Chapter 12
CLARA
My mind is spinning after a sleepless night, but at least I'm not throwing up.
After Emily left, I threw the pregnancy sticks in the trash and tried to forget about them. My best friend had offered to stay, but I told her I needed time to think. All I've done since is dive further and further into my personal whirlpool of worst outcomes.
I stride to my office, hoping I can just hole up and work, then leave at the end of the day without having to talk to anyone. I know I look rough—the mirror in the elevator showed dark circles under my eyes and pale skin.
I make it halfway through the day before I get a call from Dmitri's PA, asking me to come to his office. I debate whether or not to tell her that I'm not feeling well and heading home, because he is the last person I want to see, but I don’t want him to think I’m avoiding him or not up to the challenge.
As I step into his office with all the bravado I can muster, he takes one look at me and asks, “Are you okay?” Concern crosses his face. “Did something happen last night? Is Dean bothering you again?”
I shake my head, regretting the movement when my stomach jumps. “I'm fine. I just ate something that didn't agree with me and was up most of the night.”
Dmitri's mouth forms a thin line. He's not sure whether to believe me, and his blue eyes search my face.
“Do you need to see a doctor? I have one on call.”
Of course he does.
“I'm fine, really. I'm just going to finish out the day, go home, and get some sleep.” I'm a little puzzled by Dmitri's concern. “Is this a mob boss thing? You take care of your people?”
“What?”
“I don't understand why you're so concerned. What business is it of yours?” I know I sound irritable and frustrated, but I'm exhausted. I don't feel well, and I have this enormous secret that feels like it's hovering above my head for everyone to see, a secret that will completely upend my life.
I watch as Dmitri's expression changes from confusion to annoyance.
“I don't need a reason to be concerned, but if you must know, I do care about my employees. I’m not sure if you've noticed, but I treat them with respect, and in turn, they work hard for me. It's the way to run a business if you want to get anywhere in life.”
“Yeah, a legitimate business unlike—”
“I’d appreciate it if you kept those words out of your mouth in this office,” Dmitri snaps, his voice a low warning.
I feel slightly bad because he was showing concern and offering an apology. “Sorry,” I mutter.
The single word pacifies Dmitri, the coldness disappearing from his eyes.
“You called me in here for something. What did you need? I'm not done with the mining contract yet. The field trip down to the police precinct put me behind.”
“No, it’s not that.” Dmitri waves away my question, leaning back on his desk before crossing his arms.
I watch him for a moment, noticing the way the light catches the blue and gray in his eyes, the color of ice on a frozen lake.
My gaze trails along his sharp jawline and the light golden stubble there to the hair on his head, that perfectly tousled mass that I suddenly long to run my fingers through.
I can smell his cologne, my eyes taking in the lines and planes of his face, tracing the tattoos just visible above the collar of his shirt…
“Ms. Benson?”
My eyes go to his mouth, to the lips that had traveled over every inch of my body the night before last. They're curled in a slight smile that tells me he knows the thoughts going through my head.
I clear my throat hastily and flick my eyes to the city view behind him, the Manhattan skyline under a heavy grey sky, the plumes of steam from exhaust vents blooming into the air like winter flowers.
“I called you in to talk about what happened at the police station the other day.” His voice is a warm, rich sound that blankets me and pulls me in. I know he's doing it on purpose. I can see the gleam in his eye, the tell that he's enjoying my reaction. I force a glare and meet his gaze.
“What exactly do you want to know?”
“I want to know what the police said to those on my staff whom they questioned. I want to see if we can find out what they were drilling for. If we ask around, maybe we'll find a pattern.”
“Wouldn't you rather have Ms. Medford or Mr. Hanson do that?”
“Did I say their names?”
“No,” I lick my lips, “but they have seniority. They head up the legal team. How do you think it’s going to look if you're assigning me such a big job?”
Dmitri moves closer, one slow step at a time, his gaze never leaving mine.
“It will look like the brilliant new addition to our legal team saved all of our asses during an illegal raid of our headquarters while other members of the team were in a different state taking care of a business deal and in court defending us against people who want to take us down. You were, by the way, absolutely incredible in the interrogation room against the captain and the DA.”
“You're just saying that.” I swallow, licking my lips again as he comes to stand in front of me, looking down into my face. My gaze darts to the side to make sure the blinds are drawn across the windows looking out on the executive floor.
“I don't say anything I don't mean.” The words have a spark of warning to them. Dmitri doesn't like to be questioned. He's made that much very clear.
I think about what he said to Dean before we walked out of the police station: You lost one hell of a woman.
Dmitri’s too close for me to think about anything beyond that. His hands come up to grip my waist and—
I spin away at the knock on the door, my fingers touching my lips that he managed to brush with his own before the interruption.
Damn it. How does he put me under a spell like that?
How does he manage to make me feel like I have no brain power left when he's that close?
Am I so attracted to him that I become a bumbling idiot whenever he's around, like some horny teenager? I thought I was far past that.
Dmitri glances at me, a flash of annoyance before he turns to face the door and says, “Come in.”
A woman bustles in, bringing an almost manic energy with her. She's wrapped in a thick wool coat. Her blonde hair is swept up into an elegant bun, an expensive handbag clutched in her fingers..
It takes me a moment, but I recognize the woman, her high cheekbones so perfect they look like they've been carved. She has full plush lips and Slavic features. I've seen that face on the cover of gossip rags and society pages at checkout counters and newsstands.
She hurries across the room to Dmitri, stretching out her arms to take hold of him in an embrace that looks intimate.
“Dimochka,” she says as she looks into his face, her expression one of emotional anxiety. “I heard what happened yesterday. How awful. They can't possibly have anything on you, can they?”
“I'm fine, Natasha.” Dmitri's voice is pleasant but cool. Not at all what I would have expected for the familiarity with which the woman greeted him. “Everything is fine. It's been taken care of. It was merely a fishing expedition. You know they're always trying to take me down.”
“I'm so glad to hear that.” The woman seems genuinely concerned, further relief in her expression as she gazes up at Dmitri's face. And then, right in front of me, she reaches up and kisses him on the lips.
My heart jumps to my throat, my chest clenching tightly as my hand unconsciously travels to my stomach and what I know is there. I'm not supposed to be seeing this. This is none of my business. Did he cheat on her? With me? Am I the other woman?
With a cool smile, Dmitri takes the woman by the shoulders and pushes her away to create distance between them. And when his gaze moves to me, the woman's does too, and I'm suddenly on the radar of Natasha Mikhailov herself.