by Elodie Colt
“Wayde. He was close by. I would have never arrived in time. He also found out that Luka hacked your security system and kicked him out.”
Her head bops in a nod. “I destroyed it along with my phone before I moved to Zoya’s.”
My lips flatline. If she knew what I did to find her, she’d cut and run on the spot. I know what she destroyed because I broke into her apartment. I know who she is because I hired an ex-military spy. I know a lot of things because I crossed a lot of lines. Ella would never trust me again if she knew…
I glance down at her bag on the floor. It doesn’t look as if she’s carrying a lot with her, but I know her Glock is stashed inside.
“Do you know how to handle that gun?” I ask with a nod to her bag.
A pinched expression crosses or features. “I do now.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was at a shooting range in Pennsylvania two days ago.”
I cock my head. There’s something she’s not telling me, and I don’t like it. “Why Pennsylvania?”
“Because”—she wrings her hands—“the guy who offered to give me some training lives there.”
The chagrined look she sends me almost coaxes an angry growl from the back of my throat. “What guy?”
She huffs. “It was just a kiss, okay? I didn’t sleep with him or anything.”
I blink at her, the wheels in my brain rattling. “You hooked up with a guy the same day we had sex?”
“How was I supposed to know you would show up? We were done, remember?” She throws her hands in the air and drops them down into her lap. “And I didn’t hook up with him. It was just a weekend flirt.”
I swallow down the lump of rage unfurling in my throat, trying to think rationally. I knew there was a chance that someone else would try his luck with her. I just hoped she would turn them down. Truth be told, I’m astounded by how honest and open she is with me.
As opposed to you, asshole, or are you going to tell her about your ex-wife showing up to shove her tongue down your throat?
I rub the bridge of my nose. “I’m sorry. It’s just… The thought of someone else touching you—”
The words hitch in my throat when she scrambles up to sit on my lap, squeezing my hips with her knees. Her hands come up to cradle my face, and I let my head flop back against the backrest, savoring her touch.
“—will only make your pretty hair gray,” she ends my sentence, making me grumble.
I heave a long sigh, wriggling my hands underneath her shirt to touch the small of her back. “I know it’s way too soon to ask, but… What do you think about moving in with me?”
She huffs, trying to scramble off, but I tighten my grip, keeping her in place.
“Listen, I know you think I’m getting ahead of myself, but you know as well as me that this is the safest place for you.”
“Don’t,” she hisses, pointing a warning finger at me. “Don’t try and control me. Luka is my baggage. You knew what you were getting yourself into.”
Her response doesn’t surprise me. If anything, I admire her strong will.
“Fine. Then at least spend the nights at my place. I can’t shut an eye knowing you are a one-hour drive away while that fucker is snooping around to watch you sleep.”
She considers my request for a moment before she nods. “Okay.”
“There’s something else…”
She sends me a warning look, so I say, “Just hear me out, okay? I’ve got a job offer for you. Crawford Crescent is expanding their Eastern Europe network, and we’re looking for a Russian translator and interpreter to work for us. You would get your own office.” Her look darkens, and I quickly add, “Or you can work from home, too, once in a while.”
She hasn’t interrupted or slapped me yet, something I take as a good sign, so I try to sweeten the deal for her.
“We’ve got brochures and other stuff to translate all the time. A few events abroad, too, where we could use an interpreter. You can get lots of insight into Russia’s history and art. And the payment wouldn’t be that bad, either.”
Pursing her lips, she pokes her tongue into the inside of her cheek. “I’m not ready yet to quit my job as a freelancer. I’ve worked hard to build my client base, and I don’t want to throw it all away at once.”
My head flops forward, and I groan. This girl is too steadfast for her own good.
“But”—she flicks a finger underneath my chin to make me look up again—“we can do fifty-fifty. Crawford Crescent will be my key client. I can work in the gallery part-time and do the rest from home. Deal?”
I smirk. “Deal. You can start on Saturday.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Why Saturday?”
