Page 8 of Scars He Gave Me (Bratva Crime Syndicate 2)

Ten questions later, I’m not thinking about anything but the presentation. Leila is satisfied enough to toss the stack of cards into the air. “This deal is going to be great for us. We’re gonna look like rock stars in the industry. And once it’s done, I won’t feel bad about asking Peyton for some time off. You should do the same. Your soon-to-be-husband should love that, too.”

I could live without her constant eye rolls, especially because eighty percent of them come during conversations about Alvin. I wish the two of them liked each other more or at least pretended a little better—for my sake, if nothing else.

He hates that she “makes” me work so often and she hates that he is so boring. But she doesn’tmakeme work; I enjoy it.

I know Leila thinks I need more Superman and less Clark Kent, but Alvin is safe and dependable. Those are good qualities, right?

“Yeah, I’m sure we will.” I nod because I don’t want to get into another conversation about Alvin.

She has that idle, innocent “who, me?” look in her eyes, the one she gets when she is about to ask me something embarrassingly invasive. “Just at least tell me he’s good in bed.”

Yep. Saw that coming.

Unfortunately, I have the kind of skin that reddens seventy or eighty times a day. Thank God I wore so much makeup this morning. But my other giveaways—shaking hands, raspy voice—are all present and accounted for.

“I … I—um, I don’t know, yet.”

Her wide eyes and wide-open mouth don’t help my embarrassment. “You’re joking. Tell me you’re joking.”

I shake my head, mortified.

“You haven’t tested the goods?” she exclaims. “Girl, how could you… how could you not…? With as boring as he is with his clothes on …?” She clicks her teeth in sympathy. “Oh, honey. Bless your heart. You are such a pure soul.”

It isn’t like Alvin doesn’t have moves. He has moves—plenty of them, I’m sure. We’ve almost ended up in bed a handful of times, but I want to wait for the wedding night. Not because of religion or anything like that, but because I think, after I get married, I’ll want him in a more intense way that’ll make it … extraordinary.

I want extraordinary. I had it once upon a time, and I want it again.

After everything I’ve gone through, I deserve it.

* * *

The meeting is a smash success.

My focus keeps me sane. It’s how I do my part in convincing Francine Dunlow that Sentinel Security’s ability to provide personal attention—just a very generous spin on the fact that we’re a small company without many clients—at any hour of the day or night, is the right fit and perfect solution to keep her client data secure.

Leila and I walk out of the meeting with our heads high, our smiles wide, and the big boss on the phone. Peyton Wilson, CEO of Sentinel Security, is a man who doesn’t need introductions in the tech world. At twenty-five, he is a prodigy who built Sentinel out of pure anger after someone in China hacked his dad’s back account and left the family with nothing.

He followed the bread crumbs back to the thief and returned the favor. Then he built a shield around that money so big and so tough even the bank couldn’t touch it without his permission. A legend was born. And the ego to match.

Leila has him on speaker as we sit in the back of a Dunlow International limousine. “When you get back, I want to talk to Corinne in my office,” he says.

Oh, shit.Peyton doesn’t ask anyone into his office unless he’s firing them.

Leila and I share a glance. There’s worry in her eyes that shouldn’t be there, considering what we accomplished today.

“Is everything okay?” Her voice cracks, but she laces her fingers with mine.

The answer should beyes. It should be loud and excited. Exuberant, even. I just made him millions of dollars. Firing me would be so, so ugly.

“I just want to talk to her,” comes his answer. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

No. He’s firing me. She knows it, I know it, and now I’m one pant away from hyperventilating. Peyton is eccentric and has no sense of loyalty to his employees. No delineation between right and wrong. He’s a feel-good kind of guy who operates on gut instinct.

And he’s going to fire me, literally right before my wedding. Well, a couple days before, but … it might as well be literally right before. I can’t job hunt and walk down the aisle at the same time. Not to mention that I signed a non-compete contract, so if he does in fact pull the trigger, I’ll be shoved out in the cold for two years at a minimum.

Oh, the smug bastard.

“I’ll be there.” Even though I’d rather stand in front of a firing squad.

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