Page 6 of Owning Him
His eyes flicker with a confused light, as if he’s trying to figure out why I’ve pulled back.
"Goodnight, Viktor," I say.
I rush for the stairs, needing to be in my own room, behind my own locked door. I’ve had enough for today.
Chapter Five
Valentina
The next morning, I’m scrolling through overnight market reports and nursing a black coffee before the air in the room drops ten degrees. That nitrogen chill.
"Good morning."
I jump, nearly sloshing hot espresso onto my silk blouse. Viktor is standing by the island.Damn it, I kind of forgot about him.
He’s wearing a pair of Elias’s spare pajamas that are fighting a losing battle against his frame. The sleeves are pulled tight over his massive forearms, and the buttons across his chest look like they’re ready to snap at any moment.
"Christ, Viktor," I snap. "Don't sneak up on me."
"I did not sneak," he sighs. "I was standing there for five minutes. You did not hear."
Fuck. I really didn’t hear him, which is unusual, considering I have spider senses. This man has all sorts of weird effects on me.
"Sit down," I command, changing the subject. "Eat something."
He pulls out a chair, the heavy wood groaning as he settles his bulk into it.
"Sorry," he mumbles. "I am used to standing until told otherwise."
"Well, don't. I would prefer it if you were comfortable," I grumble, gesturing for Elias to bring over a plate. Elias sets down a mountain of eggs, bacon, and toast.
Viktor picks up a fork gently, like he’s handling a piece of fine porcelain he’s afraid to crush.
"Did you sleep at all?" I ask, trying to keep a casual conversation going. This man is staying here for three months; the faster we get used to each other, the better.
"A little," he says around a mouthful of food. "The bed is... too soft."
I rub the place between my brows that always seems to collect tension. "Right. Well, you’ll get used to it. Oh—before I forget—I'll have my assistant send over a wardrobe that actually fits you."
I fire off a text to Sarah—Everything. XL. High-end basics. Today.
He mumbles a quiet “thank you,” but there’s no need for it. Anything I do, I do because I want to—not because I need empty words in return to stroke my ego.
"I have to head to the office," I say, checking my watch. "I’ll be back late. Is there anything you need?"
He stops eating. "What do I do?" he asks.
"Excuse me?"
"Until you come back," he clarifies. "What is the schedule? Who do I... serve?"
"You don't 'serve' anyone, Viktor," I hiss, irritation rising in my throat at the mere thought. "Rest. Sleep. Watch TV. There’s a library down the hall past the gallery—Elias will show you. Read a book if you want."
He looks bewildered. "I am allowed to move through the house? Unsupervised?"
"Move wherever you want. Just stay out of my office." I sigh. "I’ll see you tonight."
With that, I head to work, spending the rest of my morning in a boardroom with six men who think they can fuck me over because I’m wearing a skirt. I let them finish their pitch before kicking them out. Sometimes these men like to try their luck. They fail every time, but it pisses me off the same each time.
