Page 13 of Venomous Desires
For one deeply concerning second, my brain tried to calculate how many semesters a single brick could pay for. Probably all of them. Along with my funeral once I got caught stealing it.
I tore my eyes away, picked up the contract, and returned to the couch.
Only then did I notice it was entirely in Russian.
“Sir...”
“Third page. Fifth paragraph. Second line.”
“What?”
“I asked you to read it, Ms. Rosewood.” His tone remained infuriatingly calm. “Surely that isn’t beyond your capabilities.”
Heat climbed into my cheeks. “N-No, sir.”
I flipped through the pages.
The words blurred together.
Damn it.
I’d only taken my glasses off because he kept invading my personal space. Now the tiny print looked like an army of ants staging a protest.
Holding the pages embarrassingly close to my face, I finally found the paragraph.
“Party B...” I cleared my throat. “Party B shall not disclose any personal information regarding Party A to a third party without prior written consent.”
My brow knitted together. That was it?
I looked up.
“You can trust me.”
A quiet chuckle escaped him. “I don’t.”
The bluntness made me blink. “You don’t?”
“I don’t trust anyone.”
There wasn’t even arrogance in his voice.
“As a rule,” he continued, “people disappoint you eventually, don’t they?”
I glanced down at the thick stack of papers. “Seems a little excessive.”
“So does dying.”
My mouth snapped shut. “...Right.”
Who exactly had I just agreed to interview with?
For a long moment, neither of us spoke. I could feel his attention on me. And yet... it also felt like it wasn’t. It made absolutely no sense.
He tapped the ash from his cigarette. It landed neatly beside the ashtray. A tiny smile tugged at my lips.
If he could see, he would’ve hit the ashtray.
Slowly, I stepped closer, careful not to put too much weight on my sore ankle. From this angle, I caught a better look at his chest, the black ink disappearing beneath the open robe like something alive beneath his skin.
