Page 81 of Emerald Malice

He points towards the main house with an exhausted sigh. “In his office.”

I set off, guns blazing, for the main house. Man, does it feel good to direct my anger at the very person who’s been steadily raising my blood pressure these past few days.

It’s all been from a distance, though. Guerilla emotional warfare. He hasn’t visited me at all the past four nights. I haven’t seen so much as his shadow.

Despite that, I get several packages every day.

Like the black-knitted Prada dress he sent me on Friday.

And the pair of jewel-adorned Jimmy Choos the day before.

But a box of sex toys is the last straw. It stops now.

I have to check with Yelena where exactly Andrey’s office is. The house is like a labyrinth on the inside. Even still, by the time I find myself in front of the brass-studded gate to his inner sanctum, my anger hasn’t abated in the slightest.

My goal was to barge right in for maximum effect, but annoyingly, the door’s locked. So, I settle for thumping my fists against the surface.

“Andrey! I know you’re in there. Let me in.”

There are a few seconds of silence before I hear footsteps. The door swings open. I open my mouth, ready to let him have it.

Except, it’s not Andrey looking down at me with his usual broody calm. It’s Shura.

“Natalia. Is there something I can do for you?”

I spy Andrey in the background, shielded partly by Shura’s sharp shoulder. Cowards. All of them: Andrey, his men—hell, the whole damn male species. Cowards.

“I want to speak to Andrey.”

“He’s in a meeting at the moment.”

I pretend to accept that answer. “Oh! Oh, he’s in a meeting, is he? Well, then I guess I’ll have to just come back—” I scowl and push past Shura, forcing myself into the office.

Andrey doesn’t even bother rising to his feet. He just fixes me with a deep, probing glance, as he addresses the person he’s talking to on the phone. “I’ll have to call you back, Ivan… Yes, yes… See that it’s done.”

He hangs up with an exasperated sigh. “Natalia.” His tone is cold as ice. His eyes, even more so.

Somehow, it cuts differently in the daylight.

Or maybe it’s the absence of the post-sex high that usually softens all those rough edges of his.

“I want you to stop sending me gifts.”

Not one muscle moves on his face. “I haven’t sent you anything you can’t use.”

“I don’t want to ‘use’ a single damn bit of it,” I snarl. “I’m not some empty hole you can just hurl sex and cash into so it stays quiet. I’m not a midnight distraction. I’m not a fucking leech.”

I hear a soft click. When I glance back over my shoulder, I realize that Shura left. We’re alone. Fine. Better not to have witnesses for the ensuing homicide, anyway.

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Andrey rumbles. I wait for him to say something else—anything else, really—but he keeps looking at me with that coolly detached expression.

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say to me?”

“To be perfectly honest, Natalia, I’m willing to say whatever I need to if it means I can continue with my day.”

Heat rushes to my cheeks. I feel as though my head’s about to explode.

“You’re busy? Poor thing. It must be hard to be so darn important. Well, guess what? I’m not busy at all. I’ve got nothing to do except sit around and wait for gifts I don’t want and visits I want even less. I’m—I’m—I’m sofuckinglonely.”

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