AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Fucking hell.I literally just jacked off and came hard to her security footage, and already I’m wanting to go for round two?
No. Hell no.
I’m going to take an ice-cold shower, get dressed, and actually get some goddamn work done at the casino. Far, far away from the siren song of Clara Everett.
Far, far away from the one sin I cannot commit.
45
DEMYEN
Did I say I was going to get some work done?
I will.
Eventually.
I scroll through the personnel files of each and every escort on Meridian’s payroll as if I’m simply checking ranks and evaluating employee performance. In reality, I’m desperately trying to find someone,anyone, who looks remotely close to Clara so I can safely and sanely work off the edge of all this tension between us.
It wouldn’t be difficult at all to convince any of my escorts to join me inside an executive suite for an hour or two. Bambi has always been an encourager of dipping my pen into company ink, so to speak.
But even though I do find one or two women on the roster who bear a slight resemblance to Clara, it’s not the same. I know either one would do their best to make me happy, but I don’t want a performance; I want the real fucking thing.
I wantClara. Not an imposter.
Almost on instinct, I pull up the live security feed from the compound to check on her and the kid. It’s breakfast time and the cameras in the kitchen show me a sweet moment between mother and daughter over a bowl of fruit Clara pulls from the fridge. It looks like Willow loves strawberries the most—I’ll make sure to order extra on the next grocery run.
I keep the feed open a little longer to make sure they’re staying put and not making plans to suddenly run for the hills. Not that they would—Clara’s not an idiot who would risk her child’s safety like that—but I need a reason to justify why I keep pulling up the cameras to check.
Not that anyone’s questioning me. They know better.
I just don’t want or need Bambi’s skeptical eyebrow to pop up as often as it does while we’re at work.
Like right now, as she drinks her coffee and stares at me. “So, I’m thinking about organizing a Greco-Roman palace-themed orgy for next Tuesday.”
“Huh?” The word “orgy” pulls me out of my own thoughts and I blink at her. “Ah. Yes. Sounds good.”
Bambi deadpans her expression as she takes another sip from her mug. “We’ll need to order three gallons of olive oil for the event.”
She caught me. I actually have no idea what she’s talking about. I close the app on my phone and shove it into my pocket so I’m at least marginally paying better attention. “Speaking of events,” I segue as a cover, “how’s that wedding reception at the hotel going? Everything set up for tonight?”
Part of being a luxury hotel includes providing luxury accommodations to wealthy brides and their even wealthier families. I don’t usually involve myself with that end of the business, but it provides enough of a distraction to pull my mental focus back into actual work.
Bambi sighs and checks her notes. “Grigori hasn’t sent out an S.O.S. yet, but it’ll be worth checking in with him and making an appearance near the ballroom. It’s the senator’s daughter, after all.”
“Fan-fucking-tastic.” I make no effort to hide my disdain. I hate politics. I hate politicians. I hate playing their stupid little games most of all. But showing my face as an attentive host bolsters my legitimacy as a businessman and that always comes in handy when suspicions regarding my Bratva are raised. “Have a bottle of champagne sent to their bridal suite, compliments of the house.”
“Judge Cartwell is on the guest list.”
Thatcatches my full attention. “Oh?” Cartwell has presided over every attempt to re-examine Tolya’s case, and he’s shot down every single valid argument we’ve brought to his courtroom. “With his wife?”
Bambi nods. “Looks like. Want extra eyes on him?”
“See what we can dig up on him in the meantime. And when the party starts, keep his glass full. Let’s see how loose he and his wife get when the wine flows freely.”
“You got it.”
I already know Cartwell has a few skeletons in his closet he wouldn’t want the missus to know about—like his taste in escortsor the fact that he’s high-rolling in the lounge once a week, usually on Thursdays. I’m suspicious that he knows who owns this place and he’s counting on my desperation to help Tolya as a sort of safety buffer for his indulgences… but if that’s the case, then he’s a bigger idiot than I previously thought.
