Misha

 

When she arrives at the office of a morning, Bethany usually sits at her desk for forty-five minutes reading fashion blogs, sipping her coffee and ignoring me. This morning, however, she’s into my office like a shot.

“How was the date?” she asks with a grin.

I frown at my monitor and scroll through unread emails. The development in Croatia is seventy-five percent complete. Good. That means we’re slightly ahead of schedule.

Bethany comes closer and plants her hands on my desk. “Come on, spill. Don’t get all coy on me now, daddy.”

The memory of Miss Alders outside the restaurant last night blooms in my mind. How she smiled up at me, her blonde curls laying heavily over one shoulder. I had such a good time, daddy.

Liar. Miss Alders hated every second she spent with me. I don’t like that word, either. Daddy. I’m not spoiling or taking care of Miss Alders, I’m only giving her money. Trying to give her money.

“I wish you were this eager to talk to me every morning,” I say, without looking at Bethany.

She waves away my comment and perches on the edge of my desk. “Yes, yes, I’m a terrible PA. How was Ciara?”

“Surly, ungrateful, nosy and rude.”

Out of the corner of my eye I see Bethany’s face fall. “Uh, excuse me, sir, but that’s not the attitude we’re going for.”

“Quite. She behaved disgracefully.”

Bethany reaches out and yanks my keyboard away so I have to look at her. “No, I mean your attitude. If she was surly and ungrateful then it’s because you were unfriendly and miserly.”

I glare at my PA. “Miserly? I have spent six thousand pounds on Miss Alders, I arranged a lovely meal, I saw her into her car that I paid for and you conclude that her poor behavior is my fault?”

Bethany flicks her eyes pointedly up and down my person. “Yes.”

“Typical,” I seethe. I awoke this morning feeling a smolder of regret over how last night unfolded, but when I revisit the events of the date I can’t see that I did anything wrong. We had dinner and I gave her more money. What else could she want from me? I didn’t stare at her breasts. I didn’t say inappropriate things. I was the perfect gentleman and yet her behavior toward me was deplorable.

“What was the last thing she said to you?”

“None of your business.” When Bethany doesn’t reply, the smolder of guilt becomes a burn. “In text or in person?”

“Both.”

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to get Bethany’s opinion on a few things that happened, though I firmly believe that, on balance, I’m in the right and Miss Alders is in the wrong. “When we left the restaurant she demanded I get her a car without saying please. Extremely poor manners.” I pause, inviting Bethany to agree with me but she’s indifferent to this.

“And by text?”

My eyes drop guiltily away from her. “She, ah, sent me well wishes.”

Bethany holds her hand out for my phone. “Show me.”

I put a protective hand over it. “This overfamiliarity with your employer—”

Bethany jumps to her feet, her cheeks turning pink in anger. “Oh, get over yourself, would you? This isn’t about you. I’m doing this for Ciara, so your deranged brother doesn’t get his hands on her. I know her, remember? I don’t want to see her get hurt, and if you don’t sort your shit out then she’s going to get hurt!”

I look up at her in surprise and see real worry etched in her face. She’s genuinely concerned for Miss Alders, and I’m suddenly ashamed that her rejection has made me forget that I should be, too. This isn’t about my pride. It’s life and death for Miss Alders. Wordlessly, I unlock my phone and hand it over.

Bethany reads through the messages, her lips compressed into a rueful line. “It’s not good, sir.”

I sigh heavily. “No, it’s not.”

She puts the phone back into my hand. “You obviously did something to upset her. What was it?”

I think for a moment. “I didn’t touch her or ask to touch her if that’s what you’re thinking,” I reply defensively. “I barely even looked at her.”

I did look at her a little, though. I can clearly recall Miss Alders’ petite body in tight red lace. The cascade of her curls. The plunging neckline and hint of her breasts. Not large breasts, but a good handful. Or mouthful.

Bethany groans and covers her face. “I told you to act normal. You didn’t need to get your hand under her dress but you should have kissed her cheek. Touched her waist. Told her she was beautiful. That’s what she was expecting.”

