Champagne Venom (Orlov Bratva, #1)(12)

But in the mornings, I banish her from my mind again. I throw myself into my work. Things are happening—big things—and the last thing I can afford is a useless distraction.

This morning’s meeting with the board of directors is a delicate balancing act. They don’t know who I am. Who I really am. Sure, these puttering, uptight civilians might have heard rumors about the things I’m said to do when I’m not wearing my CEO crown, but if they knew the truth of it, they’d be shitting in their double-breasted suits.

So it takes everything in me to keep my calm.

“More takeovers, Mr. Orlov?” one of them balks. “Is that really the best use of our cash reserves right now?”

I turn my gaze on him. Like always, he shivers just enough for me to notice. People fear the full power of my eyes. I use that to my advantage. “This is a strategic acquisition, Mr. Simons,” I lie seamlessly.

As I talk, I picture myself ripping that mousy little mustache right off his upper lip. “Polytech Incorporated will be a perfect complement to our manufacturing divisions. I intend to move through the closing of the deal quickly and have them integrated by the end of the year. You’ll thank me when I do.”

Mr. Simons nods and shuts the fuck up. Good boy, I tell him silently. Way to remember your place.

“Any other questions?” I ask. “No? That’ll be all, then. Have a good day, gentlemen.” The board members stand and leave quickly. Very few of them dare to meet my eye on their way out.

When the room is empty, my assistant comes waddling up to me. Ashley or Arlie or something like

that, I can never remember her name, is obscenely pregnant. The black fabric of her dress is stretched taut over her belly.

“Mr. Orlov,” she says, “I brought the new assistant, Ms. Masters, to meet you. She’s been in orientation all morning, plus we did a thorough walkthrough together, so she should be very familiar with all your needs and requirements.”

“New assistant?” I say, frowning. My head is elsewhere. I’m still picturing the look on Petyr Ivanov’s face when I buy his company out from under him. Then I picture the look on his face when I strangle the air from his lungs.

Both are coming, soon enough.

“I’m pregnant, sir,” Angelie reminds me shyly. “I’ll be on maternity leave starting next week.”

I glance down at her belly and frown again. “Right.” Sighing, I run a hand through my hair. “Fine.

Send in the new girl.”

“Right away, sir.” Alexis turns and makes for the doors. She pulls one open and steps through, then starts whispering to someone on the other side. I’m checking my emails on my phone, so I don’t bother paying attention until I hear the door click shut and someone clears their throat.

I start to talk without looking up. “Move my four p.m. to next Thursday,” I order, “and schedule a lunch with the District Attorney at my—”

“Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

I look up.

And then I say the same thing my new assistant just said. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”





9





MISHA


“M–Misha?” Paige is pale and baffled in the doorway.

She looks more put together than she did when I first saw her sprinting down the back hallway at the Crimson Orchid, although that’s not saying much. Her skirt is too tight, her blazer too big, and she’s wearing the ugliest, chunkiest black shoes I’ve ever seen.

But I couldn’t forget about her if my fucking life depended on it.

I can’t quite bite back my weary sigh. “You must be Ms. Masters.”

She shuffles from one leg to the other, her clunky shoes tapping on the tile. “We didn’t really get into names and such…”

“I told you mine.”

“Right. Yeah. But I didn’t—I never knew your name. Or the name of the man I would be working for, I mean.”

“You agreed to be a personal assistant to someone you didn’t know?”

“I was homeless and couldn’t afford to buy a pizza,” she says between gritted teeth. “Please don’t make me explain that I was desperate. Besides, knowing your name wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“It might have saved us this uncomfortable encounter.”

Her cheeks flush with color, but it’s not embarrassment I’ve caused—it’s hurt.

Goddammit. It’s not that I haven’t upset my fair share of assistants; this is just the first time I’ve felt guilty about it.

Before I can figure out what I intend to do, Paige’s mouth flattens into a slash of indignation. Her dark brown eyes are filled with contempt as she marches right up to the table.

“I’m sorry I’ve made things uncomfortable for you, but I didn’t act alone that night. It takes two to tango. You were there, too.”

“That night,” I muse, leaning back. “Let’s talk about ‘that night,’ shall we?”

I round the conference table to stand next to her. She straightens up as tall as she can, squaring her shoulders like it’ll save her from me. “What about it?”

“Did you enjoy your stay at the hotel?”

Her expression darkens. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”