Chapter 10
Paige
Under the heavy gray sky of early morning, the library rises from the wet pavement with all the appeal of an execution block.
Even the surrounding woods are stuck in the late stages of death.
The few leaves that still cling to branches waver in the wind, too wet to crackle with the crispness of autumn.
Vanya has defiled my sanctuary.
Or…maybe this is my redemption? If I just steal the book for Vanya and send him on his way, then I can go back to my life of…
I can’t even finish the thought.
As if I could ever do that. Hand over one of our rare treasures?
What if he reads it without gloves like he did the others?
Or dog-ears the pages? What if he damages it beyond repair?
I’d never forgive myself. Worse, I’d probably bludgeon him with a copy of War and Peace, which would cost me my job and land me in jail anyway.
Surely I can find some other way out of this.
I’ve come in to work early, not just to check on the book but to find an escape. There must be a different path I haven’t thought of yet.
My legs drag with exhaustion as I climb the steps. I can’t keep going like this, fighting my own body and Vanya at the same time. Thanks to my particularly intense dreams last night, I needed another cold shower this morning.
This has to stop. I want my life back.
Entering through the front doors, I allow myself a moment to relish the silence.
But the peace is a lie.
Across the room, the morning staff gathers at the circulation desk, divvying out the list of assignments I wrote for them yesterday.
I’m not here to spend my entire morning answering their questions. I’m here to survive.
Rather than go to the desk, I head back to my office, which features a window with a view of the floor. My staff know that when I’m inside, I’m not to be disturbed.
My office is my one true haven. Spartan, spotless, with everything I need to minimize chaos and ensure ease of flow. As I open the door, though, the sting of ink hits my nostrils. Even the air tastes wrong.
On the middle of my desk sits my Lamy Safari fountain pen, snapped in half. The ink canister lies crushed and broken, and red ink pools in a viscous, blood-like stain.
My vision blurs. If not for the stench of ink, I’d think someone slaughtered an animal in here.
What the hell?
Fear races along my veins as I scan the empty room.
The back of my neck tingles.
My hands shake as I snatch up the ruined pen, and ink soaks into my nail beds.
Blood, ink, doesn’t matter. Both are evidence. Whoever did this will be stained with the proof of their sin.
But then I scoff because I already know the culprit.
Vanya.
He’s already ingratiated himself with the staff, and with his silver tongue, I’m sure he had no issues shmoozing his way into my office. Or he could’ve picked the lock like he did with my apartment door.
Fear quickly morphs into fury. I don’t need yet another threat to remind me to get his book for him.
Asshole. He’ll pay for destroying my favorite pen.
I wrap the remains in tissues, chuck them into the trash basket, and clean up my desk.
Out of habit, I grab my laptop and check my inbox. A new message awaits.
The subject line says, What was your first lie?
The sender’s address is gibberish, a hash of numbers and letters. I open the email as my empty stomach chews on nothing.
Everyone lies. Choose carefully who you talk to. Things can get worse in a heartbeat. Or better. It’s all up to you.
A phone number’s at the bottom, with no other contact details provided.
But I recognize the messenger. He’s the same person who left a dead sparrow on my doorstep, dug up blackmail info on me, placed a single red rose on my bed, and broke my favorite pen after stealing and returning it.
The monster in designer suits and a black Bentley. Vanya freaking Orlov.
Always the subtle touch between the ribs, right where it counts.
I delete the message and empty the waste bin for good measure.
Still, the action doesn’t erase the reality of the threat.
The words echo in my mind, taking up space and drowning out every other email I try to read. Vanya’s not content to terrorize me in person where everyone can see. He also wants to leave me these little private messages to find.
To ensure I know I’m never safe from him.
Now more than ever, I’m certain this must stop.
Outside my office, nothing’s out of the ordinary. A couple of juniors laugh behind a cart, their heads bent together over a phone. Another restocks journals, humming off-key. I pass them all without eye contact.
They don’t know.
Or maybe they do. Someone here most likely let Vanya and his charming lies into my office and could be spying on me now at his request.
Bracing for the worst, I walk out onto the main floor and spot the last person I want to lay eyes on.
Speak of the devil, and he will come.
Vanya’s elbows rest on the main reading room table as he pretends to study one of the dozens of books stacked around him. He has one hand held artfully to support his chin, his fingers relaxed and dangling. He’s a model of every hard-at-work researcher.
Even now, I hate how my body reacts to his perfect appearance.
If he were actually an academic, it would almost be fate. The perfect man for me. The sort of romance people write scandalous novels about.
If he were the real thing, I could risk wanting him. I could date him, and maybe role-play some naughty stuff…
I shove that thought away, angry at the way my mind keeps stumbling into the gutter.
