The Russian Billionaire: A Romantic Suspense Novel

by Georgia Le Carre

  Lois’s boss is approaching so I get on with cleaning some glasses.

  The hours pass quickly and by the time I put the key into the door of our apartment, it's late. I take my shoes off and tip toe into the house. Tonight is the only night my mom doesn’t have to work late so I do not want to disturb her if she has fallen asleep in front of the TV. She is not asleep on the sofa. As I pass the bathroom I hear sobbing. Fear grips my heart.

  “Mom,” I call.

  Immediately, the sobbing stops. I turn the door handle and go into the bathroom. My mom is slumped on the floor in the dark.

  “Don’t switch on the light,” she whispers brokenly.

  I sit on the floor next to her and take her hand in mine. Her hand is like ice. “What’s wrong, Mom?” I ask. My heart is thumping with fear.

  “The doctor called. They’re going to have to bring her surgery forward. She’s not doing so good, Raine. She’s struggling. My baby is struggling to live.”

  “We’ll figure it out, Mom.”

  “No, we won’t. I didn’t tell you, but I lost my shifts at the grocery store last week. They’re cutting back. Not that it matters. Those shifts hardly paid for our weekly food bill.”

  “Mom, I think I’ve got a way to pay for Maddy’s operation,” I whisper in the dark.

  Raine

  My mom shoots upwards suddenly and hits the light switch. Light floods the room. She stares at me with a strange expression. Her tired eyes transformed. I see fear and anger glittering in them.

  “Doing what?” she asks, in a tight, low voice.

  I pull out Catherine’s calling card from the pocket of my skirt and hand it to her. Something compelled me and I had fished it out of the trash after my shift. Then I tell her quickly about her proposition. She never takes her eyes off me the whole time I am speaking. When I come to a stop she looks at the card, then she raises her eyes and says one word. The word is harsh and full of pain.

  “No.” Her voice is hard and stern.

  I scramble up to my feet. “Why not? It would be easy money.”

  My mother looks at me incredulously. “Easy money? Are you kidding? There’s no such thing. What if you get caught while you’re stealing this painting?”

  I stay silent.

  “You’ll go to prison, Raine. That’s what will happen. You’ll have a prison record for the rest of your life! Finding work with a criminal record of dishonesty will be near impossible. You want to risk that?”

  I look her in the eye. “Yes.”

  “No, I won’t let you do it. There is no way I am going to let one of my children sacrifice herself for the other.” Mom can barely repress the shiver of horror that runs through her body.

  “It’s my decision, Mom. I’m an adult now.”

  She shakes her head, her eyes pleading. “So you’re willing to become a thief?”

  I swallow hard and tell her the same lie Catherine told me. “It won’t be stealing. I’ll just be taking back something that he stole and allowing it to go to the rightful owner.”

  “If you believe that you’re not the girl I thought you were,” my mother mutters.

  I throw my ace card. “So you’d rather watch Maddy die?”

  Mom flinches as if I’d hit her.

  “Mom, please give me your blessings because I am going to do this.”

  “I can’t give you my blessings to go ahead and destroy yourself.”

  “What other choice do we have?”

  My mother drops her face into her hands and I move forward and take her in my arms. I let her sob her poor heart out while I hold onto her tightly and say again and again, “It’s going to be okay, Mom. Everything is going to be fine.”

  When she stops, she pulls away from me and says, “Call that woman. I want to speak to her.”

  So I call Catherine Moriarty, and put the phone on speaker mode.

  “Hello, this is Raine, the bartender you spoke to tonight.”

  “Hello, how nice to hear from you again,” she drawls.

  “My mom wants to have a word with you.”

  “Of course, put her on,” she says confidently.

  “What happens if my daughter gets caught while she is switching the painting?”

  “The billionaire in question cannot afford any negative publicity at the moment. She will be sent away from his apartment in some humiliation, but she will be paid handsomely for that shame.”

