Page 14 of Ruthless Mafia Daddy

“You’re welcome.” She smiled, shutting the door behind her.

Two hours had passed, and I rebooted my desktop for the hundredth time, and still no message. Was the plan for me to spend all day cooped up in here doing nothing? My phone buzzed, and I practically rushed to the device, releasing a sigh of relief when I saw it was a message from James, our cyber guy. Father had instructed him to find Mikhail’s daily schedule for me.

“His lunch starts at 2 pm and ends by 4 pm. Also, he uses the private elevator at the far left of the building. His plate number is ABC-435, Good luck.”

I glanced at my watch, and it was exactly 1:55 p.m. Duty calls. I pulled out the pocket mirror I always kept in my bag and fixed my look, adding an extra touch of gloss and mascara, and proceeded to the reception. It was a lot more crowded than it was when I came in. I held my head high and walked to the exit, only stopping to send a sickeningly sweet smile to the receptionist who glared at me. I had no idea where I was going. If I didn’t see him in the lobby, I might check out every restaurant on the street till I found the one he was in. Tasking but worth it.

“Arielle?” A cold baritone reached my ears before the owner stepped into my line of vision. I had to force back the residual wave of anger that coursed through me the moment I saw him, flashing him a polite smile in its place.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, surprise evident in his tone.

“Good afternoon to you too, Mikhail. I do this thing called work, and it requires me present from 9 a.m. to 4 p.m. Ever heard of that?”

He released a light chuckle, and it was the smoothest sound I’ve ever heard. “I walked into that one, didn’t I?”

“Totally,” I replied with a small smile, finally taking him in.

A charcoal black suit that framed his shoulders so well, emphasizing the cut of his deltoid and upper body. I blinked back the image of his shoulders hovering over me that fateful night and focused on the task at hand. How was it possible to be disgusted by a person and not their dick?

“Join me for lunch.” His tone was flat and direct, he wasn’t asking, he was telling me to join him for lunch.

I could slowly understand how he rose to a great height of power. He didn’t ask. He said what he wanted, took what he wanted, and didn’t leave room for opinions and disagreements.

“Why?” I blurted out, causing that annoying smirk to appear on his face again.

“Because it’s lunchtime, and we’re both going for lunch.” It was a logical reason, and I was about to agree with him before he added, “And because I asked you to.”

We were caught in a momentary stare-down with him still wearing his signature smirk. I wish I could smack it off his face, but I was a girl with a mission. “Lead the way,” I chirped cheerily.

With how fake and sweet I’ve been acting all morning, I won’t be surprised if I develop diabetes on the spot. A Lincoln town carpulled up in front of us, bearing the plate numbers James sent to me. Mikhail held the door open for me and climbed in after me.

“Will you tell me where you work?” Mikhail asked as the car joined Manhattan’s traffic.

“Why? You want to start sending me lunch,” I teased with a playful smile.

One of these days, when all of this is over, I’ll go and demand my Oscar awards. I deserve one for my remarkable acting skills.

“Making long-term commitments?” He teased. It was almost unnatural how fast he switched from ice cold to flirty.

Seems you’re not the only good actor, then, the voice in my head chimed.

“I don’t mix business with pleasure, and I think I’m loving the suspense of not knowing where I’d run into you,” I replied with a playful wink, and he let out that chuckle that had my stomach flipping. We arrived at a cozy restaurant about twenty minutes away from the office and settled into our seats.

I had expected Mikhail to take me somewhere high-end, luxurious, and shiny, but this was different. This was better and incredibly comfy. As if he read my mind, he said, “They have the best pot pie and chocolate milkshake in the whole of New York,” and laughter spilled from my lips.

“Seriously, milkshakes and pot pie?” I asked in disbelief. Whatever happened to steak and caviar? Those were the food for the rich.

“Don’t mock it till you’ve had it,” he said, waving the waiter over.

“I’ll have coffee, straight black, and the lady will have your chicken pot pie and chocolate milkshake with extra chocolate fudge.” He ordered without glancing at the menu.

“Do you always make orders for the women you go out with?”

“Only when they question my expertise. You can always get something else if you don’t like it, but I doubt that’ll be necessary,” he answered.

“I agree. I don’t give anything the chance to disappoint me twice.”

“Was that why you left my house at the crack of dawn?” he asked, the stupid smirk returning to his lips.

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