Page 77 of Hate to Love You
“Oh, I’m sorry, did you not hear me?” Abigail repeats. “I said who are you? Do you have an appointment with Mr. Antonov?”
My sister’s vicious gaze sizes Miss Wayne up and down before she removes her Bulgari Sunglasses, and blinks at her.
“I don’t need a fucking appointment,” she hisses. “I’m here on personal business.”
“I’m sorry, but Mr. Antonov doesn’t take personal business here at his office,” Abigail says politely.
Oh fuck.
And yet still, in the face of my absolute bitch of a sister, my clever little fox doesn’t flinch.
“Now listen here you little cunt,” my sister growls, stepping past her. “I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but if I were you, I’d be very careful speaking to me this way.”
“Certainly,” Abigail smiles, as my sister stops and turns back to face her once more. “But to do that, I still need to know who you are first.”
I’m on my feet and around my desk just as my sister takes a step toward Abigail.
“Why I ought to smack that—”
“Polina!” I thunder, yanking my office door open and making her jump. “Why the hell are you interrupting my afternoon?”
My sister scoffs, glaring at me, and then back at Abby, her eyes lingering on her once again.
“Hello?” I snap my fingers, shaking my head at her. “Is there a point to this intrusion, or do you just like to hear the sound of your heels clacking across my floor?”
“I need to talk to you, Roman,” she hisses, narrowing her eyes at me before glaring once more at Abigail. “I just wasn’t aware of this new rule that I apparently need to make an appointment first.”
“It’s not new,” I say, clicking my tongue. “You’ve just never followed it.”
Despite my desire to send her away, I know that if I do, she will just return to my office tomorrow or blow up my phone.
So instead, I wave her inside, rolling my eyes.
“You can come in, but hold your little lap-rat,” I say, bitterly. “I’m not going to be responsible if Caesar decides to eat him.”
Shooting one more side-eye glance at my assistant, my sister throws her nose in the air and with a huff, stomps her red-bottomed heels into my office.
Perhaps it’s because I’m impressed with Abigail’s fearlessness in the face of my snobbish sister, but as I close the door, I can’t help but wink at her. And before I can even regret letting down my grumpy facade, I catch the blush that skates across her face.
I also happen to catch the smirk on her lips, coincidentally putting one on mine at the same time.
Given my situation, I walk straight over to the bar, which sits next to Caesar’s bed, who is staring pointedly at Polina and her yappy little dog.
“Easy,” I say firmly, hearing his low growl, meant probably more for Polina than the poodle. “Easy boy.”
He looks up at me and his ears, which were previously back in warning, go up in expectation.
“I don’t think he likes me,” Polina says, matter-of-factly. “He’s always looking at me like he wants to eat me.”
“Good dog,” I say, patting his head, before turning to my bar and pouring myself a drink, knowing alcohol is my only hope of surviving this conversation.
With my bourbon in hand, I head back to the desk. However, the moment I set it down my sister swipes it, pulling it over to her side.
“Just so you know, I actually prefer vodka,” she says arrogantly.
“Then next time, I suggest you actually bring your own,” I smile back at her.
But as I stand up to make myself another drink, I suddenly have an idea, and pull my phone from my pocket, quickly typing out a text.