Chapter 3 - Rurik
It wasn’t just infatuation with Miss Gardner that had my eyes glued to her as she hustled out the door to meet the coffee machine from hell, and it wasn’t her amazing ass, either. That was only part of it. After only half an hour of practically grilling her, I was hooked.
She was smart, clever, a tiny bit sly with the way she first danced around my question about her future goals. It was clear she was desperate for the job, but her honesty won out as soon as she realized I couldn’t be fooled with practiced answers.
I had always believed ‘the one’—that legendary woman all the heroes of great literature eventually found—was out there. She had taken her time in turning up in my life, but now she worked for me.
Returning with the coffee in record time, she waited patiently for new orders.
The coffee was perfect, not burnt and not too weak.
The damn thousand-dollar industrial espresso machine was a company-warming gift from my cousin Aleks’s wife, who ran a catering company and loved any and all overly fancy kitchen gadgets.
I never got the hang of the thing, and most of the other employees brought their coffee in with them, leading me to believe they hadn’t conquered it either.
“This is excellent, Miss Gardner. A bit too much sugar,” I added, to keep her on her toes.
She shrugged. “I was a barista a million years ago—not worth putting on the resumé. Oh, and please call me Clem, everyone does.”
“You might have been hired faster if you had put the barista information on the resumé,” I said. “Now, make the outer office to your liking, but keep in mind efficiency.”
With that, I dismissed her to run the necessary background check. Gavril Bocharov and I were on much friendlier terms than when he first married my favorite cousin Lilia, but he still wouldn’t take ‘she’s the one’ as a credible security clearance.
As I already suspected, there was nothing in the background check that would keep her from working at Gavrik Imports. In fact, there wasn’t much on her at all, which wasn’t strange for someone who was only twenty-two. Someone who lived in the law-abiding world, anyway.
What was a bit strange was her not using her birth name, but instead using the maiden name of an elderly relative who also had a pristine background.
There was no record of my new assistant ever being married, which pleased me way too much, and I dismissed the last name anomaly.
This was LA, where half the population went by a stage name or a pen name.
“Clem,” I said very softly, just because I wanted to.
She stuck her head in the door, a stack of file folders in her hands. “Yes, sir?”
I liked that she was listening to my commands, except this wasn’t one of them. Thinking fast, I asked what she was doing with the folders.
“The filing cabinet is across the room from the desk. It would be more efficient if it were behind me, where I can easily reach everything.” She muttered that it would be more efficient to go electronic, and I smiled.
She was right on both counts, but the paper would burn to nothing, leaving no evidence behind.
The internet was forever, and the computer geniuses in my family had found ways to crack pretty much every security system they’d come across, easily finding things others didn’t want found.
Gavril and I had decided to take the old-fashioned route with the more sensitive invoices.
“Let me run the business, Clem. You can continue organizing.”
Was that a scowl as she left the office? I liked her fire. Hell, I liked everything about her.
Since she was the one, I decided to take things slowly. As much as I craved to know every facet of her life, everything a security search couldn’t tell me, I didn’t follow her home that first night. Or the next, or the next.
Instead, I thought of her as a book I was enjoying so much I both wanted to stay up all night and race to the end as well as force myself to put it down at the best parts to make it last longer. Clem seemed to share my love of reading, changing out her paperbacks every few days.
“Isaac Asimov?” I asked. It was I, Robot, and a tattered copy without the movie poster as the cover.
Feeling like she had been caught wasting time, she hurriedly told me it was her lunch break.
“I was just about to head out to grab something myself. Come along,” I said, waving for her to follow me.
Instead of heading to the sandwich shop half a block away, I led my stunned assistant to my car, uncharacteristically gratified when her eyes goggled at the classic Ferrari my brother Mat talked me into splurging on.
“Do you like old cars?” I asked as I held the door open for her.
“I generally like all old things,” she said, blushing furiously when I grinned. Good to know. Not that I considered myself old at thirty-seven, but someone as young as Clem probably thought I was as ancient as her paperback.
“Like the book you’re reading?”
“I wanted to start reading more classic sci-fi,” she said as I wound through midday traffic toward my cousin’s diner. “I thought it might be easier to digest if there was a movie I could refer to, but I’m loving the stories so much I don’t think I need them.”
“Not to generalize, but…”
“Let me guess,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Women don’t read science fiction.”
“Busted,” I said, making her smile. “Clearly you do.”
She was impressed by Max’s famous diner in the trendy part of Hollywood, a little further than I would have driven, but all the better to get to spend more time with her.
