Page 45 of Forced Pregnant Bride

“Tim—”

“Nobody fucking calls me Tim, Petrov.” I narrowed my eyes at him, desperate to put this meeting to an end.

We had been at this for hours, and he refused to be swayed by my countless rejections of his proposals for business expansion, including franchising the nightclubs in three other states in the country and five others on different continents.

He raised his hands in mock surrender, grinning. “I meant no harm.” Leaning forward, he regarded me with a more serious expression. “Look, all I’m saying is consider it.”

“I have. My answer is still no.”

“I have the plans, statistics, logistics…all of it. It’s not a terrible idea, Yezhov. I get that we’re good and doing fine, but expansion will have to be factored in at some point.”

“At some point. Right now, no.”

“Goddammit. You’re as stubborn as a mule. Maybe a short trip to the proposed locations would change your—”

“For the last time—and I swear to God, Petrov, I’m not going to fucking repeat myself—this is not a fucking partnership. You’ve swung your proposals from different angles, and my answer is still a big fucking N-O. No, we’re not fucking doing the franchise thing. If you want to expand so bad, why don’t you build your own shit?”

“Understood. Doesn’t mean I shouldn’t take steps to secure my future. What can an old man do?”

“You’re not playing that fucking card with me, and you’re not the only fucking investor.” I pointed at the two other men seated across the desk, who’d been watching and listening the entire time. “Arkadi and Evgeni have stayed fucking quiet.”

“Maybe that’s because they have their own opinions and not necessarily because my idea isn’t going to work. You never know.”

Petrov wasn’t going to stop pushing; he’d made that clear.

I had the responsibility to remind him of what would happen to the people who kept pushing the wrong buttons. I was going to fucking nip them in the bud.

“You sure as hell know that I can do without you, Petrov. If anyone is doing anyone a favor here, it’s me to you.”

“Is that a threat?”

I glared at him. “Do I make threats?”

After what seemed like a brief moment of acceptance that he’d lost this battle, he rose from the chair, tossed his briefcaseto the looming bodyguard by his side, and grabbed his cane, adjusting it to support his weight.

“Fine. I’ll leave with my money. But in the future, don’t say I didn’t warn you, Timur.”

“Oh, trust me when I say I won’t.”

The meeting was dismissed.

The others quietly nodded before leaving in a hurry, and Petrov eyed them before taking his leave.

Staring at his retreating form, I leaned back against the chair, burying my face in my hands. Like a roll of thunderstorms, a strong headache was coming in, and I could only think of one cure to rid me of the urge to put a bullet in something.

My little bee.

Springing forward, I reached for my phone, checking the time on the screen. Dusk had set in. She should have been home already from her appointment at the hospital. I hated that I couldn’t be there with her today.

Heck, maybe I missed her?

She was my wife, wasn’t she?

I was allowed to want her—needher,even—whenever the fuck I pleased. And I needed her now.

My fingers hovered over her new number, but before I pressed the dial button, Arlo barged into the office with Ivan trailing behind him.

I dropped the phone, murmuring, “Can somebody give me a fucking break?”

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