Was she? I remember the way she jumped to her feet the moment I entered the room. Her slim, bare legs and the red stilettos she wore. I thought it was odd at the time but maybe she was…showing herself to me? I walked behind her out of the restaurant and my eyes strayed to the firm muscles of her calves. In a distant part of my mind I briefly imagined sinking my teeth into them, then licking across the backs of her knees on my way up to her sex.

With effort, I shove the image away. Sex with Miss Alders would complicate an already impossible situation, but if I need to do one or two small things to show that I’m attracted to her then it wouldn’t be much of a stretch.

“Fine. I’ll tell her she’s beautiful next time and kiss her cheek, if I can get her to talk to me again.”

A male voice asks from the doorway, “Who’s not talking to you?”

Fuck.

The panic that flares in Bethany’s eye is mirrored in my stomach, but I keep my face straight as I turn to look at my brother.

Damir’s wintry eyes examine first me, and then Bethany. She walks quickly around to my side of the desk and starts straightening some files. I have the distinct impression that she wants the solid mahogany between her and my brother.

He strides slowly into the room, a neutral expression on his face but curiosity lighting his eyes. “Who’s the lucky girl, Mikhail?”

Did we refer to Miss Alders by name just now? I don’t think so. Christ, I hope not. “What do you want?” I counter. My brother isn’t the type to make small-talk or drop in just for a chat.

Damir smiles. Or rather he bares his teeth like a shark, as if this is what he’s learned a smile should look like. Probably it’s something our father taught him. “Surely you’re not having girl troubles. You always had the women fawning, Misha.” The smile is still there but his gaze grows even chillier.

“Misha, how handsome you look. I’m so proud of you. Come and give Mama a kiss.”

A tight silence stretches between us. Damir looks at Bethany and then jerks his head at the door. She hesitates, her head bowed, and she seems reluctant to leave my side. Then as she edges past Damir, he reaches out to touch her face. She doesn’t flinch but I see her color rise.

“Pridna punčka,” Damir murmurs, running his forefinger along her cheek. Bethany hurries out and closes the door behind her.

“Leave my PA alone, Damir. I asked you what you wanted.”

He’s still looking at the closed door but finally swings around to face me. I see the moment the anger takes hold of him. It’s like a switch being flicked and his eyes blaze, and he looms over my desk, leaning his weight on his knuckles.

“This has got to fucking stop,” he growls.

I feel as if my guts have been vacuumed out of my abdomen. How did he find out? Has he got a listening device in my office, or has he had me followed? Maybe I underestimated my brother’s level of paranoia since Alders’ betrayal and now he suspects everyone he works with of trying to cheat him, including me.

I make myself sit still and relaxed, bluffing in case he’s bluffing, too.

A moment later he pushes away from my desk and goes to look out the tall glass windows. “We spend too much time in our offices. That was the reason Alders was able to rip us off, because he forgot to be afraid. So I’m spending more time visiting our clients, to remind them.”

Relief floods through me. This isn’t about Miss Alders, or not directly at least. Damir’s banging on about the same thing as usual, that someone cheated him, him, and it’s never going to happen again. I’m tired of it.

This is new, though, coming to my office to rail about it. I don’t work in the Ravnikar Enterprises building because I like to keep my distance from Damir. He could have said this to me over email, but because he’s here that means I’m being reminded, too. That I should be afraid of my little brother.

“Scared clients aren’t happy clients,” I remind him.

“I don’t care if they’re happy,” he says through his teeth. “I care that they don’t fucking rip us off.”

I could point out that working with people with loose morals and criminal records means risking being ripped off, but I think Damir might punch a hole through my door.

He turns to me, narrow-eyed. “I’m getting out and about visiting our business associates and reminding them who they’re working with, and I expect you to do the same. This will not happen again.”

The fact that Mr. and Mrs. Alders ended up dead should be enough to keep most of our associates on the straight and narrow for a while. I don’t have the energy to argue with my brother, though. “Fine. If that’s what you want, I’ll start making more personal visits to my clients.”

“My clients.”

I give him a tight smile. “Our clients.”