She was impressed again when we were whisked past the line out front.
Yes, I was trying to impress her, and when her gray eyes rolled back as she bit into her gourmet burger, it was worth the effort.
We settled into a routine over the next couple of months.
Things were hectic with the new employees learning the ropes, and our small crew of original clients was growing fast. Once word got out that we were looking for new products to import, I was inundated with overseas companies eager to get their items into America.
And of course, there were the not-so-legal things the people who knew my background wanted me to bring in and disseminate without any hassle.
For the most part, Gavril was remaining silent, but he wanted to be in on the next monthly meeting where my team would present their research on new products we should be bringing in and why.
Clem had not only organized the front office, but she’d also decorated it, making it much more impressive to companies I was trying to convince to take a chance on a startup—whether or not they knew my background, because if a squeaky clean business found out I was high up in organized crime, that was usually a dealbreaker.
But certain companies found that a bonus, so we not only needed to know about the products, but the businesses behind them, and she seemed to have a knack for that.
She kept my busy schedule ordered for me, being firm with pushy managers, sweet to tentative new contacts, and the other employees all seemed to love her. Even if she wasn’t the one, she was the best damn assistant I could have asked for, going above and beyond all the work I piled on her.
Almost as if I was trying to find a fault, or like I was trying to talk myself out of my obsession. Staying away was getting harder and harder, and it was all because I liked her so damn much.
“Look at this place,” I said, entering the outer office as she was finishing up something on the computer.
It had been a plain white room with cheap steel blinds and bland industrial carpet.
Gavril and I had swept in and bought the building as the last owner went bankrupt, and we both decided to leave it mostly as it was until after our first year in business.
We had big plans, but for the most part, they revolved around trucks and warehouses, and since neither of us wanted to lose money on our new venture, we considered office decor a low priority.
Seeing the difference my assistant had made, I wondered how many deals we might have lost when prospective clients saw how dreary and unimpressive we’d made ourselves seem.
Now there were bright, modern paintings on the wall as well as our logo, which Clem had stenciled herself to save money since I had sternly told her not to go overboard.
Elegant rugs covered most of the drab carpet.
Potted plants rested on the old metal filing cabinet, and she’d replaced the scruffy, burnt orange chairs that had been left behind by the previous owner, who was probably older than me, with sleek black ones.
She glanced around, looking nervous. “Is the new painting too much? It was within the budget. I know you said no one cared about office decor in an import business, but…”
“I was wrong about that,” I told her. “A rare occurrence, but it does happen. The place looks much better. Plans for lunch?”
Once again, she looked a little bit nervous as she answered. “I was going to meet Diana from accounting at the sandwich shop,” she said.
I wasn’t the scariest of my cousins or brothers by far, and fear was the last thing I wanted from her. If I was harsh or demanding, it was because the job called for it… and perhaps because I was still holding myself back.
“Don’t look like I’m about to steal your sandwich,” I told her, enjoying her smile. “But you’ll have to cancel on Diana. We have that big meeting with Gavril coming up, and I want you there. It has to be perfect.”
“Of course,” she said. “I’ve already met with the head of acquisitions research, and he assured me he’ll be ready.
Also, I was going to speak with Diana about it, who’s presenting the accounting overview for the past quarter, but I can meet with her another day. As for me, I’m prepared to keep notes.”
The furrowing of her brow as she checked her schedule with brisk efficiency only made her prettier, but I shook my head, looking stern. “That’s what we need to talk about,” I told her.
Okay, I had just admitted to myself that I didn’t want her fearing me, so why was I teasing her so that she was practically quaking?
“Is there more you need me to do?” she asked. “The catered breakfast is already ordered and confirmed. Of course, Mr. Bocharov hasn’t confirmed yet, but I’ll give him a reminder if you feel it’s necessary.”
“It’s not.”
“Okay,” she said as I turned on my heel. “Mr. Fokin,” she said, hurrying to catch up, but by now looking slightly more annoyed at my reticence than anxious about her performance.
Before she could say another word, I turned and gave her a look that had everyone except my stubborn family members shutting up in a hurry. “It’s Rurik, remember? You’ve been here too long now to keep tripping up on that. I’ll explain what needs to be done, but first, lunch.”
And not just any one of the regular lunch meetings we frequently shared to discuss day-to-day activities or books when time allowed. This was important. It could very well be a turning point if she could handle what I had to offer.
No sandwich shop today. Not even my cousin’s upscale diner. We were going to the best restaurant in town.