discreet, this one had Montblanc sprayed all over it in graffiti-style writing. She thought it was very funny. I bought her a Mulberry bag and matching purse, and gave her a ten-grand bonus, so she definitely came off better than me.
“Logos are in,” she says right back. “Big time, the nineties are back, baby.”
“I should fucking hope not, seeing as I spent them as a spotty, broke, youth who couldn’t get laid if he paid for it. Not that I could pay for it.”
“Well, you can now.” She laughs.
I’ll have to tell her about Liza at some point, but I don’t need to hear the I told you so.
Margaret has been on at me to date more intelligent women for years. She says I need to date someone of caliber, who can be a serious partner. She introduced me to a ballerina, but that didn’t work out. Then an artist. Not my thing. She was far too up her own ass. The stupid cow painted a toilet seat red and called it Woman’s Woes, and she thought she was a genius. I fucking hate modern art.
The one woman I did meet in those circles who I could have maybe had a serious relationship with was the wife of the Foreign Secretary, and she wasn’t about to leave her politician husband to run off with an up and coming businessman with a shady background and tattoos. Although she did love my ink, and the few times I fucked her, she spent hours tracing the patterns it makes with her index finger.
Ah, I wonder what her husband would do if he knew I’d fucked her up the ass, while she stared at a photo of them at a government brunch?
Probably fuck all. He’s a total pussy, and he’s in my pocket. Dick.
“I can hear you brooding over the phone.” Margaret breaks into my thoughts.
“Just thinking how much I dislike most people,” I say.
“You’re a misanthrope, Konstantin. You need to fall in love, see the world anew. I mean it. You need to do something to stop being so down on the whole damn world. Stop dating those airhead Instagram models, and give yourself a chance to meet someone you can make a life with. Don’t think I don’t know why you deny yourself the chance at happiness.”
“Oh, why, great mind reader?”
“Because you think you failed Yulia, and you think you deserve to live in purgatory for it. Because you’re terrified that deep down, you’re like your father, when you’re nothing but, and because you find it almost impossible to trust anyone.”
Her words cut me to the bone. I do find trusting people almost impossible. Vasily, my second in Moscow, Margaret, my second in my legit business here, Derek, my sort-of-butler, are exceptions to the rule. Andrius, my brother in arms, of course. Probably, I would say I trust Bohdan and Denis who work for me in Moscow too … to a degree. That’s it, in the whole fucking world. There’s Michael, of course, but it’s more that I love him whether I trust him or not. But anyone else? I don’t trust them as far as I can throw them.
I hang up on Margaret without saying goodbye. Fuck her, she works for me, if she thinks she can spout shit like that at me, she’s wrong.
I call her back after a few moments of deep breathing. “Don’t say a fucking word,” I growl. She doesn’t. Margaret knows me well, and she knows when I mean it. “You overstepped just now. I get it’s probably coming from a good place because you care, but don’t you ever bring up Yulia or my piece of shit father again. Now, we’re good because luckily for you, I don’t hold grudges, and you’re an excellent right-hand woman, but in the future apply the brain to mouth filter before you speak. Now, go shop.”
I head back to work, and go straight to my office, avoiding eye contact as I don’t want to have to make idle chit chat.
Three hours later, I leave my office for ten minutes to stretch my legs. When I get back, there’s an orange box on my desk. It’s a Louis Vuitton box. It has a card on top, so I open that first.
Konstantin,
I’m sorry. Truly. I just worry. I care. You’re not only the big boss, but I truly see you as a good friend. I’m as hard as they come, but even I need people on my side. I just worry