Vicious Protector by Maggie Cole

14

Skylar

Adrian teachesme a few Russian words like hello, nice to meet you, and goodbye on the way to his mother's. "Are you okay to walk a few blocks in those shoes?"

"Yes, why?"

"It's a nice night. My mom lives between Obrecht and me. Are you up for a stroll?"

"Sure."

Adrian pulls into the parking garage, and we get out. He takes my hand and guides me to the outside. It's a beautiful spring night. The fierce wind from the day prior is gone. There are lots of pedestrians on the streets. It's still reasonably early. The sky has a pink hue, and the darkness hasn't set in yet.

"How was work today?" Adrian asks.

"I designed an awesome jacket. Actually, it would look good on you."

He wiggles his eyebrows. "With or without clothes underneath it?"

My face flushes. "Ha! Anyway, Bowmen wants to use it as an anchor piece in the next show."

Adrian's face falls. "I don't understand something."

"What's that?"

"Why does he get to take all the credit for your work?"

"I told you, I'm his employee. It's how it works."

Adrian motions for me to turn right at the corner. "He should give you some credit."

"No. It's normal. You don't know who designed those pair of jeans you're wearing. Or your shirt. You buy a label. An employee designed it. It's how it works," I insist.

"If you're designing most of the pieces, you need your own label, my printsessa." He pulls my hand up to his mouth and kisses it.

"It's too much money."

"How much?"

I snort. "Way more than I have. Plus, I wouldn't be able to survive without my salary."

"Forget about survival for a minute. What would it take to start?"

I shake my head. "Honestly, I don't know. I researched it a few years ago, and after I crossed the six-figure mark, I stopped. It's too big of a risk for me. I'm grateful I have my job. Chicago isn't New York, Paris, or Milan. The opportunities are limited."

"You have your job because you're talented."

"You haven't seen my work."

He grunts. "I don't need to see it to know this. You're designing most of his pieces. He's riding your coattails."

Everything Adrian is saying I've thought at one time or another, but it's dangerous for me to think those thoughts. "I understand your position on this, but getting upset won't change anything. It's how the system works. I have enough to support myself, and I get to do what I love. If I spend my time focused on the parts of my job I don't like, it won't change it. Nothing is perfect. So I choose to focus on the things that make me happy."

Adrian slides his arm around my shoulder and tugs me closer to him. He kisses the top of my head. "You have a good attitude, but answer this. If money weren't an issue, would you start a label? Would you want to have your own company?"

There's a mix of emotions in me. It was my dream to create a label, but over the years, I came to accept it's not in the cards for me. "I think a lot of people would do a lot of things if money weren't an issue."

He stops and faces me. "I'm not asking about other people. I'm asking about you."

I sigh. "It's a loaded question."

"How?"

My stomach churns. "I don't have the option to leave Bowmen."

Adrian's eyes turn to slits. "What are you talking about?"

"Bowmen made me sign a new contract with him. If I leave, I have to pay him a substantial amount of money for his 'training.'" I put my fingers in quotations.

Adrian scowls and seethes, "What training? You said you've worked for him for years."

"Calm down."

"Skylar, what are you talking about?"

Embarrassed, I look away. "I've always had a contract with Bowmen. When I got my last promotion, he made me sign a new one. I didn't think it was any different. I assumed it was the same, but it wasn't. It's my fault. I didn't read the fine print." Heat rushes to my face. I'm still kicking myself over how stupid I was to sign something without reading it first. All I could think about was the excitement of being promoted and the raise he was offering me.

Adrian turns my chin so I have to face him. His icy-blue eyes are so cold, fog could be coming off them. His Russian accent gets thicker. "What's in the fine print?"

"If I leave Bowmen, I have to pay him fifty thousand dollars."

"That's absurd."

I shrug. "I signed it."

"How is it even legal? What did Kora say?"

"I've not shown her. She said she thought it wouldn't hold up in court and would find me an employment attorney, but I don't see the point. If I leave Bowmen, I'll have to move to New York or another city with bigger opportunities. The last thing I want to do is rock the boat. Bowmen would fire me."

Anger flares in Adrian's expression. "You're designing all his pieces. I doubt he'll fire you. And you shouldn't feel chained to him. Tell Kora to give you the name of the top employment attorney in Chicago."

Anxiety fills my lungs. "No. I'm not pissing Bowmen off."

"It's not going to hurt—"

"Do you want me to have to move, Adrian?"

