Chapter 4 Benedikt
Benedikt
A manila folder lands on my desk with a haughty slap.
I don’t move for it right away.
Instead, I lean back, fingers steepled, and fix a flat stare on Artem, who’s too comfortable on the other side of my desk.
He takes up too much space. He always has.
He’s built like a tank, with broad shoulders stretching his tailored suit to its limits and forearms thick with muscle where he’s rolled up his sleeves. Close-cropped blond hair and a jagged scar running just beneath his jawline.
He’s the kind of man people get out of the way for, whether they realize it or not.
Not that he ever rushes. Artem moves when he feels like it, at his pace, with the same unbothered expression he’s wearing now.
“Can I help you?” I wait for any reaction but the usual blank one.
He tips his chin toward the folder. “The information you wanted on Sienna Graves.”
I exhale through my nose. “Is that why I got the cake?”
It’s not a question. The moment Sienna mentioned who had ordered it, I knew why my right-hand man had done it.
It wasn’t because I had a sweet tooth. It was so I could meet the woman who’d just been offered to me.
“It was the only way I could think of to get her here without physical contact,” he replies evenly.
I flip open the folder, skimming over details I expected.
Twenty-seven, a few past addresses, and no criminal record. She is a university dropout with a grandmother in assisted living and a ghost of a father.
A ghost who owes me money.
She has debt; typical shit like credit cards and student loans. Enough to make her pliable if the right offer was placed in front of her.
But I knew all this.
Google isn’t hard to use.
“I thought you were bringing me something interesting,” I say, “not shit I’ve already found on my own.”
“You didn’t flip the other pages yet, Ben.”
“If it’s a list of her boyfriends, I don’t give a fuck.”
“It’s what she’s doing that might have your dick hard by the time you’re done.”
Doubtful.
Flipping the page, I skim the black font then read it twice to make sure I’m seeing it right.
She codes.
The little bakery she’s working at is one of the many stomping grounds for dirty politicians that I’ve been keeping tabs on for months.
It’s a front.
A discreet system for moving messages between corrupt lawmakers and law enforcement. Payoffs, sensitive intel, and quiet little deals, all wrapped up in a box of cookies and cakes.
“Useful, isn’t she?”
I don’t answer.
I know exactly how I’m going to use her.
“Tell her father I’ll take the girl for his debt,” I mutter. “He doesn’t reach out to her. He doesn’t respond to her calls or text messages. He cuts all ties, or the deal is off.”
“Done.”
I look through the rest of the folder but am impatient within seconds. “Does she have a boyfriend?”
“Broke up with him last year.”
“Why?”
“Gambling debt.”
I glance up at him.
“She likes to date men like her daddy.”
Disappointing.
“Kids?”
“No.”
“She doesn’t live with anyone if I remember correctly.”
“She doesn’t. I just came back from her small apartment.”
I perk a brow.
“She likes pink, and she’s neat.”
“Good for her.”
“She also has a box of pictures with said boyfriend.”
My nose wrinkles.
“She’s sentimental.”
“She’s stupid,” I grumble. “Who does that unless they’re sixteen?”
“Women like to torture themselves, Benedikt. Didn’t you know that?”
I roll my eyes. I don’t give a shit what she has in a box; I want to know what kind of ties she has to these men she’s passing messages to. “Has she had any meetings with—”
“No. She takes the orders and happily does them. The bakery phone is tapped. Unless she’s the best actress in the world, it’s her job, her wine, and her Netflix that she worries about.”
“How do we know they haven’t met before we got involved in this?”
“We don’t,” he deadpans.
It’s not the answer I want, but it doesn’t matter. If she were in on it, she wouldn’t be grinding herself into the ground for rent money.
She’s a pawn. A useful one.
“How many friends does she have?”
“The girl at the bakery, Lucy. That’s all.”
No personal life, no real outside connections, and no one to question anything if she starts making different choices.
“And the grandmother?”
“Calls her every other day at six in the evening. They talk for about an hour, and then Granny goes to play Bingo. Sienna visits every Sunday on her day off.”
I hum, more to myself than him.
Routine.
Structure.
Predictability.
If I needed to get her attention, I know where she’ll be.
I push the folder aside. My decision has already been made. Not that I say it out loud.
I want to see how Sienna reacts first.
“As always, I appreciate this, Artem.”
He nods. “We moving on this, then?”
“Yep.”
“Do you need me to do anything, or are you capable of charming her?”
