Lap of Luxury (Love Don't Cost a Thing)

Mr. Ravnikar is so engrossed with what’s on his screen that he doesn’t notice me coming into his office. I go around and stand by his chair, and see that he’s watching some amateur footage of—a funeral? Then I take a closer look and realize that I know the woman standing outside the church.

“Hey, look. It’s the dead girl.”

Mr. Ravnikar starts and glares up at me. What? It’s not as if the whole company hasn’t been buzzing about this scandal. Some idiot had swindled Damir Ravnikar out of seventeen million pounds, and then pasted himself and his wife across Ukraine. Of course that’s all we’re going to be talking about.

Mr. Ravnikar tries to get rid of me, but this is much more interesting than going back to my inbox. “I know Ciara. From class.”

We had land law and contracts classes together, until I had to give up my course. Ciara and another blonde girl were always together. Sloane, I think her name was. Sloane was stuck up and overdressed, but Ciara was okay.

Mr. Ravnikar explains that Damir is hell-bent on taking revenge on Ciara Alders. At the mention of his brother’s name, panic and desire flood my body. I have no doubt that if Damir wants to hurt Ciara, he will.

A plan starts to take shape in my mind, one that will save Ciara from Damir’s violent clutches and might make my boss a little happier, too.

I perch on the edge of his desk and smile. “Why don’t you be her daddy?”

This means nothing to Mr. Ravnikar, so I give him a rundown about sugaring. A plan that involves him getting laid has got to be appealing, right? Especially when he seems to have developed something of a white knight complex when it comes to Ciara. I suppose I can see why. Ciara’s one of those blonde, fawnlike creatures that has rescue me, daddy practically stamped on her forehead.

Despite Mr. Ravnikar finding the sugar daddy thing unseemly, he eventually agrees to it. Congratulating myself roundly, I head back to my desk. This is going to be easy.

I spoke too soon. Mikhail Ravnikar is probably the worst daddy ever.

He talks to Ciara like she’s me. I’m used to his robotic manner, but a girl who has to put her body on the line for money when she’s never been a sex worker needs a little wooing. The way Mr. Ravnikar carries on you’d think he was doing her a favor by even speaking to her—which of course he is. But she doesn’t know that.

The night after their first date I need to do some serious damage control, and just as Mr. Ravnikar promises to do better next time, we’re interrupted by the last person either of us want to see.

“Who’s not talking to you?”

Damir’s voice cuts through me like a laser, heating me from the inside out. I look up into hard, gray eyes. They flicker with interest, as if he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. I’ve avoided him like he’s the Black Death crossed with Ebola since the incident, and yet I feel like I’m seeing him all the time. Has he been coming to Mr. Ravnikar’s office more often lately?

I move around the desk to stand beside Mr. Ravnikar, pretending to straighten some files on his desk.

Damir turns his attention to Mr. Ravnikar. “Surely you’re not having girl troubles. You always had the women fawning, Misha.”

A taut silence fills the room, and then Damir tips his head at the door, telling me he wants me to leave the room. I have to move past him. Move close to him.

As I step forward, Damir puts out a finger and runs it along my cheek, murmuring, “Pridna puncka.”

Fierce sensations shoot through me. Two soft words, and I remember them well. It’s what he said to me while he was making me climax. I walk fast out of the office and nearly slam the door behind me.

As I sit at my desk, I can’t think straight. I can hear the indistinct sound of Damir’s voice and it’s a siren’s call, beckoning me closer like a sailor about to be dashed to death on the rocks.

Eventually, I’m able to calm my breathing and recall something interesting.

That’s the second time I’ve heard Damir call Mr. Ravnikar, “Misha.” I Google it and find that it’s a diminutive of Mikhail. A pet name. I never imagined that Damir was the sort of man to use a pet name for his brother, though he didn’t sound very loving when he said it. All the same, it’s lovely. Soft and disarming. I file that thought away for later.

Damir bangs out of Mr. Ravnikar’s office, and I jump. He strides down the hall, laughing. Even from the back, he’s a beautiful man. Tall and muscular, with his suit jacket fitted snuggly across his broad shoulders. I’ve imagined curling my fingers through his short dark hair, over and over. Alone, safe in my bed and with my vibrator cranked up to its top speed, he’s my fantasy now. I let him cut me. I let him do all manner of sadistic things to me, and each one more delicious than the last.

An email pops up in my inbox, as if I’ve summoned it by thought alone. Damir Ravnikar (no subject).

With a shaking finger, I open the email. You’re helping him date other women. That’s it. That’s all it says.

I slam the delete button, my heart thumping wildly. There’s no context to the message, but it feels accusing. Even threatening. Does he know about Ciara? Oh, god, what if he does know, and I’m about to bring his wrath down on my head? But wouldn’t the email say something very different if he knew about Ciara? Something like, You’re dead, you treacherous bitch? This email feels more personal. Like he’s hurt I’m helping Mr. Ravnikar with his dating issues.

I shake my head. I don’t understand anything when it comes to Damir Ravnikar, and I don’t think I want to try. I march into my boss’s office and focus on his problems, not mine.

As soon as Mr. Ravnikar’s terrible courting style has been dealt with and he’s texting with Ciara behind closed doors, I go back to my desk and take out my phone. I need a date.

Not a man. I don’t want a man. But I need a date with a rich one, because I need to quit this goddamn job. Being this close to Damir every day is making me crazy.