradox of which has captured my attention. Big time.
“Um, I’m Lily. And I’m so sorry, sir. My company will gladly pay to have your clothes cleaned, and if you’d like to come back to the sink with me, I’ll clean that cocktail sauce off your watch,” she babbles, clearly freaking about the possibility of having ruined my watch because she knows there’s no way in hell she or her company can afford to replace it.
I’m charmed. Which is unusual for me because I’m a cynical fucking bastard. “Lily, I am sure the watch will be fine. Look, it’s just a little spatter,” I say, unhooking it from my wrist and showing it to her.
She has no idea how much it’s worth becauseIhave no idea what it’s worth. But it’s probably safe to say it’s more than she earns in a year.
“I’m happy to clean that for you, sir,” she says. She looks at me so earnestly with those big blue eyes that my cock twitches.
Get yourself under control, asshole.
But something about a pretty girl looking to me for approval, not to mention calling mesir— well, her guilelessness shoots straight through to my dick, leaving me picturing her balancing on top of me, slowly lowering herself onto my—
“I’ll be right back, sir. I’ll clean this right off. It’s the least I can do.”
She snatches the watch right out of my hand while I’m busy having dirty thoughts about her, and disappears with it.
I probably wouldn’t have let her make off with it if I’d had a second to stop her, but thinking with my little head gets me into trouble every time.
“Goddammit,” I say, watching her disappear out of view. “You know how much that fucking thing is worth?” I grumble to no one in particular.
Valentin slaps me on the back. “Chill out, brother. I’m pretty sure she’s good for it. Besides, you can always get another.”
“Thanks, Val. Thanks for fucking nothing.”
“Merry Christmas to you too,” he laughs.
“Hey,” Artem interrupts, “if you two can stop bickering for a moment, we have shit to take care of.”
