Cruel Paradise (Oryolov Bratva Book 1)

I’m at my desk at eight o’clock on the dot.

The point is to be here before him, so that I can prove to Ruslan—and to myself—that I can handle this arrangement. While we’re at Bane, he’s my boss. When we’re out of the office, he’s my—

Oh God, he’s here.

“Be cool, Emma,” I snap at myself under my breath.

He’s wearing a black Burberry coat over his tailored suit. His briefcase catches the light at his side. I lift my chin as he approaches. His eyes meet mine.

Three… two… one…

“Good morning, Mr. Oryolov.”

Stuck the landing. Nice job, girl.

He nods coolly and heads into his office. I let out a heavy breath and sink back against my chair. I’m actually pretty proud of how I’m doing. No one would guess I’d spent half the night tossing and turning, worrying about what Sienna would say if she ever found out I’d sold my soul to the devil.

He’s a handsome devil, though…

Focus! You’re at the office now. There’s no point thinking about the way he jerked himself off while watching you come. Or the way he fucked you over the gorgeous black armchair by the window. Or the moment when he—

Ping!

RUSLAN: Have the day’s schedule on my desk in five.

I snatch up the schedule I already printed and step into his office. “Here you are, sir.”

He takes the sheet of paper without looking away from his laptop screen.

So far, so good. Nothing’s been different about our interaction. He’s my boss; I’m his assistant. And I’m definitely not thinking about the way his jaw clenched every time he thrust into me last night.

Once he’s done scanning through the schedule, he hands it back to me. “Push my eight o’clock meeting by an hour. And I’ll need you to pick up lunch from Spice Symphony today.”

I make a note. “Will do. Did you want something scheduled for one o’clock?”

“No. Raquel will be joining me for lunch.”

My pen freezes on the paper. Raquel is one of the rich, beautiful socialite-slash-influencer-slash models that Ruslan keeps in his rotation for parties, events, and charities. Every so often, one of his “dates” shows up at the office to have lunch with him.

I swallow hard and glance up from my notepad. He’s not looking at me. His attention is back on the laptop screen.

I could break the invisible boundaries of our agreement right now and ask him just what the hell he’s playing at. Are you having lunch with her alone? Why are you having lunch with her at all? Didn’t we agree to be monogamous?

But the moment I ask any one of those questions, he’s going to know I care. He’s going to assume I’m getting attached, emotional… clingy.

“Will that be all, sir?” I’m proud of the fact that my voice remains composed and casual.

“That will be all.”

I nod and step out, even though my heart is doing stupid, self-pitying pitter-patters in my chest.

This isn’t some torrid romance.

It’s business.

I need to remember that.

“Pizza?”

Both Reagan and Caroline are looking up at me with wide eyes, their excitement momentarily suspended until they get concrete confirmation that the cheesy goodness I’m holding is indeed for them.

I turn the boxes to the side to give them a glimpse of the logo. “Two pizzas!”

It’s like I just announced that Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny just teamed up to invent a new holiday. Both girls erupt into a chorus of unintelligible screams. I’m fighting a nasty migraine, but honestly, seeing them this happy is so worth it.

I’ve been feeling like a failure as an aunt and a guardian lately and, even though all I’m offering them is cheesy dough, it still feels like a victory.

“Auntie Em?” Josh walks over to me from the kitchen.

“Hey, Joshie!” I wrap an arm around his shoulder. “Did you hear the news? We’re having pizza for dinner.”

He frowns. I hate that he’s become so wary of good fortune.

“I felt bad about last week,” I explain in a quieter voice. “I promised you guys pizza and we ended up eating cornflakes.”

“That’s okay. I like cornflakes.”

“But you love pizza. Am I right?” That gets a small smile out of him. “Come on; let’s go unbox these babies.”

The girls spread their arms, pretending to be birds, and zoom into the kitchen behind us. Thankfully, the kitchen isn’t the disaster area I expect. It looks relatively clean, with the notable exception of the giant human stain sitting at the table.

Ben eyes the boxes when I set them down. “Two?”

I have my fabricated answer at the ready. “It was a buy-one, get-one-free deal.”

Josh grabs plates while the girls fill up glasses of water for everyone. Ben is the only one who doesn’t move, except to knock back the beer he’s palming.

“Thought you were strapped for cash.”

I don’t like the look in Ben’s eye. “I am. But the kids deserve to have a little treat once in a while.”

“Mm. So this has nothing to do with the new guy in your life?”

I ignore him altogether and just speak to the kids. “Okay, guys, gather around and sit down. I wanna tell you something.”

Ben crosses his arms. “This oughta be good.”

I have no idea why he’s been all up in my business recently, but I’m too happy to care today. “I’m gonna be putting in a lot of overtime in the next few months, so you might be spending a lot more time with Amelia. Is that okay?”

Ben glares at me. “If they said it wasn’t, would it make a difference?”

I. Will. Not. Get. Sucked. In.

“Guys?”

“Sure, Auntie Em,” Josh offers for all three of them.

Ben cocks an eyebrow. “Overtime, huh? Is that what you’re calling it?”

I spend the whole dinner feeling like I’m playing a game of dodgeball. He keeps lobbing questions at me and I keep avoiding them. I’m prepared to lie through my teeth for the rest of my life if I need to. Because there’s no way I’m telling Ben I’m making more money. Just like there’s no way I’m letting his bitterness screw me and the kids over again.

Over my dead body.

Better yet—over his.