Chapter 7
LYRA
The evening air is more refreshing and calming than it has any right to be. After nearly ten hours of hard work and sexual tension, I’m ready to get home so I can recover and do it all over again tomorrow.
I still can’t believe I’m back. After what went down with Alexander, I was certain that I’d closed the Volkov chapter of my life for good.
It isn’t easy getting away from a family like that so easily, I suppose.
The walk is a good few minutes, so I slip my phone out of my pocket and call Mom.
She picks up on the second ring, which means she’s got her phone nearby. Not a good sign; when she’s parked by the phone, it usually means she’s sitting with Dad while he’s going through a bad stretch.
“Hey, Mama.”
“Hey, baby. How are you? You sound tired.”
She does, too, but I don’t say anything—being tired is a part of her life now with Dad in the shape he’s in.
“I’m fine. Long day. How’s Dad?”
There’s a pause. I know what that means. My stomach tenses, ready for bad news.
“He’s… fine. Been sleeping a lot. Dr. Broussard wants to move the surgery up if the insurance comes through. He says waiting isn’t doing your father any favors.”
“How much sooner?”
“Three weeks, maybe four. But Lyra, the co-pay alone—”
“I’ll cover it.”
“Honey—”
“Mama, I got my job back.” I say it with more confidence than I feel, weaving through a cluster of commuters at the corner of Lex and 51st.
“The CEO brought me back. Even increased my salary. So I can handle the insurance, the co-pay, all of it. You just focus on Dad.”
“You got your job back?” Her voice lifts, the relief in her tone bringing a big, broad smile to my face. “At the Volkov company? But I thought after Alexander—”
“It’s a different situation now. New management. They want me there to rejuvenate the foundation.”
“And Alexander? Is he still—”
“It’s fine, Mama.” My smile turns to a wince. She barely knows about what’s going on with Alex, just that the engagement is off. “Alexander’s not involved in my department.”
It’s a vague-as-hell way to describe the situation, but she doesn’t need to know the full picture of what I’ve just walked back into. Mama’s got enough on her mind.
“Well, praise God,” she says. I can actually hear her smiling. “Your father’s going to be so relieved. And not just because of the co-pay. He worries about you up there, all alone in that big city.”
“I’m not alone. I’ve got you and Dad, and a rent-stabilized apartment. I’m good.” I force a laugh. “I’ll call again tomorrow, OKAY? Just wanted to tell you the good news. Give Dad a kiss for me.”
“I will, baby. I love you.”
“Love you, too, Mama.”
I hang up and slip my phone back into my bag. As I walk, I feel the weight of everything pressing down on me—Dad’s health, the cost of his surgery, the premiums and the co-pay, not to mention the rent on an Astoria apartment I can barely afford.
Julian’s bump in pay will definitely help, but I have to stay onboard.
The entrance to the Lexington Avenue-53rd Street station is half a block ahead. I’m reaching for my MetroCard, when a figure steps out from between two parked cars and falls into step beside me.
“Lyra.”
I don’t need to look to know who it is. It’s the voice that used to yell across the quad to get my attention back in college, the voice that used to sing along—badly—to Taylor Swift in our old apartment. The same voice that told me she’d been sleeping with my fiancée.
Sophia.
She looks different, and not in a good way, not like the other night at the gala. Her hair’s pulled back into a severe ponytail, she’s wearing barely any makeup, and she’s got on jeans and an oversized Louisiana State hoodie. She looks tired and worn.
She holds up her palms. “Before you say anything—”
“No.”
“Ly, please. Just hear me out.”
“I said no, Sophia.” I keep walking. The station entrance is just ahead. “Whatever you’re about to ask me, the answer is no.”
She grabs my arm, not roughly, but enough to stop me.
“Please, I need you to talk to Julian and get him to reverse the termination. I can’t get hired anywhere.”
“He only blacklisted you from Volkov businesses.”
“You think anyone wants to work with someone on a Volkov blacklist? He might as well have called every agency in the city and told them to stay away from me. My name is like freaking poison now.”
