Vadim What time is it?
Vadim
"What time is it?"
I spin around from the kitchen counter and can't help but smile at the groggy sight before me. Preston is standing in the doorway in an oversized college tee and slate-blue athletic sweats, his hair flattened on one side, blinking at the light.
"Almost ten. I was just making you some breakfast."
"Almost ten?" He shuffles over to the island and collapses onto a stool, letting out a massive open-mouthed yawn. "I never sleep in this late."
"You obviously needed it."
"Understatement."
Another couple of yawns come out, loud and staggered in breathy huffs.
I bring over the tray I've been preparing and was going to leave at his door. "Here."
He eyes off the sandwiches with uncertainty. "What's all this?"
"It's a traditional Polish breakfast," I explain. "Dark-rye bread with butter and thinly sliced kielbasa. On the side you have a pickle, twaróg, which is similar to cottage cheese, and some radishes with butter and salt. Oh, and lemon tea."
He brightens at the mention of tea. "My favorite."
I know.
I almost make the mistake of saying it aloud.
"Eat up. If you don't like anything, you don't have to finish it. I won't be offended. There's cereal and milk in the fridge as a backup. I have to take a meeting, but I should be done in about half an hour. Meet you back out on the couch?"
"Uh, yeah. That sounds great." He lifts his head from the tray to me.
His face looks better today. The worst of the swelling has softened overnight, the deep purple of the bruise around his eye fading to green at the edges.
His lip is less swollen, the cut scabbing over cleanly.
He looks more like himself than he did yesterday. "Thank you, Vadim."
An unfamiliar pull tugs at my chest.
I neutralize my expression and loop my fingers through the handle of my coffee cup sitting on the counter before taking off. "No problem."
Forty-five minutes later, I've wrapped up the Zoom meeting and am in the living room, working my way through a steady stream of emails.
But my mind isn't really on work, it's occupied by the exquisite creature nestled at the far end of the couch, wrapped up in pillows and blankets, reading on his Kindle.
I wasn't sure how I'd feel having him here, so I guess I defaulted to thinking that at best, it would be tolerable, and at worst, and more likely, it would be uncomfortable and stifling, and I'd be counting down the seconds until he leaves.
Neither of those two options have materialized, and the actual reality of Preston being here settles in. I like having him here. I enjoy his company. After I finished working yesterday afternoon, he made dinner, we talked some more, and he called it a night pretty early.
He looked exhausted. I remember his mom saying something about him burning the candle at both ends.
But it's not just that I like having him here. He's only been here for a day, and there are already signs of his presence everywhere.
The jumbled mess of pillows and blankets, half on the floor, half on his side of the couch.
The loose leaf lemon tea I bought for him before he arrived on the kitchen counter near the kettle.
The refrigerator, each shelf filled with the ingredients he's ordered.
The open door to the guestroom I passed after finishing my meeting, quickly ducking my head inside to see all his stuff strewn about. It's messy and chaotic and…nice. Preston leaves his mark wherever he goes.
My phone buzzes.
It's Marek. I hit decline, which I know he hates.
He calls again.
I decline it again.
A text comes through.
Marek: ANSWER YOUR FUCKING PHONE
He calls again, and as much fun as it would be to rile him up even more, it could be a family thing.
"Hey," I say, keeping my voice soft so I don't distract Preston from his reading.
"Why the fuck aren't you at work?"
I shake my head, regretting picking up. "I'm working from home for the next few days."
"Why?" he demands.
I place my laptop on the sofa and get up, heading for my office, not wanting to have this conversation within earshot of Preston. Of course, Marek mistakes my silence as me continuing to piss him off, which, for once, wasn’t my intention.
I reach my office and step inside.
"…this isn't funny. You're wasting my time, and I have a million more important things I could be—"
"Relax. Jesus. I was just walking to my office."
I go back and shut the door even though there's no way Preston can hear me in here from the living room. Still, you never know. Conversations with Marek have a tendency to get shouty. Unrestrained anger, it's kind of his trademark.
My approach—remaining emotionless—is so much better if you ask me.
"Who told you I wasn't at work?"
The casino is plenty big enough that we don't run into each other every day if we don't have meetings.
"W?adek."
