AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Sure enough, there’s no guilt when I look at the name on my calendar today.
But the dread is real.
“Mr. Oryolov?”
I keep my gaze fixed on my phone. The angelic white blouse that Emma is wearing today is giving me “preacher’s daughter” vibes and I’ve already wasted most of the morning imagining her on her knees in front of me, begging to be corrupted.
“Yes?”
“Jessica Allens has just arrived.”
I can’t help my sneer.Jessica fucking Allens.Trust fund heiress. Socialite diva. Daddy’s girl. An all-around goddamned nightmare.
Sometimes, I wonder why I put myself through the indignity of her company. Then I remember: her daddy’s not just rich; he’s important. Hiram Allens is the city’s newly appointed police commissioner, and for a man with my variety of irons in the fire, that’s a connection I can’t afford to pass up.
“Send her in.” I’m forced to look up when Emma stays where she is. “Was there something else?”
Judging from the vein throbbing on Emma’s forehead, there most certainly is.
“She asked me to get her a finger bowl because, and I quote—” Emma’s face screws up in a haughty expression that’s all nose and chin—“she‘doesn’t like to use public restrooms.’”
I press my lips together in a hard line to keep myself from smiling.
“Andshe asked me to get her some weird tea thing that I’ve never heard of.Gu-yusu… something or the other. I told her we didn’t have that on hand, and she responded by dropping her fur coat and heavy bag right on my desk. Like she’s inThe Devil Wears Prada.”
I raise my brow. “Is that a euphemism?”
She snorts with laughter but manages to rein herself in fast. Her cheeks are flushed a delicate shade of pink. Of course, that might also be infuriation and rage—pretty common symptoms to have after spending any length of time with the resident princess-bitch of New York.
“It’s a movie.”
I glance back at my phone for no reason. But it’s necessary that I look busy whenever Emma is in the room. It helps me avoid any prolonged eye contact.
“There’s some salted sakura tea in the director’s lounge. She can make do with that.”
“Doubtful,” Emma mutters darkly.
“She’s difficult,” I agree.
“Thenwhyare you having lunch with her?”
There’s nothing ostensibly possessive about that question, but it rubs me the wrong way regardless. “I’m not sure I need to justify my lunch dates to my assistant, Ms. Carson.”
She stiffens instantly and, just like that, the vein in her forehead is back. “Right. I’ll just let her in then. Have awonderfullunch.”
I suppose I deserve that snark.
Seconds after Emma exits, Jessica enters. She looks like she’s going to a fancy cocktail party. Her genetically-engineered body is squeezed into a velvet bandage dress and her makeup is so thick that it almost manages to hide all the plastic surgery she’s done to her face.
“Ruslan, darling!” She walks gracefully for a woman in six-inch heels. “You get more and more handsome every time I see you.”
My gaze slides to the door, then back to her Botoxed forehead. Pretty sure if I were to facepalm her, she wouldn’t feel a thing.
I walk her over to the stainless steel table in the neighboring alcove and pull a chair out for her. We spend a good fifteen minutes talking about her damned acrylic nails before Emma shows up with the tea.
“Here you go, Ms. Allens.”
Jessica scrunches up her nose. “No guayusa?”
