Page 33 of Vengeful Vows

Pain relief tablets won’t touch the surface of this ache.

Buttery, floral goodness, though. It works a treat every single time.

My bedroom is on the far side of my apartment, away from prying eyes. All the sleeping quarters are similarly sized, but I picked this one because no one bothers to wander far from the action and free booze during impromptu mixers like the one Fyodor organized today.

I’m left alone when I venture to this side of the building, so I’m somewhat taken aback when my entrance is flanked by an appalling amount of overspray of a woman’s perfume and another scent I can’t quite describe.

“I thought you were never going to show up.”

My jaw cracks when I flick my eyes toward the feminine voice. Veronika is sprawled across my bed. Her lingerie is see-through, her panties are crotchless, and the perfume killing my sinuses was so recently placed on it is still wet on her neck.

After loosening the firmness of my jaw with a quick grind, I turn to close my door. Not because I am interested in anything Veronika has to offer, but because I don’t want my dirty laundry aired for the world to see. That is all Veronika is about—publicity at any cost.

The tightness of my jaw is heard in my question. “What are you doing here, Veronika?”

“Waiting for you, silly.” She rakes her teeth over her lower lip while dragging her eyes down my body in a slow, dedicated sweep. “I thought we should get to know each other a little better.”

Whatever she thinks her childish voice is doing to my cock couldn’t be further from the truth. My dick is shrinking, not knocking at the zipper in my trousers, begging to be freed like it does any time Mara’s scent fills my nostrils.

“A conference room meeting is just so…stuffy.” Her nails make a mess of my bedding when she drags her hand across the sheets. “I work best on my back, being served a healthy dose of d?—”

“Did you miss the alterations I made to the proposed contract today?”

They weren’t explicitly made for Veronika, more to get Fyodor off my back long enough to wrap my head around how many backflips I’ve made over the past few days, but I’m glad I pushed them through.

Veronika’s pose would put her in breach of contract if I were to accept it.

Veronika jackknifes into a half-seated position, thankfully removing her puffy pussy lips from my peripheral vision. “You made those changes?” When I nod, she scoffs. “Why?” She doesn’t give me a chance to speak. “It isn’t like you’re gay.I’ve heard stories—many of them. You’re not called the playboy minister for no reason. Your dick pic trended for six months straight. Six. Months! That’s a record. Not even a porn star with a thirteen-inch wang got that much online love.”

When she pauses to take a much-needed breath, I gather up one of the towels Mara left on the tallboy drawers and toss it at her, covering the rest of the unsightly image. “If you can’t follow the one term I said wasn’t negotiable, Fyodor is wrong. You arenota suitable applicant for thepositionadvertised.” I say “position” in a way she cannot misconstrue. Our proposed arrangement was never about feelings.

I freeze partway to the bathroom when Veronika whispers, “It’s her, isn’t it? The maid. That’s who you put the rule in for?”

She stares at me as if I am insane when I don’t cite an objection. Her response is understandable. I must have rocks in my head. That is the only plausible reason a man would turn down a walking wet dream to stroke his cock over his cleaner.

But that’s precisely what I’m planning to do. I’ll show Veronika out before snagging Mara’s shampoo out of my bathroom and hotfooting it toward my office, where I plan to act like it is perfectly acceptable for a grown man to have a childish crush.

12

MARA

Asqueak pops from my lips when a voice behind me says, “Ark had the locks changed earlier today.” I recognize the voice, and although he’s been nothing but kind to me, a snippet of fear still runs down my spine when I realize I’m trapped in a room with no viable exit. “He hates not being able to deadlock every entry point of his home.” Rafael moves to the side of the living room, clearing the exit, before folding his arms over his chest. “You weren’t sneaking out, though, were you?”

“No, of course not. I just need so-some air.” Since my last sentence is honest, it sounds that way.

Rafael has been the perfect party host, and although the conversations he encouraged me to participate in rarely veered past skincare lines and eyewatering endorsement deals I could only dream of, he ensured I was welcomed into Ark’s team with open arms.

I still feel like an outcast, though.

The women filling the ballroom-like den of Ark’s multi-floor apartment are glamorous, and the men are gorgeous, so I shouldn’t be surprised that I didn’t stumble onto a single personnot wearing a custom piece of jewelry that cost more than I earn a year, but I am.

Very much so.

I’m swimming in waters out of my depth, and the drowning started the instant Ark left the festivities.

That was a shameful forty minutes ago.

Rafael knows I’m lying, but he pretends he’s clueless. “That’s good, because I would have hated to interrupt Ark’sself-care”—he air quotes his last word—“routine again for the second time today.” After banding his arm around my shoulders, he guides me back to the party. “I haven’t had time to replenish his shampoo yet, so he’d be extra grouchy if I were to interrupt him now.” He stops walking, his brows furrowing. “Unless…” My heart launches into my throat when he hands me an invitation out of nowhere. “We’re about to head out for a bite to eat. You should grab Ark and join us. Last I heard, he was heading to his third-floor office.”

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