His eyes widen. "Absolutely not. But it's not going to hurt—"

"Yes, it will. You don't know him or the industry I'm in. Word travels fast, and other designers will blackball me. Bowmen will make sure of it. I've seen him do it to several other designers who stood up to him."

Adrian's face darkens. A look so vicious it gives me the chills appears. His accent becomes thicker. "If he tries to fuck with you, he'll have me to reckon with. In fact, he already crossed the line with this contract he manipulated you into signing."

Fear crawls through my body. "Adrian, he isn't. This is my work."

"And he's trapped you into staying with him."

"No, he hasn't," I try to say confidently, but it comes out weaker than I want. Adrian's right, but the situation is what it is. I may have been drunk at the Cat's Meow, but I remember how Adrian held Wes Petrov's bodyguard in a choke hold. Even intoxicated, I saw how he could have snapped his neck in an instant. The Petrovs aren't the same situation as Bowmen.

"I think it's time your boss and I had a little chat."

My voice comes back, and I firmly reply, "Adrian, this is my job. You don't want me to interfere or know anything about yours, so don't you dare get involved with mine."

"It's not the same thing."

I put my hand on my hip. "No? Tell me about what you spend your nights doing when you get those calls."

His jaw clenches. "We've gone over this."

I nod. "Yes. We did. I agreed to stay in the dark. When you lift that restriction, then we can discuss you interfering in my job. Until then, don't."

He grinds his molars. "He's taking advantage of you."

"I'm a big girl. My choices are my choices. This is the line I draw. Don't do something that puts my career in jeopardy."

He stays silent.

"You don't have to like it, but you have to agree. Just like I don't like what you made me agree to."

He huffs out a big breath of air. He grumbles, "Fine."

Relief fills me. He may not disclose the details of his job, but I'm not naive. Adrian is a violent man when necessary. However, my world and his aren't the same. Whatever he is involved in doesn't compare to my boss headaches. I reach up and put my arms around his neck. "Are we close to your mother's?"

"Next building."

"Then kiss me before we get there and help me reduce my collywobbles."

He raises his eyebrows. "Collywobbles?"

"It's the weird feeling in your stomach or an overall bellyache. In my case, it's nerves."

His lips twitch. "Don't be nervous. I'm the one who should have the collywobbles, not you."

"Why would you?"

"My mother is a loose cannon."

"What does that mean?"

"Oh, you'll see."

"Should I be scared?"

He scoffs. "No. I probably should be though."

"Now I'm intrigued, and my collywobbles are intensifying," I tease, but it's also an admittance.

He leans to my mouth. "So you want me to kiss your collywobbles out of you?"

"Mmhmm."

He guides me closer to the building and out of the path of pedestrians. He fists my hair and tugs my head back. Blue flames study my face, causing me to hold my breath in anticipation. He comes closer but doesn't kiss me. His tongue flicks my ear, and he murmurs, "When we get home tonight, I'm going to wabbit you."

"Rabbit me?"

"Not rabbit. Wabbit with a w."

"What does that mean?"

"It's a Scottish term for being exhausted."

"Nice one."

"Scores even again." He kisses my neck then moves on to my jaw.

"So competitive," I tease as tingles erupt down my spine.

He slowly moves his tongue over my lips. I open my mouth, and he slides it inside, working my mouth like a popsicle, then pulling back to stare at me before coming back for more. He groans in my mouth when my knees give out, pulling me tighter to his frame of muscle. He kisses me more then mumbles, "Collywobbles gone?"

"No. You gave me different ones."

His lips twitch. "We're going to be late."

"We should go then," I say, not moving.

"Yep." He sticks his tongue back in my mouth for several moments then pulls back. He gives me a chaste kiss then guides me into his mother's building. We get through security and onto the elevator. He pushes the button for the tenth floor.

My stomach flips. I haven't met anyone's mother in a long time. Adrian's description of her doesn't do anything to calm my nerves. I concentrate on inhaling the scent of his skin.

"Ready?" he asks when we get to the front of her door.

"How do I say hello again?"

He pecks me on the lips. "Just speak English. No one expects you to know Russian."

"I know. But tell me again?"

"Zdravstvuyte."

"Zdravstvuyte," I repeat.

"Excellent," he beams.

"And how do I say, thank you for having me?"

"Spasibo, chto priglasili menya."

"Spasi...what is it?"

He chuckles. "Stick with zdravstvuyte for tonight. We'll work on phrases in the future."

"But—"

The door opens. A striking woman with blonde hair to her shoulders, the same icy-blue eyes as Adrian and Obrecht, and a bright smile on her face says something in Russian while glancing between Adrian and me.

