Voice #2 had gone on to enumerate my job duties when I was finally able to regain my composure and lift my gaze back to them. What they expected me to do was reasonable and probably wouldn't always be legitimate, but it didn't matter. Like them, I was also willing to get my hands dirty for the right cause.
Voice #4 asked if I had any questions, and I shook my head. All of this was a mere formality as far as I was concerned. I had always wished that there was something I could do to make up for my father's sins, but I had never really thought it was possible...until now.
Afterwards, the group asked me to sign a contract that had more pages than the Bible, but I didn't give a damn. I affixed my signature on each page without hesitation, and it was only when I put the pen down that I heard the American drawl, "Before we end..."
I straightened in my seat, feeling that I was about to be asked something crucial—-
"Will do you us a favor by picking a number between one and five?"
I blinked. "Excuse me?" Was this a trick question?
"We've assigned ourselves a number each," Voice #1 explained, "and you'll be working directly under the person whose number you've chosen."
Voice #1 didn't seem to be the type to lie about things, but...what if this really was a trick question? What if the number I chose would indicate how many people I'd have to kill or kidnap or whatever as some sort of initiation rite?
It was possible...right?
Unable to get the thought out of my mind, I decided to play it safe and heard myself say, "One—-"
And almost right after, I heard a new voice mutter, "Fuck."
I barely kept my jaw from dropping.
Another moment passed, and then the same voice said yet again: "Fuck."
Chapter Two
It was still twenty minutes before eight, but I already had everything ready for my boss. Financial statements filed on the left, contracts requiring his signature were placed next to his keyboard, and in my hand was his favorite coffee: dark roast Arabica, zero sugar, and 25% almond milk.
I had just come out of his office, intending to wait for him by reception, when I saw the glass doors slide open.
Oh!
I straightened up and pinned a smile on my lips, but it turned out to be a waste of effort as the billionaire simply strode past me like I was as invisible as air.
Day 94, I thought glumly while hurrying after my boss, and Dmitry Adrianov still hates me.
I nearly bumped into his back in my haste, and I could only bite back a cry as a scalding-hot drop of coffee spilled on my hand. Shit. But with the billionaire already turning around, I forced myself to ignore the pain while carefully placing the cup of coffee on the glossy black surface of his oversized desk.
"Good morning, Mr. Adrianov."
The billionaire's lip only curled in response, and although I knew I should be used to it by now, his rather blatant hostility still stung. I gestured to his coffee once more, hoping against hope that this might win myself some brownie points. "Your coffee, sir."
But he didn't even glance up this time and simply reached for the coffee as soon as he had folded his six-foot-five frame into the executive chair behind his desk.
What the heck have I gotten myself into?
It had become my favorite question of late, but as with all the other times, no answer came to mind. It was amazing, seriously amazing to work for something like Strakh Inc., and since it was mostly just Dmitry and I in the office, I sometimes imagined ourselves as the real-life versions of Oliver and Felicity, only my Arrow was Russian. Also, I never actually got to see any of the rough action involved in the vigilante justice side of the business. And actually...while Felicity's boss was never mean to her, my boss...well...
I knew Dmitry had every right to hate my guts if he wanted to, but couldn't he at least tell me why that was?
It was just so hard, working for a man who seemed to hold you in contempt for no reason. I worked my ass off each day, and the pay was great, yes, but it would really be nice to see him smile, even just once.
I'd never have lasted a week in this place if not for the fact...
Shit.
That was the answer right there, wasn't it?
The reason why I was still working here was the same reason everyone thought me crazy for sticking around.
Dmitry Adrianov.
My glance drifted towards my boss.
Hot.
He was just so...hot.
Seriously.
The billionaire was still leafing through the financial statements I had prepared, and just like always I couldn't help but stare, couldn't help but feel all sorts of tingly as my gaze lingered on his profile.
Bluish-black hair that were always combed back in sleek, shiny waves, eyes a feral shade of gold, and chillingly illustrious features that made me think of Roman emperors of old. He kinda reminded me of that villain in Gladiator, only my boss was a hundred times sexier.
Honestly, if we did time travel to the past, and Dmitry was the master I'd end up with, I'd obey his every command with pleasure. Oh, just the thought of my boss ordering me to do anything naughty...
Siiiiiigh.
The images that fluttered in my mind were decidedly NSFW, and I absently ran my tongue over my lips—-
"Fuck."
Dmitry had chosen that exact moment to glance up, and I found myself frozen with fear, the tip of my tongue still out.
"Fuck."
Two F-bombs in a row were never good, and as expected, the enigmatic billionaire was now glaring at me like I had just admitted to killing chihuahuas for fun. That was also my cue to leave, and I gestured nervously towards the contracts he had yet to sign, saying weakly, "Mr. Diamandis..."
"I'll get it to him," Dmitry snapped. "Now go."
I was out in
