Page 45 of Deceitful Vows

There are no pledges that his wife will never have him the way I’ve had him or falsities that promise his marital status is hours from changing.

He hits me with the honesty he should have awarded me last night, even though I’m skeptical it would have changed the outcome.

I didn’t look for a ring last night because I didn’t want to find one.

My shameful act in the elevator mere minutes ago is proof of this.

With my wounds not deep enough to scar, I dig the blade in more profoundly, ensuring a lesson will be learned from my stupidity. “Ten thousand should do it.”

“What?” Mikhail blurts out his shock instead of keeping it deeply buried like his older brother does.

“That’s about the going rate, isn’t it? Five thousand per…indiscretion.” When his father’s brows furrow, I lose all my scruples. “Last night was technically two indiscretions, but I’m happy to offer a discount since the elevator romp on the way up was a little quick-winded.”

Mikhail’s expression is back to humored.

His father’s is a cross between frustrated and disgusted.

Andrik’s remains unchanged.

He’s still pissed as fuck.

So, naturally, I pour salt over his wounds. “I’d rather cash, but if that isn’t available, I can take a check.”

When Mikhail’s father’s eyes shoot to him, wide and with shock, he says, “I have around six or seven K in the safe. I could probably rustle up another three or four from last night’s takings at Brody’s.”

The room falls silent when Andrik asks, “Who should I make the check out to?”

He pulls a checkbook and pen out of the breast pocket of his suit jacket. The shock of his offer conjures so much silence the click of his pen as he prepares to jot down my details has my heart attempting to leap out of my chest.

But I’m as stubborn as I am stupid.

“Zoya Galdean.” Since I have no intention of entering the prostitution conglomerate, I spell out a last name not on any official documents. “G. A. L. D. E. A. N.”

The rip of the check from the checkbook matches the tear that shreds through my heart when he pulls it from its stub and hands it to me before offering to show me the way out.

“I know the way.”

“Still—”

I race for the door before another word can leave Andrik’s mouth.

Since he sees his son’s check as an affidavit of my promised silence, his father doesn’t block my exit. He steps to the side, smirking with an arrogance that must have been passed down for centuries.

It is too cultured to have been recently unearthed.

Untrusting of elevators, I throw open the emergency exit door next to the service elevator before I begin a multiple-floor descent.

I make it thirty floors before my legs refuse to gallop another flight. They’re still shuddering in the aftermath of two orgasms, but I’m going to pretend anger is the cause of their aching state. It may be the only way they’ll keep moving.

A lady dressed as if she is about to attend the opera startles when I exit the emergency stairwell on her floor. I don’t blame her. I’m a sweaty, sticky mess that doubles the guilt weighing down my shoulders.

Once again, anger is my excuse.

“I forgot they don’t call these buildings skyscrapers for no reason,” I murmur when she peers at me in suspicion when I join her in waiting for the elevator. “My planned exercise regimen far exceeded my capabilities.”

She smiles. It exposes that she knows I’m a lying piece of shit, but she doesn’t call me out on it—thankfully. “Perhaps next time?”

“Perhaps,” I reply as the elevator dings, announcing its arrival.

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