Adrian guides me inside and shuts the door. He replies in Russian, kisses his mother on the cheek, then steps back. "Mom, this is Skylar."

"Zdravstvuyte," I say.

Her smile grows. "Zdravstvuyte." She kisses my cheeks then takes both my hands and studies me. She turns to Adrian and says something in Russian. A faint blush crosses his cheeks. He replies in Russian then says in English, "My mother thinks you're beautiful."

"She is," his mother says in English with a thick Russian accent. I understand what Adrian meant. I have to listen closely when she speaks, but it isn't so thick I don't know what she says.

"Thank you, Mrs. Ivanov."

She swings her finger through the air, and her eyes brighten. "No. You call me Svetlana."

"Okay."

Obrecht clears his throat. He steps in and kisses my cheek. "Skylar. How are you?"

"I'm good. You?"

He smirks. "Living the dream."

Svetlana takes my hand. "Come. My sons never bring women to me."

Adrian and Obrecht both groan.

"Here we go," Obrecht mutters.

Svetlana spins and says something in Russian then faces me again. She motions to the couch. "Sit, please. Can I get you a drink?"

"I'm okay right now." I sit, and Svetlana takes the seat near me. Adrian and Obrecht sit in chairs across from us.

Svetlana starts an onslaught of questions about how Adrian and I met, how long we've dated, and about my background. Adrian keeps trying to get her to stop asking questions, but I don't mind. She's just interested in who her son is seeing. I can't blame her. I instantly like her. Adrian appears normal except for how he keeps tapping his fingers on his thigh, which I find amusing. Adrian Ivanov is one man I don't expect to ever get nervous.

"Skylar, do you have any children?" Svetlana asks.

"No."

She tilts her head. "But you like children?"

"Yes."

Adrian groans. "Mom—"

"What? You two would make beautiful babies."

Well, Adrian did warn me she's a loose cannon.

We would have adorable babies. The vision of little Adrians running around fills my mind.

Adrian closes his eyes and shakes his head.

Obrecht rises. "Time for a drink. Let's go."

Adrian stands and holds his hand out to me.

"You go ahead. I'm good with your mom."

Adrian looks at me like I'm crazy. To screw with him, I turn to Svetlana. "Speaking of babies, do you have any pictures of Adrian when he was a baby?"

Svetlana jumps up, beaming. "I do! Let me get the book."

Adrian's eyes widen. He mouths, "Don't encourage her."

I wink. "Go, have your drink."

Mischief fills Obrecht's eyes. "Mom, do you still keep them by your bridal magazines?"

"I'm going to kill you," Adrian mutters to Obrecht.

I bite my smile.

"I'll be in the kitchen," Adrian says.

"I'll be here," I chirp.

His mom shows me baby pictures, which also include Obrecht and their sister, Natalia.

"She was beautiful."

A sad smile crosses his mom's face. Her eyes glisten. "She was."

I put my hand over hers, unsure what to say. Once again, sorry for your loss, doesn't seem to be powerful enough.

She puts on a brave face and shuts the book. "I think dinner is almost ready. Can you excuse me? I'll be back in a moment."

"Sure."

I get up and go into the kitchen just as Obrecht says, "When is she going to stop nagging us about marriage and kids?"

Adrian groans. "Mom needs to stop living in la-la land, thinking that scenario is for either of us." He takes a sip of his beer.

My heart stops. I haven't dated Adrian long enough even to have the marriage and kids’ conversation. I've often wondered if kids are in the equation for me, since I'm already thirty-six. I've never been married, but I eventually would like to find my forever person. Something about not even having the option with Adrian stings.

His mom walks into the room as the oven timer rings in the air. I jump, and Adrian spins on his barstool. "Come sit." He pats the one next to him.

We spend the rest of the night eating and laughing. I do my best to push what I heard Adrian say out of my head, but it never entirely vanishes. If he doesn't want kids or marriage, is it something I'm willing to accept?

What makes it harder is Adrian's been married before. He had a child. I don't know the details about it or how his son died. I assumed Adrian would tell me more when he was ready, but it hurts he wanted it at one point with Dasha.

We've not dated long enough to make a lifelong commitment, but I can't help but think I'm right in front of him, and he already knows he doesn't want it with me. When we get to his place, it's on the tip of my tongue to ask him if he's serious about never wanting kids or getting married again, but the moment we step into his penthouse, his hands, lips, tongue, and teeth are all over me. I momentarily forget about what he said and spend the rest of the night tangled in his body.