Page 82 of Hate to Love You
“…I told Ana last night that I wanted an asset management report from Heather first thing,” Roman snaps, as he thunders down the aisle leading from the elevator to his office.
His obedient and loyal pup Caesar trots along beside him.
“Why the fuck don’t I have that already?”
“Um, I…I don’t know, Boss,” a stocky young man says.
He’s a man that I’ve never seen before, and I notice that he has several, intricately detailed neck tattoos. The two of them pause just before reaching my desk. Closing the notebook, I go to stand, but before I even get up, Roman shoves his long coat into the man’s arms unceremoniously.
Well, I guess he doesn’t need me to take his coat…
“Have we heard from the contact at Stein and Company?” Roman asks, looking down at his phone.
“I’m not sure,” he replies.
“Where’s your brother?” Roman continues, storming down the aisle without looking up.
“Um…well, I don’t—”
“I swear to fucking God, Noah,” Roman suddenly snaps, screeching to a halt and poking his finger into “Noah’s” chest. “If you say, “I don’t know,” one more fucking time, I might just toss you over the goddamn balcony.”
“Yes, Boss,” Noah gulps, stepping forward and tossing Roman’s coat onto my desk before raising his hands in the air. “Sorry, Boss, I can find out where Jacques is right away.”
Reaching forward, I grab the coat from my desk, folding it delicately as my fingers run over the fabric. It’s still warm and smells distinctly like Roman.
“No need, I’m right here, Boss,” another man chimes in, also materializing out of thin air.
Jacques might not have the same distinctive neck artwork as Noah, but their build and facial similarities are undeniable.
“You’re late,” Roman growls, whirling back around toward his office. “Do you have my report? Or am I just supposed to imagine the fucker?”
“Noah, run down to accounting and get the report from Heather,” the man named Jacques says firmly, turning to his brother.
“Noah,” Roman snaps, turning back round, “I gave you, my coat. Put it away.”
“Yes, Boss,” Noah says sheepishly, holding his hands out toward me, without a word I pass him the coat.
With a nod, he promptly jogs away, tossing the coat on a hanger before heading to the elevators. Not that I blame him. With the mood that Roman appears to be in this morning, I’d want to get away from him too.
“I want Boris, Oleg, Jacques and you in a conference in ten minutes, or I swear I’ll use your balls for bookends.”
“Good morning, Mr. Antonov,” I hear Alison say in a nauseating sing-song voice.
I fight the urge to roll my eyes.
Of course, she’s magically appeared on the floor now as well, she tends to hover whenever Roman, and his men are around.
“Do you need anything? Or would you like me to take notes for—”
“Coffee, black,” he quips without looking up at her as he steps into his office. “From Roast.”
A dejected Alison turns a bright shade of red, and based on the way she angrily snatches her purse and jacket off the back of her chair, it’s clear that this was not the answer she was hoping for.
However, as she stands waiting next to the silent and equally dejected Noah, the elevator dings again, and suddenly Cal appears carrying a stack of papers.
Alison steps on to the elevator, but Noah is redirected by Cal who grabs him by the arm, and evidently tells him to disregard his task.
With the young man in tow, Cal walks down the aisle and directly into Roman’s office.