Page 106 of Scarlet Promise
“Alina.”
I sigh. “You left me no choice.”
“You have choices.”
“You mean the one dictated by you?” I ask, holding Albert. “Because that’s not a choice. It’s do what I say or do what I say. No. Choice.”
Something crashes in the background of wherever Demyan is, and voices rise in hurried Russian.
“Don’t be a child,” he spits out.
I sigh heavily. “I’m not. You left me no choice but to sell my shares when you refused to allow me access to my trust fund.”
Another shout flares in the background, and Demyan muffles the phone as he shouts angrily back.
“Look, Alina?—”
“No,” I cut him off. “You’re in the middle of something. So can this wait until we’re both home? This isn’t a conversation I want over the phone, especially with you distracted.”
“I can multitask.”
I force myself to breathe. “You don’t listen, Demyan. I want the conversation in person. Okay?”
“Fine,” he snaps. “I’ll be home in an hour.”
When he hangs up, I whisper to Albert, “Hang on to your hat. I think this is going to be a bumpy ride.”
Demyan isn’t homein an hour, but that’s nothing new. Things come up in the business, and even the more boring events have a way of twisting into time eaters.
But I don’t mind.
Talking with him isn’t on the top of my list, and the topic doesn’t hold much joy. The children and Erin are out, so it’s just me, the staff, and Albert.
Not to mention a busily cooking Magda, who did not take the gift of food well.
“There’s only going to be one winner,” I say to Albert. “You.”
He lifts an ear but remains curled next to me on the living room sofa as I balance my computer on my lap.
I’m researching the block of land to see the prices when the landlord had it for sale.
He’s asked for outrageous amounts only a few times, and they’re far below the amount I’m willing to spend.
Demyan walks in ten minutes later, frowning.
“You’re late,” I say.
“You don’t know how to check your phone, Angel.” He pours himself a drink from the bar and holds the bottle out to me. I shake my head. “I texted to let you know I’d be forty-five minutes late.”
I set my computer down on the coffee table and grab my phone from the other side of Albert.
There’s the text. When I look at the time, he is, of course, exactly to the minute of the revised time.
Demyan comes over, takes my laptop from the table, and sits opposite me on the other sofa. The toys sprawled out in one corner catch a dark look from him, but also one tinged with love.
But then he refocuses on my laptop screen.
He sighs heavily and puts the laptop back on the table, sipping his vodka. “You’re really not about to give up on this…plan, are you?”
