Page 60 of Cruel Promise


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When Uncle Mikey took over, he didn’t change a thing, partly because he hardly spent any time here. Dominika ran the show for the two years Mikey was looting it, and she has her own closet of an office near the girls’ dressing room, since they’ve always been her main responsibility. Why my father didn’t give her a better office, like one with a view since there are plenty to choose from, puzzled me until I realized hers was an easy place for their daily trysts. No windows, fairly soundproof, and deadlocked from the inside.

What every man wants for his mistress, I suppose. If that’s your thing.

So when Mikey split and I moved in, I changed shit up a bit by turning my desk to face the door. Why anyone would ever have an office with their back to the door is beyond me, even if you’re not in my kind of business. You’re so vulnerable like that and even if you don’t have safety concerns, every time someone comes to your office you have to turn around to see who it is.

Plus it’s bad feng shui or some shit.

“Come have a seat over here,” I say to Charleigh.

I intentionally take the big leather easy chair, leaving the sofa for her so she doesn’t assume I’m making a move on her.

“You want a scotch, Charleigh?” I cross the room to get myself one.

When she doesn’t answer, I see she’s sitting on the edge of the sofa, explosively tense, with her hands folded over her knees. The prim and proper bearing is a funny juxtaposition to the sexy little costume she wears for cocktailing.

“Well?”

She takes a deep breath and slowly releases it, her cheeks adorably puffed out, revealing her ambivalence.

“I’ve… I’ve never had scotch.”

Well, damn. Why didn’t I realize that? She’s not the typical party girl I cross paths with. Why would I think any different? She’s probably an aficionado of cheap light beer and the occasional five-dollar bottle of wine. Special occasions only.

I pour her a small amount and add an ice cube. This sort of thing goes down easier, at least for the first time, when it’s been chilled first.

“Here you go,” I say, helping myself to a seat next to her. I realize I should probably give her some space, but fuck it.

She attempts to take the glass from me, but I nudge away her hand, raising the drink to her lips myself.

Like I’m feeding her.

“Just take one tiny little sip, pretty girl.”

She glances sideways at me, her face full of distrust, and parts her lips to accept the rim of the glass. A small sip of the amber liquid flows into her mouth, and as soon as she has a taste, pulls her head back and pushes the glass away.

“Ugh,” she sputters, taken aback by the initial burn, repeatedly licking her lips like she lost a layer of skin.

I have to try not to laugh.

“Look. This is how you do it. You open your mouth and let it pour in. If you let it sit on your lips, it’s going to burn. Now watch me.” I take a smaller than usual swig so I don’t freak her out, but I do let the scotch pour into my mouth as I described.

The heat is soothing and delicious. Hell, I can drink this stuff all day.

It’s a wonder I don’t, since I’m basically surrounded by it as well as all other forms of alcohol.

“Ready to try again?”

She frowns. “Maybe. If I can hold the glass myself.”

I hand it over. “Be my guest.”

She looks at the dark alcohol and takes another sip, this time bypassing her lips, at least as best she can. Taking a mouthful, she quickly swallows. She only coughs a little this time and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

“There you go,” I say, returning to my seat.

She sits back on the sofa, visibly relaxed, I don’t know whether from the alcohol, getting more comfortable with me, or both.

“Are you going to answer my question, Vadik?” she asks, her eyebrows raised expectantly.

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