  “What if he calls the police?”

  “We have… people in the force who will take care of her.”

  “What if the billionaire gets violent with her?”

  “Mmm… Kostantin Tsarnov has never shown violent tendencies towards women. It is not his style.”

  My mother takes a deep breath. “Why did he steal the painting from your client if it is of low value?”

  “The theft is part of a long-standing feud between two families.”

  My mother turns to look at me, her expression is one of defeat. She’s hoping Catherine will say something that would make it impossible for me to take the job, but she has found nothing. She shakes her head at me sadly and leaves the bathroom quietly.

  I pick up the phone. “What do you need me to do next?”

  “Can we meet tomorrow?”

  “I’m working tomorrow, but I have an hour for lunch.”

  “Fantastic.” Then she smoothly arranges for us to meet at a restaurant close to my workplace and ends the conversation. I stare at the phone for a few seconds, then I go out into the kitchen where my mother is making tea for us.

  We sit at the kitchen table and drink our tea together.

  “It’s going to be okay, Mom.”

  She just nods, her expression wretched and gloomy.

  Raine

  We meet at a French restaurant. Very upmarket. The hostess actually looks down her nose at me when I arrive. Catherine Moriarty is already at the table sipping from her glass of San Pellegrino. She smiles when she sees me. If she had intended to intimidate me, she is going to be disappointed. I have never eaten in such an expensive restaurant, but I know how they work and exactly how the diners behave like I know the back of my hand.

  “Good. You are on time. I hate it when people are late,” she says, when I arrive at her table.

  A waiter materializes out of nowhere and effortlessly pulls out the chair opposite hers. I slip into it and thank him. He nods at me and withdraws. Someone else comes forward to ask if I would like something to drink.

  “Martini, no olives,” I say.

  “Of course,” he says with a nod, and leaves.

  I turn my attention back to Catherine.

  Her eyes are assessing. “I’m glad you said yes. I have a good feeling about you. You’re the right physical type, and you are intelligent. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s stupid girls. There are too many of them in my line of work.”

  Her phone rings. She picks it up and says, “Yes. Tell Mr. Nikitin everything is set. He has nothing to worry about.” Then she looks up at me and with a glitter of satisfaction, adds, “I’ve found the perfect bait.”

  A waiter carrying a basket full of all kinds of bread comes by. Catherine shakes her head and waves him away. I point to a seeded bun and he lays it on the small plate on my right with a pair of tongs.

  My glass of martini is put in front of me. I pick it up and take a small sip. Catherine is still listening to something the other person on the phone is saying. So I break a piece of bread and begin to butter it. Catherine ends her call, leans back on her chair and stares at me. There is a strange expression on her face.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  She flashes the first genuine smile I’ve seen from her. “You know what?”

  I play her game. “What?”

  “You’re perfect for Konstantin Tsarnov.”

  “Why?”

  “Let’s just call it an instinct. I’ve been in this business a long time and I can tell when I have scored. When I’ve found that one girl that will be perfect for
the job.”

  “What if he doesn’t take me to his apartment?”

  “Then you will either have to walk away with just $50,000, an amount I have a feeling is not enough for what you need, or you can arrange another date and try again.” She shrugs eloquently. “It will be all up to you. No doubt you have googled him and know he is dashingly handsome. You may even want to sleep with him.”

  Yes, I did google him and he is drop dead gorgeous, but I zoomed in on his eyes and they are shockingly cold. The eyes of a heartless predator. Not a man I would ever consider sleeping with. I am attracted to guys with warm brown eyes, a cheeky grin, and a wicked sense of humor. Konstantin Tsarnov looks like he wouldn’t know humor if it hit him with a wet fish. Besides, men like him disgust me. Their greed is endless. No matter how much money they make it is never enough. They just have to keep on piling on more and more money that they will never be able to spend into their accounts. So I have absolutely no intention of sleeping with him. Even the thought fills me with revulsion.

