Page 137 of Filthy Promises

My stomach drops at the sound of his voice. I almost prefer the morning sickness to this feeling of my internal organs flipping inside out and upside down.

Swallowing down against the hideous tide of nausea, I grab my notebook and pen, armor against the storm, and walk into his office.

Vince stands by the window, hands clasped behind his back. He doesn’t turn when I enter.

“Close the door.”

I do as he says, then stand there, pen poised over paper, ready to take notes like the good little assistant I am.

Like we’ve never touched each other. Never tasted each other. Never whispered filthy promises in the dark.

“The Hong Kong merger papers need to be finalized by Monday.” He still doesn’t look at me. “Work with Legal to expedite the process.”

“Yes, sir.”

The formality makes his shoulders stiffen. “And clear my schedule for Friday evening. I’ll be having dinner with the Kuznetsov family.”

To plan the engagement announcement, I realize. My chest tightens painfully.

“Anything else?” I ask, proud of how steady my voice sounds when I’m dying inside.

He finally turns. His eyes are cold, assessing. “You still haven’t told me what’s wrong.”

The audacity nearly makes me laugh. “Nothing’s wrong, Mr. Akopov. Just busy with work.”

“Bullshit.” He moves toward me, and I take an involuntary step back. “You’ve been avoiding me for weeks. Why?”

Because I’m pregnant with your child. Because I’m in love with you. Because you’re marrying someone else. Take your pick, Vinny boy.

“I’ve been focused on my mother’s treatment,” I say instead.

He studies my face, searching for the lie. “That’s not all.”

“It’s all that matters right now.”

“Rowan.” His voice softens, and it’s almost worse than his anger. “Talk to me.”

“About what?” I snap, my control slipping. “About work? About the weather? About your engagement?”

His eyes narrow. “What engagement?”

“Don’t.” I shake my head. “Just don’t. I know, okay? Everyone knows. It’s all over the office.”

He curses under his breath. “It’s not what you think.”

“It doesn’t matter what I think.” I grip my notebook tighter. “You don’t owe me explanations.”

“I do if you’re upset about it.”

“I’m not upset.” That’s a lie, and it tastes like one on my tongue, but I grit my teeth and stay the course. “I’m just your assistant, remember? Your perfectly professional assistant who schedules your meetings and organizes your files and occasionally lets you fuck her when it’s convenient.”

His jaw tightens. “I thought we were past this,” he says quietly.

“Past what?” I laugh, the sound sharp and broken. “We were never going to work, Vince. You’re getting engaged. You’re marrying into your world. The world where I don’t belong.”

“You don’t understand?—”

“I understand perfectly.” I cut him off. “And it’s fine. Really. I knew what this was from the beginning.”

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