I want to ask if Ciara’s made contact with him to pay off some of her debt but I don’t dare seem too interested her. I wonder how he’ll treat her when she does come to him with a payment. Fuck, he’ll probably go out of his way to scare her again. She’s so small and he’s such a cold, dangerous bastard. Can he see it in my eyes, how much I hate him right now?

Don’t you dare lay a goddamn finger on her.

Damir frowns, watching me, and I see the puzzlement in his face and struggle to rein in my emotions. He’s silent for a moment, and then laughs and shakes his head. “Good luck with the girl troubles, brata.”

He turns and walks out. I watch him disappear around the corner on the way to the elevator, letting the loathing I feel for him fill my face. The loathing I feel for myself, too, because I’m here, working for him. Because twenty years ago he won my loyalty, and now I’m trapped.

As soon as he’s gone, Bethany comes back in, brisk and businesslike, and picks up the conversation where we left off. “Ciara doesn’t want to be reminded at every turn that she’s an escort. She wants to be treated sweetly, made to feel that you genuinely like her. We need to make things feel more intimate between you.”

I frown at my PA. I’ve never seen her show the slightest hint of trepidation around the nastiest of people, but she’s still pale after a short exchange with my brother. “Are you all right? Did Damir frighten you? You know I won’t let him—”

Bethany talks over me. “From now on she should call you by your first name. Your real first name. You need to put some sincerity into this.”

I shake my head. It’s too risky to tell her my name is Mikhail as she might have heard of Mikhail Ravnikar. She’s studying to be a lawyer and lawyers dig into things. Connect dots.

“No? How about a nickname, then? Mr. Ravnikar called you Misha just now.”

“You’re a good boy, Misha. Don’t ever forget that, no matter what he tells you. Do you hear me? You’re a good boy.”

“I’d rather not.”

Bethany smiles brightly. “But it’s cute. She’ll love it.”

I don’t want Miss Alders to call me Misha. I haven’t been Misha in a long, long time.

“What sort of baby is she?”

I’m drawn out of my reverie by her strange question. “Pardon?”

“What sort of sugar baby? Was she bratty? Flirty? Bougie?” Seeing my baffled expression she adds, “Bougie, you know. Did she talk about expensive things? Did she ask you the time so she could see if you were wearing an expensive watch? Was she holding your hand so she could check if your cufflinks were designer?”

I picture Miss Alders sitting across the table from me, her lips as red as her dress, asking me about my work. “No, none of those things.”

“She must have had some sort of act she was trying out. Or was she drunk?”

Miss Alders barely wet her lips with the champagne. “At the end of the date she became all breathy and said, ‘I had such a good time, daddy, did you have a good time, too?’”

Bethany nods knowingly. “Nice and sweet. We can work with that.”

I hold out my phone to her but she shakes her head. “You need to learn how to talk to women. It’s time you grew up. You know. Because you’re forty-two.”

I grit my teeth. “All right. Out.”

“But I want to—”

I point at the door. “Out.”

Bethany huffs. “Fine. Have fun, daddy.” She knocks a box of tissues closer with a saucy smile, and saunters out.

Last night’s disaster was not my fault but I suppose I’ll have to take the blame if I’m going to keep giving Miss Alders money. After thinking for a moment I type, I’m sorry. I was rude to you last night. Can we talk?

Her reply comes through a few minutes later. No. I’m not talking to you and I’m not giving the money back. I’ve already withdrawn it from my bank account this morning.

Good. Hopefully that means she intends to give it to Damir soon. I want to take you out to dinner again and discuss an allowance. A very generous one.

I see the three dots that mean she’s typing. She’s certainly doing a lot of talking for someone who professes not to be speaking to me.

An allowance for what? You obviously don’t enjoy spending time with me. We’ve had one date and I still know nothing about you. I don’t even know your real name.

I hesitate and then type, My name’s Misha.

Instantly, I regret it. I should have told her to call me Michael, Matthew, anything but Misha.

Ten minutes later she still hasn’t replied. If she won’t take my money then my brother is going to destroy her and I won’t be able to protect her from him. I need to know she’s safe. I need to be certain she’s safe. I think hard, trying to figure out what she needs from me as a sugar daddy. No, more than that. As someone she feels close to. If I stick closer to the truth then maybe she’ll sense some authenticity. I’ve heard women like that.