Of course he did. He's starting to become a real thorn in my side.
"There's no need for me to be on-site for the next few days.
I've got a ton of reports backed up. The quarterly surveillance audit, the staffing review for the night rotation, and that Las Vegas feasibility report you keep sending me reminders about.
I could actually do with a few uninterrupted days to get through all of it. "
I've also started brainstorming more protective measures to keep Preston safe once his time with me is up.
Driving him to and from work is a no-brainer and something I'll handle myself.
Other options I'm considering are assigning him a bodyguard and getting a feed into the day spa's existing security footage as well as possibly sweeping the spa and his house for anything suspicious.
My take on Farkas was wrong. He's more dangerous than I initially suspected.
But I also have to be careful. If I go overboard, I risk scaring Preston, or worse, having him fight me on this. I sense he has a stubborn streak. Not that any of this is Marek's business.
"You should have told me you won't be in."
I shake my head. "I don't report to you."
That's a lie. I do. But as long as our father remains as CEO, I have license to make Marek's life a nightmare and undermine his authority by running to our father like a whiny little brat when I don't get my way. Not that he always sides with me, but it causes enough chaos for Marek to back down.
Perhaps not the most professional business strategy but a highly effective one.
Marek huffs down the phone. "We have a meeting tomorrow with the Las Vegas investors. Read that report first, and make sure you're across everything. Helena will send you an invite shortly. I expect you to attend in person."
"Fine."
"Fine."
"Co? jeszcze?" I demand.
"No, that's all. Goodbye."
"Everything okay?" Preston checks when I step back into the living room.
"Yeah. Fine. Just my brother being a dick."
"Your brother? Oh. It sounded like you were talking to your manager when you answered."
"Technically, he is my boss."
Preston rests his Kindle on top of the blanket pooled in his lap. "That sounds complicated. Go on."
I admire his boldness, not asking, just expecting me to open up and divulge personal information to him like it's the most normal thing in the world. If it were anyone else, my walls would already be firmly up. But for some reason, with him, they're not.
"Our father is the CEO and still oversees everything.
Marek is the COO. The succession plan is he'll take over whenever our old man finally decides to retire.
Our father is slowly giving Marek more and more responsibility.
But security is my domain, and I don't think it's unreasonable to run my department without seeking my brother's permission every time I want to do something. "
Preston nods slowly, taking it in. "Sounds like there are some competing dynamics in place."
"That's a very diplomatic way of putting it."
"Are you and Marek close?"
"It's a long story."
Preston folds his arms across his chest and settles back into the couch. "Good thing we've got time then."
I see what he did there, and I applaud him for it. "Dad had an affair with my mom while he was still married to Marek's mother."
Preston's face drops. "Oh, shit."
"Yeah, shit. Dad eventually divorced Marek's mom and married mine. They weren't a great match, but that's another story. So Marek and I didn't grow up together. There was always a huge gulf between us. A lot of distrust and judgment. And then, when I was eight years old, Marek's mother was killed."
Preston's hand flies to cover his mouth. "Ohmygod."
"Marek moved in with us. He was twelve, and it was obviously a really hard time for him. He became withdrawn and angry. He and I only interacted when we had to, but we mainly stayed out of each other's way." I inhale slowly. "And then, about a year later, my mom was killed."
"No way." Preston's eyes widen, and he drops his hand. "Did you find out who was responsible?"
I give one decisive nod. "Same person who took out Marek's mother."
"So they're in jail now?"
My molars press together. "No. He's dead."
Preston draws his head back slowly, his hazel eyes fixed on me.
Our mothers' killer was the first person I killed, and I don't regret it one bit.
I'd murder the bastard a hundred times over if I had the chance.
But that's not something I want to get into with Preston.
He doesn't need to know just how much of a monster I really am. That's what his best friend is for.
He gets up from his side of the couch and comes to sit next to me, close enough that our knees almost touch. He wraps both of his hands around mine. The touch loosens something I've been holding on to tightly for a long time.
With his green-flecked eyes glossy, he says, "I'm so sorry you, Marek, and your whole family went through all that."
I dip my head, focusing on the way his slender fingers are folded over mine.
"Thank you," I reply quietly.