I don’t react to his bait. I’m fully capable of getting this to work the way I want. “Was there anything else?”
He smirks. “I’ll let you know.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
With a lazy salute, he leaves my office. The city hums below my window as I plan my next move.
She’s not a fan of me, but I’ve never had any problems with that before.
Sienna Graves wasn’t what I expected when I first saw her standing in my office, shifting on her feet like she wanted to bolt.
She was too soft, too sweet, and too messy.
She always had something on her, like she’d walked straight out of the kitchen without a second thought. Flour on her sleeve, powdered sugar on her cheek, or a smudge of batter on her wrist.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen her completely clean.
And those eyes. Light brown, almost golden, especially when she’s looking at me like she doesn’t get why I’m speaking to her.
She’s done that a lot.
Then there’s the hair. It’s red, like a warning of danger wrapped up in something deceptively inviting. She’s not tall, and not tiny either, but she’s got enough curves to make a man look twice.
I’m not immune.
Not that it matters.
Whether or not she wants to meet with me, at the end of the day, she’s mine.
And we can do this the easy way or the hard way.
Plucking my cell phone off my desk, I send her a quick text. She’s probably at the bakery, which will buy me time to get the rest of my shit done before I have to charm her into agreeing to meet with me on an occasion that doesn’t involve deliveries.
BENEDIKT: Lunch. Tomorrow. Noon.
A few minutes pass, and I get into details about an upcoming shipment before she responds.
SIENNA: Lunch? I thought you wanted dinner?
BENEDIKT: You’re nervous around me. Lunch is easier.
SIENNA: I’m not nervous around you.
BENEDIKT: Dinner it is, then.
SIENNA: Lunch is fine.
Well, that wasn’t hard.
I expected more pushback. However, the two days I put between our last conversation must have intrigued her.
This might be easier than I thought.
BENEDIKT: Would you like to pick the place?
SIENNA: Yes, please.
Mhm.
I can’t ignore the fact that I liked that.
Maybe this is going to be too easy.
BENEDIKT: Tomorrow work for you, Miss Graves? Or do you have other obligations?
SIENNA: I work. How about Saturday?
BENEDIKT: Noon work for you?
SIENNA: One is better. Should I bring my resume?
BENEDIKT: For?
SIENNA: You said I was talented and that you could use someone like me. But then you never said how.
BENEDIKT: We can discuss it over lunch.
SIENNA: What would a successful Fortune 500 investment company want with a small bakery?
BENEDIKT: You’ve done your homework. Anything else interesting that you learned about me?
SIENNA: I looked into your business, not you, Mr. Volkov.
BENEDIKT: That’s too bad, because I looked into you. Head baker at Sugar & Spice Bakery. You spook a bit easily, and you walk around with flour on you at all times.
SIENNA: That’s a basic assessment.
I smile.
BENEDIKT: Would you like me to go deeper?
SIENNA: Do you always stalk people you want to work with?
BENEDIKT: When it has to do with my company, yes. No need to bring in bad apples.
SIENNA: I’m sure your employees and clients feel violated afterward.
BENEDIKT: It’s not like it’s a conversation, Miss Graves. I can already feel you running away.
SIENNA: I’m still talking to you, aren’t I?
BENEDIKT: You’re nervous again. You’re wondering what a successful man like me could possibly want with a woman who brought baked goods to my office twice, and what my motives are.
SIENNA: Exactly.
BENEDIKT: We can talk about it over lunch.
SIENNA: I’m no longer intrigued.
BENEDIKT: That’s a shame. I was hoping to pass on a few proposals to you. Pull your career in and make it skyrocket.
SIENNA: I don’t own the bakery, Mr Volkov.
BENEDIKT: No, but I bet you want one of your own.
Silence.
During my research, I learned that Sienna has been denied a bank loan twice. Her credit is deplorable, and she has zero means to make a dream like that happen.
As creative as she is, I think she’d want an empire of her own.
The reviews at Sugar & Spice Bakery rave about her maple-bacon cheddar muffins, something she brings out every few months.
They talk about her specifically, and that can’t do anything but make her wish she could do things her way with a business of her own.
SIENNA: You’re not wrong.
BENEDIKT: I’m usually not.
SIENNA: I’ll see you on Saturday, Mr. Volkov.
I set down my phone, satisfied. She has no idea what she’s walking into.
But she will once I blow up her world and give her no choice but to work with me to put it back together.