Because none of that will ever happen.
I glance up to find him peering over at me.
Why leave two graphic gifts for me and not wait to witness my reaction?
Schooling my features, I spin around. I won’t give him the pleasure. He’s had enough of that already.
At the circulation desk, I go through the motions of setting up my day while attempting to ignore his presence. Much as I try, though, I can’t focus.
I misfile a patron request. I auto-complete a keyword, only to catch on halfway through that it’s the wrong database. My photographic memory, the thing that got me this job, has the hiccups. I forget whether I’ve responded to an inquiry at all and have to go back and check it twice.
At one point, I manage to forget which aisle I’m walking down.
Every time I glance up, he’s there.
Watching. Plotting.
And every single time I feel his eyes on me, I remember what we did. How he abandoned me—frustrated and needy—in the stacks. How he made up for that at Coquette’s.
My thighs clench as if the memory alone can leave a mark.
I keep reminding myself he’s the bad guy. Not just a hot bad-boy type, but an actual criminal who could do me physical harm.
He broke into my house. What else has he done?
And, of course, the day only gets worse when he resumes charming my subordinates.
A steady stream of people come by to “check” on him, each with a little donation.
A cup of fresh coffee, a new pen when he complains that his no longer works, and a charger for his phone.
He accepts each gift with profuse thanks, always using their first names.
While he’s only been here a week, they treat Vanya like a friend.
Even old Clarence comes over to offer him a spare notepad when Vanya ruins his by spilling a drink.
We don’t even allow drinks on the library floor!
Unbelievable.
Rebecca perches at the edge of his table, twisting a strand of her dark hair. She’d probably crawl into his lap if he let her. Knowing him, he just might.
Vanya’s manipulating everyone. He invades our space in a way that the rest of the staff somehow enjoy.
All I can see is him. His mouth, his hands, the memory of how simultaneously gentle and savage he can be.
I want that attention on me.
That’s just your neglected libido talking. Pull yourself together, Paige. You’re better than that.
By the time Dr. Abernathy, my boss and the head of the library, appears around noon, Vanya’s got half the reading room orbiting him.
Dr. Abernathy approaches with his usual stately gait and stops by my workstation, a bright smile on his kind, round face. “Feeling all right, Paige? You seem a bit off.”
I want to spill my guts right here. Out Professor Ivan “Vanya” Orlov, the alleged “academic.” Tell everyone about the blackmail, his threats, and how he broke into my home and my office and destroyed my favorite pen. Or even just voice the fact that he’s not technically authorized to be here.
Anything to remove him from my life like the venomous snake—or cougar—he is.
Something about his predatory grace, the way his eyes sometimes go cold and inhuman, suggests this man’s a killer who could murder us all without losing a wink of sleep.
So, I clear my throat and summon a weak smile. “Just a headache, Dr. Abernathy.” Maybe there’s one little thing I can try. I point at Vanya, who’s still chatting away. “That man’s monopolizing staff time. Disrupting operations. Maybe even harassing my people.”
Seemingly bemused, Dr. Abernathy raises a gray eyebrow. “Paige, the man is researching fifteenth-century Russian folklore. Why are you so worried? Afraid he might bore us to death? Besides, the staff seems to like him.”
Like him? They’re intoxicated. Watching the way they circle, you’d think he was doling out free tuition.
My thoughts must show, because my boss reaches out and pats the air just above my hand. He knows I don’t like to be touched, but he’s a super friendly guy, and this has always been our compromise. “If he bothers you so much, I’ll go have a word with him.”
I force a tight smile, the tension in my shoulders dropping infinitesimally. “Thank you.”
As soon as Dr. Abernathy and Vanya start talking, I understand I’ve lost this battle.
Vanya’s got the performance dialed to the max. He plays his part to the hilt, gesturing to the books he already has, flipping through pages while talking fast. He acts like a researcher closing in on some half-forgotten lore.
Dr. Abernathy releases a hearty laugh, raising his hands in mock surrender.
“Oh, that’s above my pay grade.” His words echo across the open lobby.
“Ms. Kisner is the only one who can track that sort of thing. The board handles our initial acquisitions, but she’s in charge of everything that comes after.
She manages all the books and oversees all accessions.
She has a photographic memory, you know. You should ask her.”
Vanya doesn’t raise his voice, but his eyes latch onto mine. I can read his lips as he says, “Oh really? I might just need to take her out to dinner then and pick her brain.” He winks, as if he’s just told the best private joke in the history of libraries.
The warmth that’s pooled in my core all morning hits a flashpoint. I nearly jump as desire rages between my thighs.
Dr. Abernathy’s given Vanya free rein to approach me at work. To harass me without my boss or anyone else noticing.
And the worst part is, I find that thought…invigorating.