Cruel Paradise (Oryolov Bratva Book 1)

“I believe she’s what they call a ‘hot mess.’” Isay’s chuckle comes to a grinding halt when he sees the look on my face. “Uh, um… ahem, what I mean is, she has a lot going on, boss.”

“Your job is to tell me what she’s got going on. I don’t need a running fucking commentary from the peanut gallery.”

He nods awkwardly, his ears turning beet red while his gaunt face remains comically pale. “Right. Of course. Err, so, she’s got a pretty large rent to deal with every month. And it looks like she has student loans that she needs to pay off as well. Then, of course, the funeral expenses.

I frown. “Whose funeral?”

“Her sister’s.”

There’s a question on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it at the last second. I don’t need to know Emma’s life story. I don’t need to know about her past, her dreams, her fears, or her future goals.

I need to know just enough to make this little arrangement of ours a successful one. Beyond that, her traumas are her own.

Isay hands me the file and I scan through the numbers. “Fucking hell.”

I pay her well, but I certainly don’t pay her enough to be able to take care of all the shit she’s got going on right now. I’m actually impressed by her work ethic, considering how much stress she must be under. The only indication of that kind of pressure was the day she turned up late and I accused her of doing the walk of shame through my building.

“Okay.” I hand Isay back the ledger. “Take care of this for me.”

His eyes bug out. “Take care… Do you mean—All of it?”

“All of it.”

Isay looks down at the sheet of paper. “This is a lot of money to spend on one woman.”

I turn the full force of my glare on the man until his ears turn as red as the lipstick Emma wore to the other night’s dinner.

“I-I apologize, sir,” Isay stammers. “It’s just—”

“I don’t remember asking for your opinion, Isay. It’s my fucking money and I’ll spend it on whatever I want.”

Isay nods so hard that his glasses slip down his nose and clatter on the desk. “I’ll get it done, sir.”

“See that you do. And inform me immediately after.”

Isay backs out of the room with his head bowed in deference. The man lacks a spine, but he has a head for numbers. Which is why he’s lasted this long.

It’s Sunday, which means Bane Corp. is a sleepy labyrinth of abandoned hallways and empty offices. I could have just had him come to my personal estate or one of my penthouses in the city, but I like the structure of keeping things separate.

Ironic, really, considering I’ve spent most of this weekend imagining all the different ways I plan on fucking my secretary tomorrow night during our first scheduled “meeting.” In every single fantasy I’ve had of her the last two days, she’s wearing that dangerous red blouse, her dark hair floating down to her breasts in an obsidian waterfall.

It took every ounce of my self-control to resist her that night. Those blood-red lips of hers were just begging to be claimed. Tomorrow, I plan to tongue-fuck the color clean off them.

But I refused to let myself lose control until the time was right. If this arrangement is going to work, I need to set boundaries and I need to stick to them.

Paying off Emma’s debts is just a way of weeding out the mess so that she can focus on meeting my needs. It’s purely selfish.

And yet…

I keep thinking about her reaction when I tell her that she’s debt-free. I keep thinking about how relieved she’ll feel, how much lighter with that colossal weight off her shoulders.

And yeah, there’s a deep-seated, caveman-like sense of satisfaction that comes with knowing that I’m giving her that.

Her question about seeing other men pissed me off in the moment, but now? Good luck finding any other man who can do this. I’d almost like to see her try.

Of course, I’m not the sort of man who does anything for free. I expect her to make it worth my while with that sweet, delicious body of hers.

Tomorrow.

One more fucking night and then she’s all mine.