Champagne Venom (Orlov Bratva, #1)(60)

“Okay, fine,” I snap. “But tell me this: how are you going to spin the woman out there and my newfound lack of a job?”

“There’s nothing to spin,” he says, his eyes sliding up and down my body. His pursed lips and the darkness in his eyes tell me that he doesn’t approve of my outfit. Or, on the contrary, maybe that he approves of it too much. “Althea is taking over your position because you’ve been moved to another department.”

“Why?”

“Because you are now my wife,” he snarls impatiently. “My wife cannot be an assistant, even if it is to me. You need a position that appropriately denotes your status. Which is why I have promoted you to department head.”

“Department… head?” I repeat in shock.

“That’s right. You will oversee marketing from your own office down the hall. I already have a stack of résumés on your desk. You can look through them today and schedule interviews for the assistants who impress you the most.”

“You’re giving me a… a promotion?”

He sighs. “I detest repeating myself.”

“On what grounds?”

“Excuse me?”

“What have I done to deserve a promotion?”

I know I sound silly. I should be thrilled, shouldn’t I? Most people would be. But all I can see is those diamond earrings in the pretty velvet box.

Another empty gesture. Another pretty, sparkly thing to keep me busy. To make me forget how empty our marriage really is.

“You married me,” he says.

It’s the entirely wrong answer.

“And what a savvy career move that was,” I hiss sarcastically. I’m pouring steam out of my ears, straight venom in my voice.

“I wouldn’t have given you the promotion if I didn’t think you could do it,” he says through gritted teeth. “You were grossly overqualified for the position of my secretary in the first place.”

“That’s not what everyone will think when they find out!” I yell. “No one knows we’re married yet, do they? And when they find out—”

“Who the fuck cares what they think?” he demands, leaping to his feet to tower over me, all fire and brimstone. “No one is going to question me. No one would fucking dare.”

“No, but they might question me. I don’t want to feel like I’m working at a job I didn’t earn.”

“Then earn it,” he growls. “Do the job and do it well. That’ll stop any tongues wagging.”

I shake my head. “I don’t want the stupid promotion. I want the job that I was hired for.”

His eyes narrow. “You no longer have that job. Althea does.”

I walk around to his desk until I’m standing right in front of him. Even in heels, I’m no match for him, but it’s better than nothing. If not the height, I’m at least grateful for the feeling of having two weapons strapped to my feet if he really pisses me off.

“She’s had my job for days. Days. And you didn’t even bother to tell me.”

“You didn’t need to know. As a matter of fact, you still don’t need to know. You should be at home.

Resting.”

“Tell me, did you leave diamond earrings on her bed, too?” I scoff, feeling my anger get away from me and spiral into something pettier and uglier. “To keep her compliant?”

His eyebrows rise. His silver eyes sharpen like daggers.

Don’t back down now, says the fighting spirit in my head. You’ve survived two deadbeat parents, a deadbeat husband, a dead best friend.

You can survive him, too.





44

MISHA

“If you don’t like diamonds, then say so,” I tell her. “You’d be the first woman I’ve ever met who doesn’t, but on the other hand, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Her face flushes with anger. “It’s not the gift! It’s the—You can’t buy me off, Misha. You can’t just shut me up with gifts, no matter how expensive.”

I sigh in frustration. “The diamonds weren’t to appease you. They were a ‘thank you.’ For appeasing me.”

She frowns, confused. Then understanding strikes, and her eyes flare. “I’m not some hole you can stick your dick in whenever the mood suits you.”

“You were the one in the mood last night.”

She flushes again, but I can see the root of her anger now. She wanted me to stay the night. I didn’t.

Apparently, my departure combined with the gift I left for her is an insult.

Goddammit. This is coming out all wrong.

“I was honest with you from the beginning about what this marriage will be, Paige.”

“No. Because I never would have agreed to be your whore,” she spits. “Everyone in this building is going to think you’re giving me some cushy job just because I slept with you!”

I dismiss her with a wave. “Fuck what everyone else thinks.”

“I can’t do that! You can, though. Including what I think. Because I would argue that listening to my opinions and running certain decisions by me first would qualify as a marriage of equals. Not some surface-deep promotion everyone will see through the moment they learn we’re married.”