Pet Writer?
1126 Words
Chapter Five
Gloria was talking to herself again.
Viktor stood by the door, unnoticed, watching her pace across the room, arguing with no one.
“No, that doesn’t even make sense; why would she stab him there? That’s stupid. Lazy writing,” she muttered, dragging a hand through her hair like she was personally offended by her own brain.
She’d been doing a lot of that lately. Talking. Arguing. Making a mess everywhere she sat to write.
And still, not a single complete chapter in the five days he had given her.
Irritating. He was becoming impatient.
“If you’re here to complain again, take a number.”
Viktor paused at the door.
So she had noticed him.
“I am not here to complain.”
“Great,” she muttered. “Then leave.”
“This is still my house, Gloria. I can be anywhere I want, anytime I want.” He rolled his eyes as he stepped into the room(he'd been doing a lot of that lately), his gaze flicking briefly around it.
Clothes on the chair.
Notebook on the floor.
A mug he was fairly certain did not belong in a bedroom.
Why did she never close the door?
“That’s what every psycho stalker says. One day you’ll walk in and catch me naked with a dildo between my thighs,” she scoffed, dropping into her chair and continuing to type like she hadn’t just said something completely unnecessary.
Viktor blinked once.
“You do not have one,” he said automatically.
She paused. Slowly looked up at him. “I was actually going to talk to you about that,” she said, completely serious. “I need one. It’s not easy being stuck in here all day. My fingers don’t do the job.”
Viktor went still.
There were many appropriate responses to that statement.
He found none of them.
“Do you always have to be so crude...”
She held up a finger without looking at him.
Her fingers started flying across the keyboard again, and Viktor stopped talking.
He watched, and waited.
Five minutes turned into ten.
She didn’t look up once. Didn’t acknowledge him. Didn’t even seem to remember he was still in the room.
He should leave. He didn’t. He stayed, watching her, imagining the wheels turning in her head with every word she typed.
Then she leaned back, a slow, satisfied grin spreading across her face.
“You should visit more often,” she said, finally looking at him. “Your annoying voice awakens my writing spirit.”
Viktor said nothing.
“What do you want?” she asked, her eyes narrowing now, suspicion settling in.
“Your breakfast is untouched,” Viktor said, ignoring her question as his gaze flicked to the cold plate sitting on her vanity.
“Don’t do that,” Gloria snapped, straightening. “You’re stalling. Why are you here, Mr. Viktor?”
“I am attending a high-class event. The Vice President will be there,” he said. “You will come with me.”
Gloria laughed. A full, genuine laugh.
Oh, he had to be joking.
But then, it was a Russian man she was talking about. They didn’t joke, and this one in particular, had the personality of an overstarched shirt.
Her laughter died slowly.
“…Why?” she asked, blinking at him. “Why me?”
“You are the most socially passable option available.”
Gloria tilted her head, lips pursing. There it was again. “You’re doing that thing again.”
“What thing?”
“That thing where you use words normal people don’t use,” she said, waving a hand vaguely at him. “What the hell does socially passable even mean?”
Viktor inhaled slowly, like he was preparing himself for something exhausting.
“I need you to attend an event with me. You are a… people person. Therefore, the people at the event will like you.” He paused, then added, carefully enunciating each word, “Is that basic enough for you to understand?”
That should have pissed her off.
It usually would have.
But her brain was still stuck on the first part.
“You kidnapped me,” she said slowly, like she was piecing it together for the first time. “And now you want to parade me around like your... what? Your date? Your pet writer?”
Her voice rose. “Are you actually insane?”
“I would be parading you as my girlfriend, if that makes you feel better,” he said with a small shrug, like that solved everything.
Gloria blinked at him. Then scoffed.
“Oh, look!” she said, clapping once. “It’s the girlfriend of the jerk; the Russian who talks without emotions!” she mocked, forcing a terrible deep accent.
Viktor frowned slightly. “If it is any consolation, my mother is American. And I believe I look… reasonably American.”
“That’s not the point!”
“What is the point?”
“The point is I’m not going anywhere with you!” she snapped. “It’s bad enough I’m stuck in here with you, I’m not about to go out in public and pretend I like you. I don’t have that kind of talent!”
Viktor stared at her. Why was she being unnecessarily emotional?
Most women would consider it an opportunity to be seen in public with him.
“I am confused,” he said slowly. “This is not a difficult request.”
“It is when I hate you!”
That made him pause briefly.
“It is not an option,” he said finally. “If you are good, I will allow you more freedom outside the estate.” He nodded lightly. “It is a reasonable exchange.”
“If I’m good?” Gloria repeated, incredulous. “Like I’m your dog? God, just shut up!”
She was pacing now. Stomping, really.
If it were possible, the floor would have cracked under her feet.
Viktor watched her for a moment, then checked the time.
“It is at seven this evening. A designer will arrive shortly to prepare you,” he said, pausing at the door.
“I suggest you behave, do not tell this designer anything that would raise a brow” he added calmly, “if you do not want the blood of an innocent woman on your hands.”
Then he left before she could throw something at him.
Silence settled behind him as he walked down the hall. He exhaled once.
She was… exhausting. That much was clear now.
And yet, he had committed himself to a full year of this.
Viktor frowned slightly.
Had he made a mistake?
- Writer