“We have a high-ranking visitor from Kazakhstan. He’s one of our biggest clients and requested a private gallery tour. It wouldn’t harm to have a pretty native present to stroke his ego a bit.”
She sends me a sexy grin before she scoots a little closer, her jeans chafing against my groin. I hiss at the contact, my fingers clawing into her skin.
“Hm, I could do that…” She moves her hand to where my cock is growing in length. Fast. “But first, I’d rather stroke your ego a bit.”
“Damn, yeah, it’s in the dumps,” I mumble, my voice growing thick. “I think it needs a good, thorough massage.”
“That can be arranged.”
Moving one arm underneath her ass, I stand up with her wrapped around me like a monkey and aim for the bedroom. Sure, I could have taken her on the sofa, but I want to rub her all over my sheets until the entire space smells of her.
The room is dark, and I accidentally bump into the door frame with my shoulder, making her giggle. Cursing, I fumble for the light switch.
“What are you doing?” she asks, clearly amused.
“Turning on the lights.” Finally, I find the switch, and the lights flicker on.
“Why do you need light?”
“I already told you. I’m sick of screwing you in the dark.” I move toward the bed and dump her on it, relishing in the sight of her squirming on my sheets.
“From now on, I’m going to take you with the lights on… Always with the lights on.”
13
Ella
With a grunt, I rip the rubber band from my hair and try a third time to create a somewhat presentable ponytail. After yet another hot and dirty night with Nathan, I woke up with a mop of hair resembling a tumbleweed. I’d wanted to take a shower, but Nathan insisted on cuddling, so I hope the hairspray will do its job.
I turn my head left and right in front of the huge bathroom mirror, checking if the ponytail sits straight, and adjust the collar of my blouse. My gaze falls on the two toothbrushes sitting in the cup above the basin. One of them is mine.
I munch on my lip. Maybe I’ve agreed to our sleep-over-every-night arrangement too fast. I can’t drive back to Brighton Beach every day before work, so I had to bring some of my stuff, which, in all likelihood, had been Nathan’s plan all along. A bag of clothes and underwear sits in his bedroom, and a quarter of the mirror cabinet in the bathroom is crammed with my stuff.
Nathan nudges the door open, swaggering inside with a cocky smirk. I suck in a breath when I watch him through the mirror. It’s the first time I’ve seen him up close in a suit, and the sight makes my mouth go dry. A marine blue jacket stretches over his broad shoulders, complementing his smoky gray eyes. Twisting the two rings on his fingers, he comes up from behind me and presses a sweet kiss below my ear.
“You look lovely, honey,” he whispers over my skin.
“I would look lovelier if I’d had the time to wash my hair.”
He grabs my ponytail and pulls until my head follows the motion, dropping back onto my shoulder. He nibbles my exposed neck.
“We can take a shower together. Later.”
Giggling, I yank myself out of his grip and turn around to face him. “Stop toying with my head. I need to focus.”
His hands come up to frame my h
ips. “On what?”
“On my first audience with the Crawford Queen.”
He huffs a laugh, brushing a finger over the pendant sitting just above the creek of my breasts. “Nervous, dragonfly girl?”
“A little. Am I going to meet your father, too?”
“No. He’s away on business.” He takes my hand in his. “Come on, let’s get going.”
We make our way out into the hallway and enter the elevator. The surfaces look freshly polished, sparkling under the bright overhead lights, and the scent of glass cleaner lingers in the air.
Nathan leans back to prop himself against the railing while I shift from one foot to the other. My life has taken a three-sixty overnight. It hasn’t even been a week since Nathan and I found our way to each other, and I’m already about to call his apartment home and his jewel gallery my new workplace. I’ve wanted to drop a million questions, like how much he actually knows about me, and how deep he had to dig to find out. How he feels about his father who’s been in prison for fourteen years. Why he doesn’t call Brooke Mom or Vincent Dad. How he knows his exact birthday if his mother gave him away.