“Funny, you’re making it sound unfair, when it sounds more like just deserts to me.”
“It sounds like overkill. I screwed up, OKAY? I was rude to you, and I did things I shouldn’t have. But is he really willing to destroy my career over one comment at a party?”
“One comment?” I yank my arm free, anger boiling inside.
“You humiliated me in front of the entire gala—on camera. You called me a charity case with stretch marks, and you did it because you thought there would be no consequences. We both know the only reason you’re standing here right now is because there were. ”
Her eyes flash. “I was upset, OKAY? You showed up out of nowhere, you were talking with Julian like you were trying to pull some sort of stunt. Sorry, but you were acting like you owned the place.”
“I built that place. That event was the last one I organized before your shithead boyfriend fired me. That was my event. And not only did you take my job and my fiancé, but you also tried to take my dignity, just because you thought you could.”
Her face contorts. The mask is gone now. Whatever diplomacy she’d managed is fading by the second, leaving an awful mix of anger and desperation.
“So this is payback? You’re going to let Julian ruin my life because I was a little mean to you?”
“Julian makes his own decisions. I didn’t ask him to fire you.”
“But you could ask him to undo it.” She steps closer, her voice dropping into a softer tone. “Please, Lyra, you owe me. I got you into that company, remember? I was the one who met Alexander first, who recommended you for the job. Everything you had there was because of me.”
“And I lost it all, because of you.”
Sophia flinches, a quick flash of regret in her eyes. She hesitates. Does she actually feel bad for what she did to me?
But that hesitation and regret are soon replaced by something ugly.
“Fine. Play house with the big brother. See how long it lasts. You’re clueless about Julian. He chews people up and spits them out, just ask anyone who’s worked for him. Hell, ask Alexander. The man tossed his own flesh and blood aside. You’re an idiot if you don’t think—”
“Ms. Thibodeaux.”
The voice comes from behind me. It’s calm and even, tinged with authority.
Ethan steps between Sophia and me. He’s not aggressive or confrontational, filling the space where conflict is threatening to break out with such certainty that Sophia backs up out of pure instinct.
Ethan ignores her and turns his full attention to me.
“Come, I’ll walk you to the station.” Then he looks at Sophia, giving her a quick nod of acknowledgment. “Ms. Harrington, good evening.”
She stares at him for a second before looking at me, realizing she’s just been surgically removed from the situation.
“This isn’t over,” she says. “I came here to be nice, hoping that I could ask my friend to make things right. Guess I was wrong about you.”
She backs away and melts into the crowd, leaving me standing there in awe. How could someone make their own bed, only to get mad at someone else for telling them to lie in it?
Ethan places his hand on my shoulder, bringing my attention back to the moment, my gaze moving away from where I’d last seen Sophia.
He falls into step beside me as we descend the station stairs. The familiar rush of warm underground air meets me.
“How long have you been following me?”
“Since you left the building.” His gaze sweeps the area for threats.
“Julian’s orders?
He nods. “He asked me to get you home safely.”
“Well, I’ve been taking the subway home for years. I don’t need an escort.”
“With all due respect, Ms. Thibodeaux, four years ago you weren’t publicly claimed by a Volkov in a roomful of… the type of people he associates with. The situation has changed.”
I want to argue, but then I think about those men back at the gala, those mean-looking, tattooed men I saw on the way out, men with dark coats and hard stares, and I realize that he’s right—it is a new world for me now.
I was on the outside when I’d worked here before. Now, I’m right in the center of it all, right at the side of the man around which this whole universe revolves.
“Lyra,” I say.
“Hm?”
“If you’re going to be my shadow, call me Lyra.”
There’s a faint crack in his composure. It’s not quite a smile, more like a slow melt.
“Lyra, your train is here.”
I swipe through the turnstile and step onto the E train headed for Queens. Through the closing doors, I see Ethan standing on the platform, hands in his pockets, watching until the train pulls away.
I find a seat and place my bag on my lap and stare at my reflection in the dark window across the aisle, trying to figure out what the hell sort of situation I’ve put myself in.
I don't have an answer.