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“Play by his rules for a bit—” I open my mouth to object but she holds up a hand to shut me up. “It’s not easy, I know that. But what’s that old expression: you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar?”
“Ugh,” I groan as my phone pings. I glance down with relief. “It’s Aleksandr. He’s here to pick me up for work.”
Bee shoos me toward the door. “Go on then. Try not to let the bastard get to you.”
Easier said than done. Everything he does gets to me at this point. Even his breathing gets my hackles rising.
Aleksandr tries to make conversation as he drives me to Egorov Industries, but I shut it down fast. I’m too in my own head to focus on the “epic night” he had with his buddies over the weekend.
It’s a quarter to nine by the time I get to my desk. My first order of business is to prepare Dmitri’s schedule, but while I’m combing through it, I’m beeped into his office.
I freeze uncertainly. He hasn’t called me into his office at all since the spanking incident. So why now?
“God help us all,” I mutter, grabbing the schedule and heading inside.
He’s in his charcoal Tom Ford suit today. It’s cruel how good he looks. Evil should be ugly, not this gorgeous.
“Ms. Turner,” he barks, “your purpose in this office is to make my job easier, not harder.”
The open hostility takes me back, but I hold my ground. “I wasn’t aware I was making it harder.”
He swings his computer around to give me a better look at what’s drawing his ire. “What is this?”
I check the schedule on his computer with the one I just carried into his office. “It looks like you’re double-booked today at ten.”
“It does look that way, doesn’t it?”
I check both appointments against my schedule. “Hold on—I didn’t schedule the meeting with Japan.”
“No, I did. It came up late last night and I was forced to make last-minute changes.”
This is the most we’ve spoken to each other in three days. He’s made no mention of what happened between us. Hasn’t even attempted to apologize for it. Nor did he fill in Bee, which is proof that he knows it was wrong.
I feel the intense need to lob something at his head. There’s a hole-puncher within arm’s reach that would make such a delicious clunk if I could hurl it into his thick skull.
“I fail to see how this is my fault,” I intone icily. “You can’t make last-minute changes to the schedule without informing me.”
“Are you forgetting who I am?” he says in a voice that’s so viciously cold that I freeze in response. “I don’t have to inform you about anything. It’s your job to know. You’re supposed to check my schedule every day and adjust it accordingly.”
I probably should back down right about now. I have Bee in my head whispering about honey and vinegar and flies and God knows what else. But honestly, there’s only so much a girl can keep in.
“Not if you make changes in the middle of the night!”
“I told you when I hired you that this job is twenty-four-fucking-seven.”
“Yeah, this job seems to include a lot that I didn’t sign up for!”
He scowls darkly. “Lower your voice.” It’s amazing how he can speak so softly and still have his words come across as powerfully as if he were screaming.
“I will not!”
“Wren.” His voice cracks like a whip and for a moment, it’s as though my skin is on fire. “We are in the office and the walls have ears. We need to practice discretion.”
“Discretion?” I wish my voice had the same weight, the same presence his does. As it stands, he’ll have to settle for my banshee shriek. “You put me over your knee like a spoiled child and you want me to be discreet? Well, fuck you! And fuck your discretion!”
His expression is hard to read. It’s as though the black rage in his eyes has dissolved into nothing. And when I say nothing, I mean nothing. No emotion, either good or bad.
Then his gaze flickers past me. I turn slowly…
