AllFreeNovel
Share Us
That right there is enough to make me regret signing his damn NDA.
“Who are the Ivanovs?” I ask. “The name was mentioned several times in the NDA. It said I can’t have any contact with them or anyone associated with them. Why not?”
“Because I’m your boss and I require it of you,” he says curtly.
I stare at him, waiting—hoping—he will elaborate. He just stares back at me with an impatient look on his face.
“I, uh… I guess I’ll be going then.”
He looks away like I’ve already left the room, so I turn and walk back to my desk.
The moment I sit down, I bury my face in my hands.What have I gotten myself into?The night we met, I knew Misha was no ordinary man. I was happy to sign up for that—for an evening. Especially one spent the way we spent it.
But this? Working with him every day? Being part of his world?
I didn’t mean to sign up forthat.
“I can’t do this,” I mutter, whispering the words against my palms.
“You okay, dear?”
Misha’s receptionist is standing in front of me, her lined face creased in concern. I hate that my first thought is that she isn’t a threat. That Misha won’t pay any attention to her in her oversized cardigan, thick spectacles, and elastic-waisted pants.
It doesn’t matter what he pays attention to, you psycho. He’s not yours. You’re not his.
I smile as pleasantly as I can. “I’m fine. Just hungry, I think.”
“Well, there’s no need to starve yourself,” she says brightly. “We have a lunchroom that’s always stocked to the rafters. You can help yourself.”
“Thanks, but I’m afraid I didn’t bring any cash with me today.”
Not that there was any cash to bring. Rent on my apartment is already paid for the month, but I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel until my first paycheck.
She waves away my concern. “Everything in the lunchroom is free. It’s a perk of the job. I’m MaryAnne, by the way.”
“It’s nice to meet you, MaryAnne. I’m Paige.”
“Paige! Lovely name. Now, Paige, you had best go feed yourself. Mr. Orlov needs you healthy and strong.”
I thank her again and head to the lunchroom to find something to shove in my piehole.
I’m imagining a bowl of months-old granola bars, some browning fruit, maybe a crusty, overused Keurig machine. But I’m floored by the feast in front of me.
There’s a snack counter loaded with racks of chips, packaged baked goods, and candy bars. Next to that are two glass-front refrigerators. One is filled with an assortment of different boxed salads and sandwiches. The other is brimming with drinks: sodas, tea, sparkling water, kombucha, and everything in between.
I’m practically drooling on the sandwich fridge when a woman’s voice brings me back to reality.
“It’s overwhelming at first, isn’t it?” she laughs.
I look back and grin sheepishly. “A bit.”
Especially since, as of three days ago, I couldn’t afford to eat a thing.
The woman who spoke is wearing a bright red pantsuit and a daring pixie cut, with a lightning bolt-shaped earring and a diamond stud piercing her tragus. She’s effortlessly cool and I’m girl-crushing instantaneously. There’s more than just sandwiches to drool over, apparently.
“The ham and cheese is always fuego. And the egg salad sandwich is bomb, too, if there’s any left.”
I scan the fridge and shake my head. “Egg salad is gone.”
