Page 3 of The Bratva's Innocent Pregnant Bride
“Yeah, don’t be a Scrooge,” Masha piped up.
I dodged CJ and gave Masha a grim look. She should know better. Love had made her as complacent as the others. “I don’t care if it’s Christmas, or if you think I’m a Scrooge. I’m going back to LA to finish what should have already been done by now.”
Nope, no family style resort for me. Not when our livelihood and even our lives were at stake. Who the hell cared what time of the year it was? Not the Collective, that was for sure.
“Dan,” Mat called as I stalked down the hall toward the front door. He was pulling the big brother, authoritative voice, but I ignored it.
“The Collective is too big to put on hold,” I called back over my shoulder. “I’ll try to remember to video chat you on Christmas day.”
Chapter 2 - Paisley
A glance at my phone told me I was returning ten minutes early from my lunch break, so I sighed with relief that the long line at the café wasn’t going to get me in trouble. But no, the sigh was wasted, there was no relief to be had. My tyrant manager was tapping her pristine designer shoe at me as soon as I rounded the corner to the cubicle pen.
I wanted to hold my phone up and show her the time, but only paused and waited for her to excoriate me. I only hoped it wasn’t loud enough for the other junior accountants to hear. I wasn’t the only one who regularly got chewed out, and it was almost as uncomfortable to hear someone else catch hell than it was to be on the receiving end.
I already knew that Erica Briggs-Martin considered being on time the same as being late, but I was early. This had to be some kind of employee rights violation, not that I’d ever report the big corporate accounting firm. I was lucky to work for a place like Axon Financial straight out of college and I was already used to turning a blind eye to the stuff they got up to that was probably reportable to some federal agency or another. Getting shorted on the hour lunch break we peons were supposed to get was the least of it.
First she made a point of looking at the rows of cubicles, most of them already filled, and God help the ones who came in later than me. “When can I expect your monthly report?” she asked, like it was a week past due.
Her ice blond hair almost blended with her pale skin and the bold red lipstick she always wore accentuated her sour expression. I had just wolfed down a sandwich I had to wait in line for almost a half an hour to get, so I wasn’t in the best ofmoods—well, that wasn’t even worth mentioning because I was never in a great mood at work. It was on the tip of my tongue to snap that she’d get it when it was due, which was at the end of the day, and not a moment before.
“I’ll have it to you in an hour,” I said, slinking back to my cubicle.
“You got off easy,” my coworker, Leslie, said, rolling her chair back to peek around the gray fabric wall of the space I spent the better part of my life in.
“Why is she such a hardass?” I asked, though I’d gone over it before in my head.
I’d already gotten so much shit since I got my foot on the first rung of the corporate ladder a little more than a year ago, that I couldn’t imagine what Erica had put up with to make it to upper management. Just because she’d had all the empathy kicked out of her didn’t mean I was going to end up that way, so I always managed to keep my cool. That and I didn’t want to end up looking for a new job when things were so bleak in the market.
Leslie gave me a commiserative look before ducking back into her cube. I wasn’t quick enough and Erica’s assistant Craig strutted up, his eyes glued my chest. I kept my hand from reaching to make sure a button hadn’t popped open on my blouse, because even if it had, he didn’t have to be such a greaseball. He just liked being that way and no one dared challenge him since he’d never get in trouble.
“I’ll expect everyone’s monthly reports on my desk by the end of the day,” he called. “I appreciate everyone who handed them in already.”
I turned away from his stare, pulling up the report that was almost finished, wishing I’d had enough time to get a cup ofthe good coffee downstairs at the stand in front of the building. There was no way I’d get up and make myself a cup in the employee break room, not when everyone else had their heads down, at least pretending to work hard. No, to hell with it. I was getting some coffee.
On the way back from the kitchen, I almost collided with one of the most annoying guys on the advertising team, who shared the floor with the junior accountants. He rolled in, a half an hour late, not that time meant anything to the sales people. He cracked a joke with Erica, who actually laughed, then did that thing with me where you do a little dance trying to get out of each other’s way in the hall. He kept it up way too long, actually reaching for my hips to move me to the side.
“Looking good, Parsley, feeling even better.”
Instead of pouring my scalding coffee on him, I forced a laugh as I jumped out of his smarmy grasp. The stupid play on my name wasn’t anything I hadn’t been hearing since kindergarten, but the constant grabbiness was wearing thin. He was a favorite of Erica though, so any complaints would fall on deaf ears.
Back in my cube, I tried hard not to hate my job. It wasn’t the actual work, which was fine and even interesting a lot of the time, but the people were the worst. If they weren’t yelling at me they were undressing with their eyes or actually getting handsy. Not to mention the dodgy practices I suspected Axon Financial from partaking in, but that wasn’t any of my business and I’d never been personally asked to do anything outside the law.
It was my dream—okay, more like my plan to start my own accounting practice after I had a solid three years of experience to draw on. The two years that stretched ahead of me seemed endless and bleak. Moreso when Mr. Caraggio rushedup to me, sweat standing out on his brow, pale as flour and breathing like he might be having a heart attack.
“”I’ll be right there,” he breathed anxiously into his phone before turning to me. “I need you to finish the budget filing for the Stonewall Henderson account,” he said, looking over his shoulder as he wiped his brow.
“But I have to do my own monthly report,” I said.
The report was almost finished but I didn’t like Mr. Caraggio. He was as smarmy as Erica’s assistant, as grabby as the salesmen, and he was always getting the lower level accountants to finish his work for him so he could go play golf with the big bosses. Did any of us ever get credit? Of course not. However, he looked more like he was headed to the hospital than the putting green.
“This takes precedence,” he said, nervously ending his call. “It’s on my computer, I’ve left it on for you. Shut everything down when you’re done.”
With shaking hands, he wiped his sweaty face again and took off, jamming the elevator button repeatedly and finally giving up and taking the emergency stairs.
“What’s he in such a hurry for?” Leslie asked, wheeling over to my side again.
Considering we were on the thirteenth floor, he wasn’t getting down any faster than waiting for the elevator, so I shrugged. “I guess I’m working late again tonight.”
