Page 5 of Scarred Ruin

I folded my arms, remaining quiet until he left. Once he’d passed by the windows next to the door, I let out a deep, resonating growl.

This entire project was going to chafe my ass.

CHAPTER 2

Isabel

Had I arrived fashionably late to the fabulous event?

Yes.

Had I done so on purpose?

Also yes.

At least I’d arrived so John couldn’t chastise me on Monday morning for my obvious mental breakdown. Although if I knew my boss, he’d already made certain excuses for my absence. I wasn’t sure how many people outside my closely knit circle of friends and colleagues actually knew what had happened.

With no news articles, I assumed if an excuse was used, he’d been creative.

I should feel bad for arriving late, but alas, I did not.

Granted in a corporate world where the benefits were shrinking, the people I worked for treated their employees exceptionally well.

Fully paid health insurance including dental and vision.

Four weeks of vacation for starting employees, increments a week at a time for continued loyalty.

One hundred percent matching on 401(k)s.

And fully paid memberships to several venues from health clubs to Costco.

There were other fabulous perks as well; however, a stunning couture dress wasn’t usually on the list. While John had been serious about his offer, he likely hadn’t anticipated I’d jump in with two feet.

The company credit card had taken a hit from my multiple purchases. Something else I didn’t feel in the least bit guilty about.

I took a step away from the marble counter, turning slightly in one direction then the other. Thankfully, my selection had been suitable for the event and for my wall of nerves as well as the humidity suffered on the ride over. There wasn’t a wrinkle to be found.

Granted, I had to remind myself given the form-fitting design, the only location that had a chance of wrinkling was the material sweeping the floor. Maybe I should have gone for a more modest look, but while in the women’s high-dollar clothing store, and one I’d never been to before, I’d had a fit of mischief overtake my usually restrained personality.

Who was I kidding? I could never be confused with a conservative Southern belle.

Not only was the dress cut in a low V in the back, but there was also a high slit highlighting one leg and stilettos that were already killing my feet.

At least the selected color looked fabulous on me. Ruby with a light sheen that shimmered under certain lighting. With my long hair in a messy in appearance but perfectly coiffed bun complete with several strands of hair tickling my cheeks, I approved of my selection.

Even my lipstick was a perfect match, a true find at the local Walgreens. With a deep breath, I nodded in satisfaction.

Now I needed to find the courage to leave the women’s restroom and finally manage to walk into the ballroom. I wasn’t nervous as much as I was concerned I’d add testament to what my coworkers obviously said behind my back.

That I’d go off halfcocked.

And Maxsim Aristov was not a good man.

Although I continued to remind myself I’d yet to encapsulate the reality around who he was and what he was capable of doing.

The Russian was not only powerful and influential, he was also considered one of the most ruthless and dangerous men in the Southeast if not the entirety of the East Coast.

At least according to his critics.