I’m not very good with people and never have been. That’s why I’m doing this.

She reads the message and this time the three dots appear straight away. I just don’t know what you want from me. You don’t even seem to like me.

I do like you. I want you to show me how to be a better man.

Maybe you need a life coach, not a sugar baby, “John.”

I asked you to call me Misha.

I remember the sight of her at her parents’ funeral, shrinking away from Damir, and then across the table from me at dinner last night. The same scared expression on her face both times. I hate that she’s scared of me. I hate that she’s scared at all.

Send me a picture, I message her.

What sort of picture?

Any sort. I just want to see that you’re all right.

Logically I know she’s safe and in one piece or she wouldn’t be replying, but the need to be certain is overwhelming. A few minutes later my phone buzzes and I look at what she’s sent me. I’ve seen women in lingerie before. But I haven’t see Ciara in lingerie. The tie around my neck suddenly feels too tight.

She’s lying on her bed in a white lace bra, hints of her pink nipples visible through the gauzy fabric. Her breasts look full and touchable and I feel like I could reach through the screen and squeeze handfuls of her. I imagine pulling her close in my lap and sucking each of her nipples in turn until they harden in my mouth.

I reply without thinking. You’re fucking beautiful.

She types, deletes, types, deletes. The three dots disappear. I wait, holding my breath.

Thank you.

Is this what she wants, to feel desired, so that taking money from me makes sense to her? I should keep this going. For the sake of the plan. Pull the lace down.

A moment later another picture comes through. She’s curled her fingers into the flimsy fabric and drawn it down, exposing the tight bud of one of her nipples. I stare at the picture for a long time, wondering what she tastes like. If she moans when her nipples are sucked. If those bright red nails will scratch through my hair, and if she’ll arch against me and whimper into her mouth as I twist her nipples in my fingers.

Not that I’m going to do that. I’m just curious. For the sake of the plan.

Have dinner with me.

Will you talk to me, or make me do all the work while you sit there and sulk?

My mouth quirks in amusement. Cheeky. I’ll talk. Have dinner with me. Wear that bra.

Yes, Misha.

Misha. The pet name sounds nice coming from her. Sweetly familiar. I text the venue and the time to Ciara and sit back, satisfied. That wasn’t so hard.

But I am. I’m iron hard. My cock strains against my trousers, clearly outlined. I slide my hand firmly down over my erection, trying to get it to subside. I didn’t mean this to get sexual and I have no intention of sleeping with Miss Alders.

No, Ciara. I should think of her as Ciara all the time from now on so I can say her name naturally when I see her in person. When I talk to her. Christ. I don’t talk to women. I buy champagne, I half-listen as they witter on about their nails or their dress and then I buy them a present and screw them. Everyone’s happy, I move on, end of story. I’m not interested in getting to know the two or three women I sleep with a year. They’re only interested in my money, anyway. Just like Ciara is.

Yet Ciara feels different, which is strange because this is the most formally transactional relationship I’ve ever had. I’ve never known a woman talk back to me before, probably because they’re afraid that if they upset me I won’t buy them things. Yet Ciara, who really needs my money, stands her ground. I’ve never had dinner with a woman who is so clever, either, and I can tell she is clever even though she tried to mask it by playing dumb.

My eyes land on the box of tissues, then on my phone. I swipe it open to look through her pictures again. She looks good like that, laid out on the white sheets. Relaxed. Waiting. Offering me her breast.

My hard-on is still straining. I look at the tissues again. Christ, it’s been a while. I wonder what it would be like if we did sleep together. We’ll be spending time together over dinner, drinking wine. I’m not bad looking, and I’ve been told I kiss rather well.

“You always had the women fawning, Misha.”

Damir’s goading expression flashes before my eyes and I swear under my breath. Asking Ciara to call me Misha was definitely a mistake. I’m not Misha anymore and I haven’t been for a long, long time. I shove the box of tissues into a drawer along with my phone and turn to my computer.

I should have told her to call me any other name.