But for some reason, all these questions go up in smoke whenever he captures my gaze to spellbind me with an intense, unbreakable stare.
The elevator announces our arrival with a ping, and we step out into a huge hallway with offices and meeting rooms branching out in every direction. Everything is spacious and extravagant and smells of a wealth that goes beyond my imagination. It reminds me of the neat, modern style of eNtimacy’s headquarters with the difference that the accents are golden and silver instead of red.
The floor is quiet save for a printer humming somewhere in the backrooms. I guess most of the employees are not here on Saturdays which prompts me to ask, “Do you always have to work on the weekends?”
He smacks his lips, smirking. “Not a lot of spare time when you’re head of a company like this. But don’t worry, I’ll always find time for you,” he adds with a wink, and halts in front of a door. I glance at the golden plate.
Brooke Crawford, CFO & CMO
Nathan’s left hand is on my waist while he uses the other to knock before he pushes down the handle. The big room behind reminds me of the fancy lawyer’s offices from Suits, with huge floor-to-ceiling windows connecting two adjacent walls, dark wood, and expensive furniture. But instead of shelves full of heavy books and walls adorned with skyline-paintings, every nook glitters with diamond rings, opulent necklaces, and golden figurines. The entire space screams luxury and power, and I gulp when the woman sitting behind the desk in the center lifts her sharp-cut cheekbones at our entrance.
“Morning,” Nathan says in greeting and nudges me forward. “Brooke, this is Ella. Ella, this is my mother, Brooke—Finance and Marketing Executive of Crawford Crescent.”
She rises to her feet with the elegance of a princess, flaunting a posh business dress fit for a fashion-show runway and an appertaining jewelry set that bling-blings on all her extremities. Her heels drill into the hardwood floor as she carries herself over to me and stretches out a hand bearing more rings than she’s got fingers. I shake it.
“Welcome to Crawford Crescent,” she says with a polite smile.
“A pleasure to meet you, Mrs.—”
Nathan’s phone ringing in his suit pocket interrupts my speech, and he pulls it out with a frown.
“It’s a call from Kazakhstan. Probably Sharipova’s assistant.” He flashes me an apologetic glance. “Sorry, but I have to take this.”
“It’s fine,” Brooke says, placing a hand with perfectly manicured nails on my shoulder. “We’ve got this.”
Nathan sends her a look as if to say be nice, and, after pressing a soft kiss onto my cheek, shuffles out to take his business call. The room becomes silent as soon as the door closes behind him, and Brooke motions for me to take a seat. I inch toward the desk and place my ass on the soft leather while Brooke folds her frame into the seat opposite me.
Entwining her hands in front of her, she rolls her chair closer until her ribs hit the edge of the desk. I keep my face blank despite my knee bouncing like a yo-yo underneath the table.
“Ella Jenkins…” she says with a provocative drawl that almost makes me arch an eyebrow at her. “You’ve been giving my son a run for his money. He’s been chasing you around the entire country, I’ve heard.”
I try to read between the lines, but I can’t tell if there’s a tinge of accusation ringing in her disturbingly neutral voice. She smirks when I remain quiet because, honestly, what am I supposed to say?
“Don’t misunderstand me, Nathan gets bored quickly. He needs a woman to keep him on the run, so I guess you haven’t been such a bad influence. Anyway, let’s talk about business.”
She clears her throat, changing the subject faster than I can follow.
“Our company is experiencing a growth spurt in the Eastern European and North Asian markets. Twenty percent of our top clients are from Russia, Kazakhstan, Ukraine, and some of the former Soviet countries where Russian is either the official or unofficial language. I’m spending half of my time searching for translators, and most are not familiar with the term ‘deadline.’ The last agency we hired for translating our website ended up producing this.”
She fetches a piece of paper from a stack next to her and slides it over to me. I glance down at the print-out of the gallery’s website with a picture of a gold Buddha statue sitting on a chair. They translated ‘chair’ with ‘стол’ instead of ‘стул’—a common mistake in the Russian language.
