Page 2 of The Bratva's Innocent Sold Bride
“The reason I wanted to have lunch with you is that I just found a job. It’s entry level but—”
“CJ, that’s great,” he said, sincerely relieved I didn’t have to move to London.
Even though we didn’t see each other too much other than the occasional dinner at home, he would miss me if I moved away, and that was probably why he looked so stressed when I first arrived. He already looked more relaxed and waved over the server to order champagne to toast my accomplishment. Of course, the little lunch bistro didn’t have any, so he started questioning the wine selection.
“It’s at Taurus Ingenuity,” I blurted as he was about to choose the Grenache.
“Never mind,” he abruptly told the server. Then he faced me in silence. Disapproving silence.
“No one knows we’re related. I used Mom’s last name. It’s literally the lowest job in the company. If anyone finds out, they’d hardly accuse you of giving me a leg up.”
He pressed his lips together to the point they disappeared. Our food arrived, but I was too nervous to take a bite of the chicken breast resting on baby greens. He cut into his rare steak, and red spilled across the porcelain plate. As the silence wore on, it felt like my chances of keeping this job were draining away like the juices of the meat.
Ten years seemed to pass as he chewed and stared at me with disappointment in his shrewd hazel eyes, the same color as mine, although I could make mine look green with the right clothing. Wrinkles I hadn’t noticed the last time we were this close together, furrowed between his brow and at the corners of his downturned mouth.
“How is taking the lowest-level job in my company better than running your own publishing firm in a matter of a year or so?” he asked. He sincerely looked confused, like he didn’t know me at all. It kind of hurt my feelings.
“Because I’m not, and never have been, interested in publishing. Or bookbinding, or printing, or writers, or whatever else Mom might do over there in London.”
He winced, probably thinking about his ex-wife doing writers. Their divorce was a messy one, involving a military hero whose memoir she was publishing at the time. The military hero ended up divorced as well, but it didn’t affect the sales of the book. It was what got my dad sole custody, though, since he managed to keep a pristine reputation throughout the ordeal. That reputation was extremely important to him.
I tried to think of a way to convey to him that I was on his side. I wouldn’t have even applied at his company if I had the slightest nibble somewhere else, but he was right about the job market. I hated the thought someone might think I didn’t get the job on my own merit, as much as he hated nepotism. Before I could say anything else in favor of keeping the position, his phone buzzed violently, making him jump.
My dad wasn’t one to be jumpy, and the way he grabbed the phone and flipped it over to check it made me think his initial stress didn’t have anything to do with me at all. He went pale as he read the message and got up, waving for the server.
“I’m sorry, CJ, looks like there’s an emergency after all. I’ve got to run.”
As he took care of the bill, I tried to ask him what was wrong, but as usual, he refused to say a word about it, only telling me not to worry. It could have been a million things, from a chip manufacturing snafu to a possible strike at one of his plants. Something was definitely wrong, though, and I was left behind to eat dessert on my own as he all but flew out of the restaurant.
I wasn’t concerned that it had anything to do with his health, because I had a pact with Rinda that she wouldn’t let him keep something like that from me. And Dad didn’t care about his health anyway, not to the point he’d be racing away because of it. It was something to do with the company, because that was his whole life. The charities did a lot of good, but as far as he was concerned, they were an annoying gala once or twice a year and a not-so-annoying tax break.
I longed to be part of the company now, not just because I was the daughter of the founder, but an employee too. I couldn’t wait to get to the next level and the next. Maybe one day I’d besolving the problems that had turned my dad’s hair pure white and deepened the wrinkles in his face.
As I ate the warm chocolate chip cookie with homemade vanilla bean ice cream, I called my mom. She was mildly disappointed I wasn’t coming to London, but didn’t understand why I was so hell bent on getting into her line of work after turning my nose up at it my whole life.
“I’m not turning my nose up,” I said, telling her I was honestly grateful she was willing to risk everything by letting me be in charge of something I knew nothing about.
She did her mom duty by telling me she was positive I would excel in anything I put my mind to, then promptly told me she had another call she had to take. I hadn’t talked to her in over a week, but there was nothing I could do; she’d already ended the call.
Both my parents were driven workaholics, something I couldn’t wait to be myself now that I was getting the chance. I admired them, respected them, and really was grateful for everything they did for me. I just wish I could keep either of their undivided attention, that something else wasn’t always more important.
Scooping up the last gooey bite of cookie and ice cream, the fleeting wish evaporated as I realized my dad never actually said he was firing me. He didn’t exactly get the chance to, but that meant I had time to come up with more arguments in my favor. He never said no to me when something was this significant. All I had to do was make him see that this was the most important thing to me right now.
I texted him, saying I couldn’t wait to see him at dinner, and hoped everything was all right. I ended the message witha string of emojis that always made him laugh when I was a teenager.
He texted me back a thumbs up, and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Things couldn’t be so bad if he had found the time to answer me so soon. I’d get my chance to dazzle him at dinner so that there was no way he could snatch my dream out from under me.
Chapter 2 - Mat
The sun was barely up, and it was already a shitty day. There were cuts on my knuckles, probably from that guy whose teeth I knocked out before he decided it wasn’t worth it and ran away. I really hated that. Bloody knuckles and the fact that he ran away, because he might have been useful if he had any information to give up. He most likely was just hired help, which also pissed me off.
If my enemies faced me, I wouldn’t mind having the scuffed-up hands of a common street fighter, but the man in charge of the last few raids on my restaurant was staying hidden, so I was left fighting his underlings.
This time it was an attack on the delivery trucks that arrived before dawn and brought fresh fish and choice vegetables. Bad enough to have that disrupted, but somehow these assholes got word that there was more on those trucks than just produce and the catch of the day.
My restaurant is legit. Nothing on that truck that wasn’t edible would have ever gone inside; no one who worked there would have known a thing about it. But someone found out, which, on top of everything else, meant I had a leak somewhere.
Now I was out of a very valuable and very hot shipment of weapons, my restaurant employees were shaken up, and damn it, I just realized I had blood on my new white shirt, too. I could hear my stylish cousin Mila asking me why I wore a suit to a fist fight, and the answer would have been very grouchybecause I wasn’t planning on getting into a fist fight.