  A waiter approaches and hands us menus.

  She hands the menu back to him. “I’ll have the chicken salad.”

  I hold my menu out to him. “Same, please.”

  When he walks away I turn back to her. “Tell me what Konstantin Tsarnov likes.”

  She leans forward. “He likes variety. He likes change. He likes beautiful women who don’t make demands on him. I suppose he likes dumb blondes.”

  Just as I guessed, Konstantin Tsarnov is a male chauvinist pig. “I thought you said I’m perfect because I’m intelligent…”

  “It takes intelligence to play dumb when you’re not dumb. I wouldn’t dream of entrusting this job to a truly dumb girl.”

  “I see,” I murmur.

  “He likes fast cars, good food, and travelling to exotic places, so if you have ever gone to far-flung locations you may talk about that.”

  “I’ve never left the States,” I admit.

  “Hmm… nevermind. He rides horses and is an excellent polo player. He’s a great swimmer. He enjoys racing and goes to Monaco and Monte Carlo once a year for the Formula One event. He is also a judo black belt holder.” She looks at me hopefully.

  “I can swim and I used to ride horses back when we lived on a farm in Missouri,” I offer up.

  “Yes, yes, talk about horses. He loves them. I believe he keeps a stable of prize-winning horses in England.”

  Over the next hour, I learn that Mr. Tsarnov is extremely intelligent, cannot bear the company of fools, hates to be bored, and passionately dislikes clingy females. He has a massive yacht parked in the Bahamas, homes in England, Monaco, Dubai, and Moscow, and most important he guards his privacy as jealously as a lioness defends her cubs.

  As my plate of half-eaten chicken salad is cleared away, Catherine hands me two NDAs. To my surprise, one is for my mom. For the rest of our lives neither of us will ever be able to speak to anyone about anything that happens pertaining to this job.

  Konstantin

  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UrGw_cOgwa8&ab_channel=ParlophoneRecords

  * * *

  “I see you haven’t bid on anything yet, Mr. Tsarnov,” notes Mrs. Lynn de Manafort, the richest woman in New York. And I don’t mean that bullshit rich list that Forbes publishes. No, she belongs to that secret rich list only insiders and people in the know, know about.

  “Still, I can hardly blame you,” she continues. “Except for the Basquiat, everything else has been quite tedious.”

  Tedious? She has no idea how mind-numbingly dull it has been for me. It’ll be a great relief when they auction off the dinner dates, and I can finally leave. I turn towards her carefully powdered face politely.

  Her pale blue eyes appear to be genuinely friendly, but I know better. Even so, it is always a surprise to meet one of the members of these generational wealth families who like to pretend they were once insanely wealthy, but have since squandered away their riches. The effortless way they hide their immense power and wealth and blend in with the rest of us taxpayers is quite fascinating.

  “Perhaps you will bid on the next event, the dinner dates,” she says with a charming smile.

  “Perhaps,” I murmur, and turn my gaze back towards the stage.

  Five young women have come onto the stage. They are all beautiful, with sexy mouths, and stripper bodies, the type I find pleasing. In fact, if I didn’t know better I’d think they had all been specially picked to appeal to me. Even so, one of them stands out more than the others.

  I focus on her. Long blonde hair, eyes: too far to tell exactly, but either blue or gray, deliciously plump lips, full breasts, curving hips, and… legs that go on forever. I am seated at the head table, close enough to the stage to see her hands trembling. She turns them into fists. Her nervousness makes me curious. I let my eyes wander over to the other girls. They do not show any nervousness at all. In fact, two of them meet my gaze head on, and promise me things. I bring my eyes back to the blonde.

  The hunter in me has been triggered.

  The Emcee starts the bidding. The first girl is called Alicia. To my surprise, her eyes sweep over in my direction before sliding away quickly. How strange. The bidding starts at ten thousand. The men bid on her and the dinner date is sold for eighty thousand dollars. There is good natured clapping and cheering.

