Page 40 of Endless Obsession

Less so than you think. I’m not Lev, to have my father’s ear and his trust. Even Lev would only need to put a foot wrong once or twice to lose those things. If I make a choice my father dislikes, I’ll pay for it. There’s little I can do in this situation, especially when I’m fairly sure that Dima has no intention of paying a rush fee for anything.

But I also don’t want this man thinking that I’m disposable, or powerless. That’s always the wrong card to play in these situations.

“There are no concessions to be made,” I tell him evenly. “And the price is the price. I’m here to discuss logistics, not negotiations.”

“They became negotiations when you said you wanted more product. It’s a thirty percent upcharge to rush product, Kariyev. If you want to try to negotiate that, you’re welcome to.” He smiles at me, and I feel my jaw tighten.

“How do you feel about negotiating with the wrong side of my blade?” I growl, leaning in and keeping my voice low.

The man chuckles. “You’re not going to kill me. I know how much of your product I provide. Your businesses couldn’t handle it. And you think word wouldn’t get out? That I don’t have ears and eyes that know where I am today? Not easy to get another distributor, if you murder one like me.”

I move fast, like a striking snake, out of my side of the booth and into his in a flash. I crowd in close to him, preventing him from drawing a weapon, and grab his arm, wrenching it around as I press him into the corner of the booth.

With my other hand, I slide my knife free, resting it against my leg. “Threats and money work wonders,” I murmur, my voice pitched very low. Low enough that no one else will hear. “And maybe I can’t kill you, but I can take a piece. A little blood. A pound of flesh to make up for your extortion.”

I already knew I couldn’t kill him. He’s right about that. There’s no world in which we can take out one of the main criminal distributors in Chicago, and not suffer a blow worse than paying his upcharges. But I also know that I can get away with threatening him. And everything that’s happened so far has only served to piss me off enough to follow through on that. My father’s manipulations, this man’s arrogance, the fact that time is ticking closer and closer to when I’m supposed to meet Charlotte, and this meeting is threatening to encroach on that.

“I’ll drop it to twenty-five percent upcharge,” he sneers, and my patience snaps.

With one swift movement, I angle the knife under the table, pressing the point into the crease of his thigh. “There will be no fees. The shipment will be finished by Sunday, ready to distribute and start selling in our clubs by next weekend. Or I’ll see to it that not only will you be walking funny for the foreseeable future, but you also won’t be availing yourself of any of the perks that come with visiting some of those clubs? Understood?” I tilt the knife, pressing it close to the edge of his dick, and the man squirms.

I can feel his resentment. “You’re going to pay for this,” he hisses between his teeth, and I smile coldly.

“No. I won’t. Because if anything changes over this little disagreement, I’ll start calculating just how many fingers you actually need to do your job.” I press the knife in a little more firmly, enough that I feel the denim of his jeans start to give way beneath the tip of it.

“Fuck you, shchenok,” he growls. “There will be a reckoning, Kariyev. I promise you that. One way or another.”

He’s not Russian, and his Russian is bad, but I still understand what he said. And it fucking pisses me off. “Right now, all I care about is that you do what I came here to make sure you handle.” I stay right where I am, his arm twisted back, the knife pressed into his groin. “Are we done negotiating?”

“Fine. Get that fucking knife away from my fucking cock, and I’ll make sure it’s done.” He glares at me like he wants to spit in my face, but he does nothing more.

“Finally. A little fucking respect.” I smirk, taking the knife back and moving away from him. “Your money will be paid on delivery. I’ll have a guy there with the cash for you.”

I’m sure as hell not going to be that guy. I have a date tonight, and this meeting is already running long.

By the time I get back to my place in the city—where I had the driver pick me up this morning, because I sure as fuck didn’t want my father hearing anything about my other house—I have barely enough time to get ready for my date with Charlotte. I left clothes at the penthouse, figuring if I somehow get lucky enough to bring her back home tonight, I’d want to make sure this place was exactly how I’d like it to be.

I have a regular housekeeper who comes by to make sure it’s clean—I’m rarely here enough to make a mess of it, but I still check to make sure that my instructions are followed. There’s good wine in the rack by the refrigerator, everything is neat and orderly, and the bed is freshly made. I light a candle in the living room and bedroom before I go to take a shower, wanting it to feel like it’s lived in. She’ll notice something like that, I think, if the space feels stale and cold, like it’s often unlived in.

When I finish getting ready, I feel like a different person than I was this afternoon. I chose a light grey suit for tonight, with a very pale blue shirt and no tie. With my hair styled neatly and freshly shaved, I look nothing like the guy who threatened a drug dealer in a dive bar just a few hours ago.

Glancing at my phone, I can see I have just enough time to grab the car I plan to take tonight from the garage, and head to her place. One more look in the mirror, and I grab my keys, heading out to the elevator.

This is the moment I’ve been waiting for. And I don’t want to screw up a single second of it.

13

CHARLOTTE

Ican’t shake the nerves as I start to get ready for my date.

Jaz helped me pick out the dress yesterday from Velvet Luxe, a silky dark blue dress with a diagonal hemline and an off-the-shoulder neckline. She comes back to my apartment with me after work, relaxing and sipping a glass of wine together until it’s time to get ready. Then she perches on the edge of my tub, waiting for me to come in to do my hair and makeup.

“Oh my god, you look stunning.” Her eyes widen as I walk in, still barefoot. I don’t want to be in the heels we picked out any longer than I have to—Jaz finally convinced me to buy a pair higher than two inches, telling me that wearing my usual kitten heels with this dress would constitute an actual crime.

“Thanks.” I bite my lip, glancing in the mirror. Much like the dress I picked out for my failed anniversary dinner—that I then wore to Masquerade—this one is sexier than what I would normally wear. I feel like half my chest is exposed, even though it’s not that low-cut. But my collarbones and shoulders are shown off in a way that seems sexier to me than even a very deep v would be, and the balconette bra I’m wearing under the dress has my cleavage pushed up to look firm and supple in the gently curving neckline of the dress. The silky blue material clings to my every curve, necessitating more of that seamless underwear, and I feel my cheeks heat a little at the memory of the masked man at the club slowly sliding them down my thighs.

“Ooh, you look like you’re thinking about something fun. Picturing Ivan later tonight without his shirt?” Jaz grins at me, taking another sip of her wine, and I shoot her a glare.

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