Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 100716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
2
ARKADIY
The department service head for this building watches the brunette sprint down a hidden internal corridor with as much bewilderment as me. She appears confused, like she too can’t understand my ability to look a gift horse in the mouth and turn it down.
For the first time in a long time, my cock roared to life, inspired by the visual in front of it. It was turned on enough to plump out the bathmat I used to shelter myself when I detected a presence in the bathroom with me mere minutes after I had entered it.
It should have been disgusted that I’d allowed someone to sneak up on me unawares. I don’t care about the ripeness of her bosom or the tenderness of the usually untouched flesh between her legs. Catching me during a moment of vulnerability usually ends one way—with fierce hostility.
My first thought wasn’t sabotage when I spotted the brunette on her knees. Something far more perverse than a wish for vengeance coursed through my veins, which is comical considering the stipulations such thoughts could attract.
Men my age aren’t gifted young, fresh women without numerous provisos. My visit to Myasnikov proclaims this without prejudice.
I am here for the wife that I’ve failed to secure myself.
According to my campaign manager, thirty-nine is too old to be touted as the bachelor of Moscow, so he put steps in place to ensure a “wife-to-be” is by my side during my fortieth birthday celebration, which is a little over three weeks away.
I thought the idea was preposterous until a recent fabricated article in a gossip magazine surged my approval rating by two percent. It wouldn’t have been heard of only months ago, but the shine is slowly fading on the Dokovics realm since the patriarch died almost six months ago.
A new cabinet is forming, and I plan to helm it.
I shift my eyes from the now empty corridor when a voice, still timid even without a stutter, trickles into my ears. “Mr. Orlov…” Val waits for our eyes to connect before she asks, “Is there anything I can get you?” Her eyes fall to the bathmat maintaining my modesty, slower than the brunette’s did. She takes her time drinking in assets that are the result of early-morning workouts and a vigorous business schedule. “A towel, perhaps?”
She sounds hopeful for a denial, and it agitates my last nerve. I don’t liaise with staff, and although I am confident my time in Myasnikov will be short, once on my employment ledger, you’re never removed from it.
“Good evening, Ms.…”
“Val,” she stumbles out, her hand thrusting forward. “Val Maskerta.”
I glance at her hand before returning my eyes to her face. Germs aren’t a phobia of mine, more touch as a whole, but since mysophobia attracts less fanfare than haphephobia, I farewell Val with a nod before closing the door with her on the other side.
I’m frozen for several seconds, trying to center myself. The brunette’s perfume tickles my nose, yet I flare my nostrils instead of opening the door and demanding Val to have my room meticulously cleaned for the umpteenth time this week.
My body trembles as I recall how the brunette’s eyes floated up my body and the stutter of her words when she responded to my degrading remarks, how she feared me as much as she revered me. I think about how my first thought was to patch up her wounds instead of doubling them and how Rafael couldn’t have chosen more wisely.
Then I consider how I scared her away instead of accepting that not every woman I cross paths with must sign an NDA before associating with me.
My secrets are mine to hide. It just seems impossible when a pair of guarded eyes strips you of all your psychoses in under a nanosecond.
I’m saved from further deliberation on my peculiar behavior this evening when a knock sounds through my apartment.
When I enter the main living area, Rafael’s brutish tone rumbles through the entrance door. “Ark, are you decent?”
He snickers like he expects otherwise before he lowers the door handle. He can’t enter. Unlike the servant entrance door, I locked the main entrance door to ensure no incidents like the one that just occurred could happen.
I now have another doorway to triple-check before bathing.
Rafael won’t be granted permission to enter until I pull on a pair of slacks and dry my hair with a towel I forgot to take to the bathroom. I take my time getting dressed, handing back some of the annoyance he shunted my way only minutes ago.
Raf is a late-thirties political bigwig who has seen too much of the underside of humanity to kiss my ass like the other employees helming my campaign for the presidency do. He’s been with me since day one, and despite being a thorn in my backside, he will remain at my side until I take my final breath.