RUSLAN
I’ve had a single question circulating in my head since seven minutes and twenty-three seconds after the top of the hour, when Emma walked out of my office with the contract tucked under her arm.
Will she surrender?
There’s a chance she’ll turn me down straight-up. I’m prepared for that. What I’m not prepared for is the nauseating churn in my gut when I consider her walking out my door for good.
Which is f*****g bullshit, of course. What do I care about one woman in a city of millions? I could hurl my desk chair out of my office right this second and hit a dozen willing prospects on the way down. A dozen eager yeses who’d sign without bothering to read a single line of my love life contract.
Correction: not my love life, my s*x life. I have no interest in love. I made that deci
