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How is he making me out to be the unreasonable one? How am I actually falling for it?
I decide to try a different approach. “You need a P.A. You’re underestimating how much work I do for you on a daily basis.”
“I already have someone filling in for you while you’re away.”
My hackles rise instantly. “You can’t just give my job away because I’m pregnant. That’s discrimination!”
He actually has the gall to look amused. “We’re throwing around big, legal words now, are we?”
I take a step towards him, fist raised. “I can sue your ass.”
“You’re welcome to try. I have an excellent legal team.”
I glower at him. “Just because I’m pregnant doesn’t mean I’m incompetent. I can do both.”
“This isn’t a question of your competence. This is a question of your safety.”
“I have bills to pay!”
He’s not fazed in the least. “I’m not stopping your salary. You will still get paid on the first of every month as normal. But your only job will be putting your feet up and staying safe.”
He’s making it very hard to find reasons to reject this bogus proposal of his. “What am I supposed to do here all day?”
“The apartment has a gym, a theater, a game room, and a library. I’m sure you’ll find something to occupy your time.”
“What if I want some fresh air?”
“The balcony’s just over there.”
I scowl. “What if I want to go for a walk in the park?”
“I’d suggest you use your imagination.”
We stare each other down for so long that my eyes start to water. It’s the most intense staring contest I’ve ever had to endure. He wins in the end.
“Can I at least have the access code to the apartment?”
He rolls his eyes and heads out of the kitchen, forcing me to trail behind him. “I wasn’t born yesterday. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get to work.”
I feel like jumping right out of my skin. I’m raring for a fight, but Dmitri’s glacial calmness is making it very difficult to keep up the same indignant momentum. He twists around abruptly and I nearly walk into his chest.
“If you need anything, text me on the number I gave you. I’ll send over a couple of things you might need. Including a footstool.”
For a moment, I’m genuinely stumped. “A footstool?”
“So you can reach all the high cabinets. Let it not be said that Dmitri Egorov discriminates against pint-sized people.”
With that, he’s gone.
“I’m not short, asshole!” I hurl at his back. Sighing, I drop to a pitiful seat right on the floor of his kitchen, my head hanging between my knees. “Not that short, at least.”
11
WREN
It’s been two days since I’ve seen either Dmitri or Beatrice. They’ve turned into phantoms in their own home. There are coffee beans on the counter every morning when I go into the kitchen for breakfast. Worn pairs of shoes thrown to the side of the corridor each night. I even catch the faint scent of some bougie perfume percolating in the air most mornings. But I never actually see either one of them. They’re gone before I wake up and not home until long after I’ve fallen back asleep.
At first, it was a relief to have the penthouse to myself. But the relief was short-lived. And as it disintegrated, I was reminded of why I went back to work so soon after Rose and Jared’s funerals.
