Page 43 of Vengeful Vows

Veronika’s voice is as whiny as her words. “He’s foolish to give this opportunity up, Fyo. My little minions will vote for whoever I suggest. Our collab could win him the presidency.”

A man I’ve not yet been officially introduced to rakes his eyes down my body when I veer past one of Ark’s guest bedrooms. His glare isn’t cruel. It is more understanding, which is weird.

After smiling like I have more power than him, he gestures for me to continue before he commences closing the door, blocking a frustrated but determined Veronika from my view.

Her nasally voice can travel miles, though. “I also have a contract. Alegallybinding contract.” Disappointment hits me hard when she says, “Arkadiy invited me to a two-week getaway to seduce him. I’ve not yet had the chance to show him all my tricks, so I’m not going anywhere until I have.”

My stomach is still gurgling about her confession when I knock on Ark’s office door.

“Come in.” Ark’s barked order is gruff, and it sends my pulse skyrocketing.

When I enter, my eyes stray to his bulky desk. The first thing I notice is my handbag, neatly packed and sitting on top. The second is Ark. He’s standing near a wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling window.

His stature emulates the driven businessman he is, but there’s something off with his posture. His shoulders are more slumped than sharp, and his breathing is labored.

Since his cell phone is attached to his ear, I wait at his open office door, not wanting to intrude.

Two seconds later, our eyes lock and hold in the reflection of the window. He tells his caller to wait, his tone clipped beforehe spins to face me. His expression is effortlessly relieved, but his smile is fake. It is rigid and tense, nothing like the one he gave me when he slid my panties to the side mere seconds before sucking on my clit.

When a squawk sounds from his phone, I point to the exit. “I’ll w-wait out there.”

“No,” he shouts, startling me. After lowering his tone and brows, he says, “This isn’t anything important.”

With his eyes on me, he walks to the servants’ entrance door, yanks down the spindle pinning it to the frame, and then pulls it open.

With one exit unblocked, he closes the one I’m standing next to. The waft of air its closure causes fluffs up my hair. It smells fresh and clean, like I replaced the shampoo he stole.

I haven’t, and the remembrance is thrilling.

He is still using my shampoo.

“Yes, Mother, I heard what you said.” Ark gives me a sympathetic look at the end of his sentence before he twists back around to face the window.

Since his actions expose his hostility isn’t directed at me, instead of fretting, I move into the servants’ corridor to collect a cleaning cart and get to work.

Ark’s office either had a dust storm roll through it over the weekend, or he’s never allowed anyone in the business half of his home to clean the mess. The shelves were coated in dust, the bathroom was poorly stocked and cleaned, and his desk is messy.

Isbecause I’ve not yet had a chance to clean it.

Ark’s sixth phone call since I started has only recently finished, and although I love that he feels comfortable enough around me to discuss private matters in my presence, I didn’t want to disturb him.

I’ve kept myself as busy as possible, so there is only his desk left to clean before I can move on to other areas of his apartment.

A bottle of surface spray freezes midair when Ark snaps out, “Don’t you dare.”

I swallow the brick the sternness of his words lodged in my throat, before twisting to face him. His shoulders are still tight, as pinched as his brows, but there are sparks of the man who ate me on the desk hidden behind the stony mask he’s wearing.

I try to keep my voice professional. It is virtually impossible with how hot Ark’s stare is making me.

“The s-spray won’t get anywhere near your paperwork.”

“I don’t give a fuck about the paperwork.” His head tilts, aligning our eyes. “Something far more valuable than paperwork is on that desk.” His eyes bounce between my heated cheeks and dilated gaze for several seconds before he asks, “And it reminds me that I haven’t asked how you are. Did I…?” His brutal swallow maims my throat. “Are you hurt?”

Hurt?

He answers my silent question by lowering his eyes to the little frilled apron part of my uniform.

Oh.

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