Page 4 of The Bratva's Innocent Sold Bride
At home later that day, Jackson took my bags, and I knew that everything would be unpacked and laid out neatly on my bed. They were just simple pants and blouses, but they’d be treated like the finest evening wear.
It would be months before I saved up enough to move out on my own and really start a life of independence, unless I wanted to sell some jewelry, but that would be cheating. I wanted to be like my father, building everything from the ground up, with no outside help, not even a loan, until his first business had been running for over a year.
Obviously, I couldn’t start out with nothing, but determination boiled in me to rise up without the benefit of my name or a hefty boost.
My own publishing firm in a year or two—what were they thinking? It was like my parents didn’t know me at all. Or, more likely, they were just worried about me. Dad had to see how upset I was that the job market for fresh graduates was rough, and in his own way, tried to help.
I wandered into the kitchen to see if it wasn’t too late to add a few of Dad’s favorite dishes, and Malina jumped to acquiesce, even though I swore that she should only do it if itwas no problem. Malina had been our cook for as long as I could remember, and she adored my father.
She instantly wanted to know what was wrong, tutting around and pulling things out of the fridge and pantry. I had to admit something was bothering him, but also that I didn’t have a clue.
“He would never burden you, or any of us,” she said, pressing her hand against her heart.
“I’m not a kid anymore, Malina,” I said, sticking out my lip like a kid. We both laughed.
“Not to your papa. You’ll always be that squally baby he kept in a bassinet in his office while he was working.”
I knew the story. I was colicky forever, and my mother had an important nine to and had to sleep. Dad was always up in the middle of the night anyway, creating something new in his home office. He’d drag me in there with a humidifier pumping out steamy air and work right through all the noise, patting my back or walking around with me when I got really upset.
I don’t remember any of it, and he got his first big break when I was three, and then he was always running around, never home. Making us as rich as we are today, so I would never have to worry about anything.
Except I was pretty worried by the time he came home. It was clear his mood had grown worse. He barreled down the hall toward his office, tossing his keys on the side table in the entry hall so forcefully they slid out of the silver bowl and skidded across the inlaid wood. I got there in time to see Jackson rubbing his thumb across a scratch.
We gave each other a look, and I shrugged before following Dad to see if he wanted to have drinks. I wasn’t beyonda little liquid courage, and he needed something to calm him down before he popped a vein. He was talking on the phone in a low hiss, but immediately ended the call when he saw me enter his office.
The room was huge, converted from what was once two bedrooms to make a sanctuary of monitors, keyboards, piles of small tools, and stacks of notepads spilling off the long tables on one side. On the other side, it was decked out like a library in a black and white movie, all fine leather furniture, stacks of books, and a rolling brass bar with crystal decanters of spirits. He held video calls facing the antique shelves, and no one ever imagined the mess that was ten feet in front of him.
He forced a smile at me as he was stuffing his phone into his pocket. Was his hand shaking? I tried to get him to sit down, offering a shot of brandy or his favorite white wine before dinner.
“Just let me finish some things up,” he said, glancing at his watch.
“Malina made your favorites today,” I said, as if it were a coincidence.
He sighed, looking green at the mention of food of any kind. Was he actually sick, and his assistant didn’t even know about it to tell me? He really wanted me out of his office, so I went, not wanting to make things worse if it was just some overseas thing he was trying to sort out. As soon as I left, I heard him get back on the phone with someone, speaking in that same harried, anxious voice, but I couldn’t make out what he said. There was no way I was going to spy on him outside his own door; that was what his assistant was for.
After I called her, I was still in the dark. Dad didn’t have any doctor’s appointments in the last few months, and as far asshe could see, his stress level was normal. Which meant this was something that started today and he’d kept clear of her, or he was doing a better job of hiding it from her than from me. Either way, I didn’t want to make things worse until I could convince him to go to a doctor.
At dinner, he seemed more relaxed, but it was a front. I shoved aside all mention of the job and eased into some random health conversation.
He sighed, putting down his fork. “I’m not sick, CJ. Please don’t conspire with Rinda to get me to the doctor. You’d both have me hooked up to machines twenty-four-seven the way you worry.”
“Of course we worry,” I said. My heart twisted a little as I reached for his hand. “Look, I don’t want to take the job if it’s really upsetting you this much.”
A look of pain crossed his somber eyes. “It’s not that. Though I don’t like it. It doesn’t matter that it’s a starter position and no one knows who you are. They’ll find out. It might even look worse than you tricked—”
“I didn’t trick anyone! I aced every test and the interviewers loved me.” I understood how vehement he was against any accusations of nepotism, but this was too much.
He smiled. “Not so worried, I’ll have a heart attack now?”
“Well, I can’t believe you’d even think I would trick anyone or cheat. If I wanted a fast track, I’d be on a plane to London right now, wouldn’t I?”
“You know, I was thinking about a vacation. I am more stressed than usual. How about we both go to London for a little while? Leave tonight.”
This bizarre change of subject and the fact that he was admitting to any sort of weakness were alarming. And suspicious as hell. He was trying to bribe me away from the job.
“I have a lot of papers to go over before my start date,” I said. “Go on without me, maybe go to the National Gallery with Mom, now that you’re besties.”
“We really should both go,” he said, voice bordering on urgent.
