Chapter 43 Episode 43

I smirk at her intensely annoyed face. I know I made the right decision by demanding she pay me “interest.” I'm not ready to throw this woman back into her boring world. I’m not sure she’s ready to go back, either. I leave the chair I’m sitting on and join her on the sofa. She tenses when I sit down next to her. Only a few inches separate us. Her heat mingles with mine. Her phone lights up on the coffee table, but she completely ignores it. “Want to get that?” I ask. She shakes her head. “No.” “The only relationship I’m in at the moment is a non-consensual one with a man I can’t seem to escape from.” I smile. “‘Non-consensual’ is harsh.” “You had the option of leaving and never seeing me again,” I remind her. “Then you decided to steal my phone, forcing me to follow you. I gave you the option of returning it and ending things there. Then you chose to keep it. In my view, that doesn’t sound like the actions of a woman who’s trying to avoid me.” She glares at me, but there’s no denying the truth of what I’m saying. “You’re good,” she says bitterly. “But then again, you’re a professional.” I chuckle under my breath. “Are you going to keep the phone or not, Jessa?” She sighs deeply and reaches into her jean pocket. “Here,” she says in defeat. The moment the phone is placed in my hand, I feel a small trickle of relief. It’s vastly outweighed by the regret that this part of our little dance has come to an end. “Are we done now?” she asks. I raise my eyebrows. “That’s up to you. You haven’t answered my offer.” She frowns. “You can’t be serious about the whole private chef thing.” “I am always serious,” I tell her. “More to the point, it wasn’t actually a question.” She straightens up and stares at me. “You’ve already cost me my job. Isn’t that punishment enough?” “Not by a long shot, kotyonok.” She stands up and starts pacing right in front of me. “So you really want me to come to your home and cook for you, day in and day out?” “Why are you repeating things that I’ve already made clear?” “For how long?” she snaps. I’ve given that some thought since I last saw her. “Three months.” Her mouth falls open. “Three months?” I sigh. “Are you intending to make this a habit? Repeating everything I say?” “Three f*****g months? That’s a lifetime!” I roll my eyes. “Don’t be a drama queen.” Her eyes flash dangerously. “You… you’re such a… a…” “Asshole!” she yells. “Three entire months of my life and—” “You’ll get paid far more than you could possibly make anywhere else. You’ll live in the finest mansion in the city. And at the end of it, you’ll get a recommendation letter from me that will help you get hired in any restaurant in town,” I tell her. She falls silent at that. “Wait… seriously?” “Why would you do that?” “Because I believe in incentivizing my employees.” She bristles at my word choice. “I am not your employee.” “Yes, you are. Or do I need to explain everything to you again?” She crosses her arms and glares at me over the coffee table. “Interest is not paid off this way.” “Then I’m afraid I’m going to get much less accommodating than I have been.” “Meaning you will remain unemployable in this city. And any city you attempt to flee to. I’ll put a lock and chain on the door of every kitchen in the country.” She shakes her head, trying to find an argument that’ll get her out of the corner I’ve backed her into. She clearly comes up blank because she just looks angrier and angrier. “Three months,” I say again with a grim sense of finality. “I brought the contract with me.” “I didn’t think you were the kind of guy who gave a s**t what some piddly little contract says.” “I’m not. It’s for you, of course. To keep you in line. I’ll do whatever I want regardless.” She scowls. “Gonna ditch me as soon as you get bored?” I let that sink in for a moment, waiting—no, f**k, hoping—that it will get a rise out of her. Her cheeks are flushed, her breath coming quick. “I’m not the type of woman you just get bored of and cast aside,” she says, pride flaring in her eyes. “Then why did your fiancé start f*****g your best friend?” The air between us stills. It feels like we’re in a vacuum. Silence churns. For a moment, I think she might do something really bold. Slap me, maybe. But the sparkle at the corner of her eye catches my attention. It’s not fury I see. I can feel the contract folded up in the pocket of the jacket I’m wearing. Ripping it up suddenly seems like a good idea. I didn’t think the sight of Jessa crying would matter. But f**k me, it does. It matters more than I ever thought possible. The tears running down my cheeks sting. The man in front of me doesn’t give a s**t, though. Why the hell does he have to look so good while he hurts me? His dark hair is short and thick. His gray eyes are eerily calm as he watches me with a removed expression. “Did I hurt you, Jessa?” he rumbles. His voice is deep, but this is the first time I’ve heard him sound gentle. He’s speaking softly, like I’m fragile. And it should make me feel better, because after everything I’ve been through, who could blame me for being close to my breaking point? But it just makes me feel pathetic. “You don’t have the power to hurt me,” I snap. But my own tears have already betrayed that lie. “I expected a biting retort,” he admits. “I didn’t expect you to take it to heart.” “Why would you say something just to get a rise out of me?” He shrugs. “Maybe I like the drama as much as you do.” I almost smile, but I manage to stifle it. “Believe it or not, I’m trying to avoid drama. I don’t want any part of this.” “And yet here we are.” “I’ll sign your damned contract,” I tell him. “And after it’s done, do you promise me you’ll leave me alone?” His answer doesn’t come immediately, but it is confident when it does. “Yes.” “And I won’t see you ever again?” I nod. “And I’ll be employable in the city?” “Any restaurant owner in the city will throw themselves at your feet and beg for you to work there.” I sigh. “Let me see the contract.” He pulls it out of his jacket pocket, unfolds it, and hands it over. I rake my eyes over the words, but with Anton watching me and my heart thrumming in my chest, I barely process what they’re saying. Still, I know better than to ask for more time to look it over. It doesn’t really matter anyway. This whole contract might as well be a Post-It note in Anton’s handwriting that says, I MAKE THE RULES. So I grab a pen from the kitchen counter and scribble my name at the bottom. “I have one request, though.” “I’m not willing to be your prisoner. I will come and work for you for the next three months, but I want to stay in my apartment. I’ll commute from here to your place every day.” “You’re looking at a long commute,” he says. I hand the contract back to him. “Are you really a man of your word, Anton?” “That’s not that reassuring, believe it or not. But I suppose I can’t expect much from you.” He smiles, completely unfazed by my shade. “That might change soon enough.” “I want my life back. You may have been right before—maybe I do crave drama to a certain extent. Maybe I do chase excitement. But thanks to you, I want to do everything in my power to change that now.” “Have I proved to be too exciting for you?” “You’ve reminded me that I’m not invincible. There are situations I won’t be able to survive.” He looks intrigued. “Say more.” “Not today,” I say, turning towards the door. “I’ll see you first thing Monday morning, boss.” He nods. “If you need some help in the kitchen—” “I won’t,” I say quickly. “I prefer to work alone.” “The last few years must have been tough for you then.” “I’m not picky when it comes to paying my rent,” I shrug. “The catering company paid well, and having a roof over my head was more important than my personal preferences. Not that you would understand that struggle.” “I understand struggle far more than you could imagine, kotyonok,” he murmurs. That pet name does what it always does to me: sends a ripple down my spine of alternating heat and cold. It’s possessive and tender at the same time. Like an optical illusion that won’t quite fall in line. “Maybe, but I no longer have any desire to understand you.” He raises his eyebrows and stares at me for a moment longer, as if he’s trying to memorize my face. Then he leans forward and whispers in my ear, “Very convincing, Jessa. But it still needs some work. You can practice resisting me for the next three months.” He leaves, closing the door behind him.