CHAPTER 83
ALEKSANDER ‘CHRISTIAN’ VOLKOV.
Blue eyes.
Five feet three height.
Brown hair.
All three of them a combination that has been racking my brain since she sneaked into my room, talked back and left her damn scent all around in my room.
Maybe it’s the fact that I haven’t fucked anyone including Poppy since my accident.
Or maybe it’s the fact that she lied through her teeth straight to my face without an ounce of remorse.
All I know is, Melissa What’s-her-name pisses me off more than anyone I’ve ever encountered.
Including the moron seated in front of me enjoying my food, my juice and my personal space.
“God, Alek, I’m telling you Maria is a gem I would steal from you any day. I might be coming for breakfast at your place every day”, Weston yaps, stuffing his face with another piece of pizza toast.
“I’ll repeat it again in case you failed to get it the first time. You are not welcome here, West”, I grunt going through the morning newspaper.
Sunlight peers through the patio, Weston Marasigan scoffs like he always does every time I threaten him with losing the privileges he has to my house.
I’ve threatened him plenty and the guy stays like gum on a shoe.
He calls himself my best friend.
I see a tacky trust fund baby who has no business being in my mess of a life.
“If this is how you treat your best friend then I’m wounded, Volkov. Come on, smile a little, live a little.”
He slurps his mango juice. Too loud for my liking.
“You mean sink into every hole that presents itself?”
He chuckles. Though it’s true. He’s New York’s famed playboy for a reason.
“If sinking into holes makes me less uptight like you are then call me an A-hole because I will choose that life over your miserable one. Speaking of holes and all things related, shit who’s the new help? She’s smoking hot.”
My eyes glide up.
Blue eyes, luscious lips, brown hair and that figure that can’t be hidden by that awful black and white maid uniform comes to sight.
Melissa. Owner of ‘two dogs’ and has a sick grandfather. If I cared I could have milled my private investigator to look into her dose of bullshit lies, but I don’t.
Melissa What’s-her-name is my mother’s problem not mine.
And as long as she stays out of my way, she can continue doing her snooping elsewhere.
“Don’t even think about it.”
I warn.
“What?”
West raises his hands up but I know him. I know that look. I’ve seen that look when he sets his sights on something.
“You are not fucking one of my employees under my own roof.”
Technically she’s my mother’s spy.
“Who said anything about fucking, Alek? I wanna know her better.”
Good luck with that. I want to say.
But the woman in question appears in front of us like Satan’s little helper cutting my words off.
Her dark-brown hair is up in a ponytail.
With the sun’s light hitting her at all angles, the soft pretty features of her heart-shaped face come into sight even better than when I cornered her in my room.
“More juice?”
Her voice flogs between me and West and I find myself swallowing a lump of whatever shit that holds itself up in my throat.
This woman, this spy has that raspy bedroom voice most women lack.
The type that draws you in, the type that…
“Thank you uuhh… I didn’t get your name?” West holds out his glass, smirking, flirting.
Melissa refills his glass hitting him back with, “Melissa. It’s Melissa.”
“Melissa, such a pretty name for an even prettier woman. I’m Wes and thank you for the juice.”
My eyes are on the newspaper ignoring this awful attempt at flirting.
Yet…
The little stalker tucks loose hair behind her ear, smiling, and is she? Blushing?
Her eyes are on West.
Yeah, I noticed because she hasn’t looked my way since our encounter yesterday.
I haven’t seen her till this morning.
She’s taking my words seriously but why…why do I…
“You are welcome, Wes. Can I get you anything else?”
I hate mango and all things juice but suddenly I want to ask her to fill my glass too.
See if she’ll give me the same eyes, she’s giving West as if he’s one interesting fellow when he really isn’t.
“Other than your number, no.”
My breathing comes out clipped when she tells him, “I’m working at the moment but maybe when I’m not working I can-.”
“Go back to the kitchen, Melissa. Now.”
I sound like an ass. My tone comes out hard but the woman obeys me like she was born to.
The real kicker is she doesn’t look at me even as she offers a small smile to West and walks back into the house.
I turn to my best friend, the feeling of knocking his teeth out being more intense than usual.
“Get out of my house, West. Don’t ever come back.”
“Always the spoilsport, Aleksander. Always the spoilsport but not this time around. Me and Melissa clicked just now so best believe I’ll be coming around a lot more”, the fucker winks at me.
The second he leaves; my hand tightens around the newspaper.
The second I walk back into the kitchen to find West speaking to Melissa, the more the incessant headache bites my brain and fury courses through my veins.
It’s that scent I shouldn’t have smelled.
It’s those witching eyes I shouldn’t have looked at.
Because as soon as West leaves, I’m in my kitchen facing those witchy blue eyes that gaze at me startled.
She isn’t smiling. No. That’s for West.
She isn’t excited. No. That’s for West.
She isn’t asking to refill my glass. No again that’s for fucking West.
I eat the distance between me and her in one gulp, towering over her, looking over her.
Little minx gazes at the floor rather than at me.
“Look at me.”
I bark with bile.
“No.”
She bites back with more vitriol.
I should be amazed by this defiant streak in her. I am not.
My hand reaches out and touches her chin, making sure she gives me those eyes whether she likes it or not.
“What happened to staying away from me?”
Her lips move, my eyes move with them.
“I’ve kept my distance from you Si-.”
I have never hated the word ‘sir’ like I hate when this woman says it.
“Was that what it was back there?”
“What? Sir, I don’t understand-.”
“Stay away from West.”
Her eyes go wide for a second then her brows furrow like I’ve said something I shouldn’t have.
“With all due respect, Sir, I’m allowed to see whoever I want outside work.”
Curse her defiant mouth.
“Does he know you go snooping in other men’s bathrooms?”
“Sir-.”
Her scent leaks into my headspace swirling everything. I take another step forward, eating every distance between us completely, my chest heaves, my eyes get lost in the red haze blurring everything.
“Don’t test me right now, little stalker. You have no interest in West, your main goal is to watch my every move so do your job and quit playing other antics.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about.”
Her back hits the fridge.
This time there’s nowhere for her to run.
It’s me versus her. Again. In my house.
My hand reaches out to her cheek, the minute I touch her, she shudders, melts into my hold, and gets too comfortable being touched by a monster who’s too broken to be anything else.
“Liar. This is what I’m talking about, little stalker. You may give the fucker your eyes, give him your smile and offer him juice but he is not the one you’ve been paid to spy on, is he? He is not the one you wish to see naked, is he? He is not the one who has you soaking wet right now, is he? How did I know? Because you smell the way you did yesterday. Like your cunt’s begging to be put out of its misery.”
I step away from her.
So far away.
Her eyes are closed, the pulse in her throat throbs as her puckered nipples stretch through the material.
She’s predictable.
Just like any other woman enamored by Aleksander Volkov. Pathetic.
“Stay away from West.”
I turn around and leave.
Half an hour later while driving, I’m still nursing a boner from a pathetic maid who’s enamored by me.
Who’s pathetic now, I wonder.