Page 6 of Forced Marriage Vows

I hang up before he can say anything more. Once my phone is put away, I look at Jerome, who is seated in front of me. He’s drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, patiently waiting for me to give him orders.

Jerome’s not the type of man I would typically have working under me. He has shaggy blond hair, scrawny arms, and wears blue-rimmed glasses. He’s the complete opposite of a fighter. But when I’m in L.A., I don’t need to fight. This city’s my escape.

One I hate to admit is starting to run its course. I can’t stay away forever. A part of me will always crave more. Being CEO of a multi-million dollar tech company isn’t the height of my potential.

But it’ll have to do for now.

“Send in some men to get Anthony out of there in an hour. His little sister as well,” I inform him.

“You won’t be going back in, sir?” he questions.

The entire night has been hell. I only suffered through it for Anthony’s sake.

“Take me home,” I say in reply.

He offers me a nod through the rear view mirror and starts the car immediately. As we drive away, my thoughts once again drift to the blonde woman who I really have no business thinking about.

I don’t speak again until we’re parked in front of my penthouse apartment. I own a similar one in Chicago. “Jerome, find out why Anastasia went to New York yesterday and who she met up with.”

He seems a little surprised. “Anastasia Vasiliev, sir?” he asks.

“Yes. Get me the information by tomorrow morning.”

“Okay.”

I step out of my car, wondering what she thought about our interaction earlier. At least now I can be sure I’m on her mind. The same way she’s on mine.

CHAPTER 3

Anastasia

The sound of my phone buzzing wakes me up the next morning. By the time I grab it to pick it to pick up the call, my voicemail already kicked in. I blink as I sit up, rubbing my eyes to see the screen better. It’s already 11 a.m. I can’t remember the last time I slept in this late, but considering the past few days, I definitely needed the rest.

I arch an eyebrow when I realize who the call came from. It’s the editor that works for the Smithsonian, one of the biggest magazines in the country. Considering he called me last night to back out of a deal that I was sure I had in the bag, I’m in no hurry to call him back.

Placing my phone back down on the bedside table, I get out of bed, heading for the bathroom door. Once I freshen up, I step back outside, deciding to return the call just to see what he has to say.

“Good morning, Miss Vasiliev.”

“Hi,” I greet. “I wasn’t aware we had anything further to discuss.”

“That’s why I’m calling, ma’am. I’d like to apologize for the way the situation was handled yesterday. You were right, it wasunprofessional of us to try to renege on a deal that’s nearly completed. Which is why I’m calling.

It takes me a minute to fully understand what he’s saying. His tone is a complete 180 degrees from how he was speaking to me last night, when he was informing me that my pictures weren’t picked for next month’s issue of the magazine. Which was frankly insulting because I put everything into those pictures. I never wanted to sell them in the first place. They’re special to me. It hurt that they could simply dismiss them like that.

“Miss Vasiliev?” he questions when I don’t say anything in reply. “If you’d like, we’d also like to officially hire you here at the Smithsonian. Any photographs taken by you would become a monthly feature in the magazine. A contract can be drawn up to that effect as soon as possible.”

That sounds way too good to be true.

“I’m not interested,” I say before I can stop myself.

“Excuse me?” the man on the other end asks, clearly unwilling to believe I would turn down an offer like that.

“I’m not interested in working for the Smithsonian. And I’m also not selling my pictures to you anymore. You people are too wishy-washy for my taste. If I’m not appreciated, I can take my talents elsewhere.”

“You’re turning us down?”

I hear a note of panic in his voice at that, which is a little confusing.

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