Page 28 of Savage Boss
With a cool smile, Dmitri takes the woman by the shoulders and pushes her away to create distance between them. And when his gaze moves to me, the woman's does too, and I'm suddenly on the radar of NatashaMikhailovherself.
13
CLARA
Natasha and I stare at each other. I have no idea what to say, as that perfect face—the one dubbed “one of the most beautiful in the tri-state area” by theNew York Post—gazes at me.
She just kissed Dmitri on the lips. She called him something else in Russian that sounds far more intimate. Never mind that Dmitri gently pushed her away. That could be due to a dislike of public displays of affection, or because I’m standing right here.
I don’t know whether to feel angry, hurt, or relieved.
Angry and hurt, because, after the attention Dmitri has shown me, I was starting to believe there might be something between us. I told him there were boundaries; I was his employee and nothing else. I even tried to quit before he seduced me again. But as I look back over all our moments together, I find nothing that remotely suggests he wanted a relationship, nor did I give him a reason to think I thought that way.
Someone like Natasha—tall, willowy, gorgeous, loaded, and blonde, with the most perfect skin I've ever seen—is exactly who he would want at his side.
Not a woman like me.
Then again, if I know he’s involved with someone else, it will be that much easier to give him up. I refuse to be the other woman. Even if I decide to have this baby, there’s no reason for him to think it’s his. He has no idea whom I slept with before we met; the baby could be anyone’s.
And if he is with someone else, I can let all this go. I won’t have to worry about being entangled with a Russian mob boss.
I should be relieved, but instead, my throat feels thick and my cheeks flush.
I have to make my escape.
“I’m done speaking about the arrest,” I manage, attempting a professional tone. “I can see you have company, and I have work to do.”
From the faint look of suspicion on Natasha’s face, I can tell she doesn't believe a word I'm saying. She must have seen something when she walked in, or maybe she read the vibe in the room. She must know Dmitri far better than I do, know his proclivities and his vices. I just hope I don't end up splashed on the cover of some rag with an article that reads: “THE HUSSY FROM NOWHERE WHO BROKE UP THE POWER COUPLE SET TO RULE NEW YORK.”
I edge toward the door, desperate to leave. But before I even get my hand on the doorknob, Dmitri crosses the space between us,slips his arm around my waist, and turns me. It’s an intimate gesture, even before he pulls me snugly against his side.
There isn’t any time to ask what is going on before I hear him saying, “Natasha, I’d like you to meet Clara, my girlfriend.”
I’m pretty sure the look of shock on Natasha’s face mirrors the shock on mine.
“The what now?” she asks.
Oddly enough, that was the same question I had.
“My girlfriend,” Dmitri enunciates each word as if he genuinely believes Natasha did not hear or understand him.
Dmitri’s arm around my waist is possessive, his smile disarming and a little bit mischievous, like he’s enjoying this. I’ve noticed he seems to relish moments that make others uncomfortable.
I take a breath to respond but then realize I have nothing to say. I decide to keep quiet and follow his lead because I’m too confused to know what else to do.
That’s when Natasha does something I don’t expect. She laughs, a bitter and amused sound. “This,Dimochka? Really?” Her dismissive wave indicates she’s not amused. “I thought you preferred someone richer, smaller.”
Dmitri’s arm tightens around my waist as I watch his expression turn into something dangerous. “I would watch your words, Natasha. I won’t allow any of that mean-girl shit around Clara.”
Natasha’s smirk disappears, replaced by a look of dismay, which is quickly covered upbyindifference.
“Oh, I see. Well,” she says, her lips pursed, and the gleam in her eye turning icy as she regards me, “that’s a shame, especially because I was coming to you with an offer.”
The temperature in the room has gone down several degrees, and from the position and rigidity of Dmitri’s arm, it feels like he’s shielding me, instead of simply embracing me. His simple response of, “Oh?” is frosty.
“I know the cops are after you, after this empire you’ve built.” Another dismissive wave of her hand, like a billion-dollar, multinational corporation isn’t impressive enough. “You stand to lose it all,Dimochka, and so do we. This new DA has it out for organized crime syndicates, and he wants to make examples of as many of us as possible.”
“Is that news?” Dmitri sounds bored.