I snort. “They said the Buddha is sitting on a table, not on a chair.”
“Exactly,” she grumbles. “One of our Latvian clients brought this to our attention, and he found half a dozen other mistakes on one landing page alone. I don’t want someone bilingual. I want a native. Someone who knows that Fabergé is, in fact, not French.” She grabs the paper and slaps it back onto the pile. “I’m not an expert on the Russian language, but my sons are, and Nick said you did a great interpretation job at the exhibition.”
Nathan speaks Russian? He never told me. Amongst many other things, I assume…
“Uh, thanks.”
“Nathan said you’d rather do part-time for now?”
“Yes.”
“That’s perfect. It allows me some time to rearrange our annual budget. You’ll get the contract on Monday.” She leans back in her chair. “Now, about the event tonight. Nathan said you agreed to join, yes?”
“Yeah. He told me you were expecting a high-ranking visitor.”
A mischievous grin spreads on her wrinkle-free face. In fact, her entire complexion is so flawless, I wouldn’t be surprised to see her in the next L’Oréal Anti-Age commercial.
“High-ranking is a bit of an understatement,” she says. “Sanzhar Sharipova is one of the richest men in Kazakhstan, net worth way over two billion dollars.”
I blink as sweat breaks out on my hairline. What the hell did Nathan get me into here?
“He’s the co-founder of the world’s leading natural resource group, Eurasian Natural Resources CO. and largest shareholder of KAZ Minerals. He built a gigantic metal and mining empire in his country. He owns banks, gold, and oil service assets as well as countless copper mines.”
Only half of what she’s saying registers as I’m still trying to wrap my head around the ‘two-billion-dollar net worth’ number.
“Wow,” I huff. “When Nathan spoke about the guy, I thought he meant the mayor or something…”
She sends me an understanding smile. “You will soon learn that Crawford Crescent plays in a different league.”
Just as Nathan is playing in a different league than me?
“As for the mayor,” Brooke continues with a pop of her glossy lips, “I’m meeting him for brunch every second Tuesday. Anyway, Sharipova is currently investing in museums all over the country and looking for pieces to complete his collection. Nick will give him and his entourage a private tour. He�
�s a nice guy, actually. Contrary to what some may think, quite unobtrusive and modest.”
“The Kazakhstani are cheerful and very hospitable people,” I remark. “The Russians get along well with them.”
Brooke nods. “His English skills are a nightmare, though, and I think he might feel a little more comfortable if he had someone to talk to in Russian. Someone who can give him some good welcome-vibes, you know?”
I shrug. “I can do that, I guess.”
“Good. The event starts at eight.”
She flips open her laptop, and I take it as a sign to be dismissed, standing from my chair.
“Ella,” she says when I’m about to walk out, and I swing around to face her. A beat of silence follows as she regards me. “Do you know about my son’s divorce?”
Uh-oh.
“Uh, yeah. He told me he was married a few years ago.”
Her expression remains unreadable. “Nathan had to take a lot of hits in his life. First, his father—the only one he’s been looking up to—let him down, leaving him to leading this company all by himself, and then his wife cheated on him six months after they tied the knot. Not to forget, his biological mother dumped him when he was just a few months old. He doesn’t remember her, but I know she left her scars on him.”
Slowly, in a gesture of mild intimidation, she steeples her fingers beneath her chin, and I brace myself for the punchline.
“Don’t crush his heart.”
My lips press into a thin slash. “I won’t.”
I hope I won’t have to, is what I should have said.
I hope Luka won’t make me.
Because if I ever had to choose…
I’d rather crush his heart than watch him die.
14
Ella
“Are you insane?” I hiss at Nathan when he motions for the sales clerk to pack my stuff and pulls out a fancy-looking card from his wallet. “That’s too much. I’d feel better if you just donated the money and feed some children in Africa.”