  The next is a redhead who, who curiously, shoots a quick look at me before giving a little flirtatious wave at the audience. So, every girl except the blonde has made eye contact. How very interesting.

  The bidding starts. The three remaining men bid on her. Dinner with her is sold for a hundred thousand. The Emcee is delighted.

  “Let’s see if we can up the stakes even more, gentlemen. It’s all for a good cause,” he encourages with a toothy grin. “Next, we have the very lovely, Raine Fillander. Who will take this beauty out to dinner?”

  The blonde steps forward. She gives a quick smile and stares forward. The men start bidding. The Emcee takes them up the garden path right up to a hundred and twenty thousand dollars.

  “Do I have a hundred and thirty thousand?” he asks hopefully, glancing around at the men.

  “One million,” I call.

  A hush of disbelief falls over the crowd. The blonde turns towards me, in her oval face, her eyes are huge with shock. Then the well-oiled publicity machine that Stephan pays for bursts into life and countless cameras throw their flashes at Raine Fillander.

  In the white light that bathes her, I see that her eyes are blue.

  Sapphire blue.

  Raine

  The flashes from the cameras that suddenly appear out of nowhere disorientate and startle me. I feel myself shrink back from the blast. What is going on? Surely, I can’t have heard right. Then I hear the Emcee, who must also have been in shock, announce, “I have one million. Do I hear one million and ten thousand?”

  There is a pause. Followed by silence.

  “Going once. Going twice. Sold to Mr. Konstantin Tsarnov.”

  The entire room breaks into applause. I see a woman in a black dress head in the direction of Konstantin Tsarnov to take his details. My mind is blank as I force a smile and turn towards the direction I had been instructed I must head towards after my stint on the stage. The other two girls who went before me stare at me with a mixture of surprise and hostility.

  “Do you know him?” one of them demands.

  I shake my head in a daze. In my mind’s eye, I can still see him, leaning back in his chair, staring at me as if he is the devil himself.

  “Well, congratulations,” the redhead mutters.

  “Thanks,” I reply automatically as if I have actually won something.

  I feel a touch on my shoulder and turn to see Catherine Moriarty. She is glowing with satisfaction. “Come with me.”

  I turn and follow her into a large room with stacked chairs and tables around the walls. She closes the door and turns to me.

  “I knew I made the right decision with you,” she gushes ex
citedly.

  “What’s going on? Why did he bid a million?”

  “Judging from the amount of photographers out there, I’d hazard a guess it is a profile-raising stunt. I hear he has some bad publicity coming his way, and his publicist might have figured this would be a way of white washing the coming bad news.”

  “What does it mean for us… me?”

  “Nothing,” she replies calmly. “We change nothing. Follow the plan I’ve outlined. If you look into your banking app now you will see that the first payment should already be in your account. As agreed the next payment will appear when you successfully complete the exchange.” She hands over the black purse slung over her shoulder. “The painting is in here, and the map of his apartment and detailed instructions will be in an email to you.”

  I take the purse and hold it awkwardly in my hands. “Will he call me about the dinner date?”

  Her mouth twists. “His secretary will probably call to arrange a time and place.”

  I nod. “Right.”

  “Any more questions?”

  I shake my head. To be honest, I feel quite strange and light-headed. As if all this is happening to someone else and I’m just watching.

  “You have my number if you have any other questions or need clarifications on anything… and Raine… congratulations.”

  Then she leaves me standing in the middle of that deserted store room stacked with unused chairs and tables. I stand there for a while thinking of his eyes. They are cold and cynical. The eyes of a man who has seen it all and doesn’t like what he has seen.

  I have a feeling I am not going to like him, which is just as well because I’m about to steal his painting. There is a sick feeling in my stomach when the reality of the thought hits me. Until now there was a chance he would pick someone else, but this is it now. He picked me.