Chapter 2 - Menlow
She’s here.
I spotted her the moment I stepped up to the podium. Dark brown hair, almost black, gathered over one shoulder. Those same dark eyes that haunted me for a week. Standing in the back of the room like she’s trying to disappear into the crowd.
The woman from O’Malley’s. The one who snuck out of my bed without so much as a goodbye.
She works for me now.
What are the odds?
I spent a week searching for her. And now she’s standing twenty feet away, looking totally unfazed.
I keep my composure and deliver my speech about transitions and new beginnings, and strategic vision. The words come automatically while my brain works overtime to process this development.
Our eyes meet for half a second. She looks away first.
I finish my remarks and step back to let the head of operations wrap things up. Crawford thanks us for coming. The crowd begins to disperse, and I watch her slip toward the door without looking back.
Pavel appears at my elbow. “We need to discuss the personnel files. I’ve flagged several employees who may have ties to the Volkov operation.”
Right. The reason I’m actually here.
The hostile takeover went smoothly. Too smoothly, almost. Vasiliev Industries crumbled in less than two weeks, and their leadership was ousted before they could mount any real defense. The Bratva backers behind the company—the Volkov family, led by Oleg—didn’t lift a finger to stop me.
They couldn’t. Not without starting a war that would cost them far more than one front company.
Konstantin made our family’s position in this city crystal clear years ago, and the Volkovs know better than to challenge it outright.
So they let it happen. They watched me gut their operation and absorb the pieces into my own empire.
I can only imagine how much that must have burned.
The man has a reputation for holding grudges, and I just handed him a big one.
The employees think it was a standard corporate merger, and I intend to keep it that way. No need to cause panic among people who have nothing to do with the underworld. Most of them are just accountants and analysts trying to pay their mortgages.
But some of them aren’t. Some of them are Volkov plants, embedded in the company to keep an eye on things. I need to identify them before they can cause problems.
“How many?” I ask Pavel.
“Seven confirmed. Another twelve possibles.” He hands me a tablet with the files already pulled up. “I recommend terminating the confirmed ones immediately. The possibles we can monitor for now.”
I scroll through the names and faces. Middle managers. IT staff. A few people in finance. None of them rings any bells, and none of them looks particularly threatening. But that’s the point. The best plants never do.
“Do it,” I tell him. “But make it look like standard restructuring layoffs. I don’t want to tip off the Volkovs that we know who their people are.”
“Understood. I’ll have it done by the end of the day.”
Pavel walks away, already typing on his phone. I turn back to check the room, but she’s gone. Vanished into the maze of cubicles and conference rooms that make up this floor.
I should let it go. Focus on the task at hand. I have a company to integrate and enemies to neutralize. A mystery woman from a one-night stand shouldn’t even register on my list of priorities.
Instead, I find myself making a decision I never planned on.
“Crawford.” I catch the department head before he can escape to whatever hole he hides in. “I’ll need an office in this building. Something on the executive floor.”
He blinks, clearly caught off guard. “Of course, Mr. Karpov. I assumed you’d be operating from your main headquarters downtown.”
“Change of plans. I want to be hands-on during the transition. Get me set up as soon as possible.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll have facilities clear out the corner office immediately.”
By three o’clock, I have a corner office with floor-to-ceiling windows and a view of the Chicago skyline. It’s smaller than what I’m used to, and the furniture is standard corporate issue rather than the custom pieces I prefer. But it’ll do. More importantly, it puts me on the same floor as her.
I pull up the employee directory on my new computer and start going through personnel files one by one.
Until I find her.
Kirsten Berry. Data analyst. Started eight months ago. Performance reviews are excellent across the board. Her supervisor calls her “detail-oriented” and “exceptionally thorough.” Her accuracy rate is ninety-eight percent, which is impressive for someone who hasn’t even been here a year.
I eye her employee photo. It doesn’t do her justice. The fluorescent lighting washes out her skin, and she’s not smiling. But those eyes are the same. Dark and knowing, like she’s taking note of everything she sees and filing it away for later.
I pick up my phone and dial her extension.
It rings twice before she answers. “Kirsten Berry.”
“Ms. Berry. This is Menlow Karpov. I’d like to see you in my office.”
A pause, just long enough to notice, before she replies, “Of course, Mr. Karpov. When would you like me to come up?”
“Now.”
Another pause. “I’ll be right there.”
I hang up and lean back in my chair. My pulse is doing something it hasn’t done in years. Racing like I’m about to walk into a firefight instead of a meeting with an employee.
Get it together. She’s just a woman. One I happened to sleep with before I knew she worked for me. These things happen in the corporate world. Adults handle them with discretion and professionalism.
I straighten the files on my desk and adjust the angle of my laptop. Check my reflection in the darkened monitor screen to make sure my tie is straight.
Ridiculous. I’m acting like a teenager before a first date.
A knock on my door pulls me back to reality. I clear my throat.
“Come in.”
She enters with her shoulders squared and her chin up, every inch the consummate professional.
The blazer fits her well. So do the cream-colored blouse and the subtle pinstripes.
She looks perfectly put-together, nothing like the woman who drank too much at a dive bar and made me laugh until my face hurt.
“Mr. Karpov. You wanted to see me?”
“Close the door, please.”
She does, then stands in front of my desk with her hands clasped in front of her, waiting.
I gesture to the chair across from me. “Have a seat, Ms. Berry.”
“Kirsten is fine.”
“Kirsten, then.” I like the way her name feels in my mouth. Like I’m claiming something. “I’m conducting one-on-one meetings with key personnel. Getting a sense of the team I’ve inherited.”
“I’m hardly key personnel.” She sits and crosses her ankles beneath the chair. “I’ve only been here eight months.”
“Your performance reviews suggest you’re quite valuable. It seems you have a knack for catching errors others miss. Your supervisor speaks highly of you.”
“That’s kind of him.”
“Is he wrong?”
She holds my gaze without flinching. “No. I’m very good at my job.”
No false modesty. No simpering or self-deprecation. I appreciate that more than she knows.
“Tell me about your work,” I prompt as I rest back in my chair. “What does a typical day look like for you?”
She walks me through her responsibilities.
Data analysis. Quality control. Report generation.
She explains the systems she uses and the processes she follows, keeping her voice measured throughout.
But I catch her fingers tightening around the arm of her chair when I lean forward.
The way she swallows before answering certain questions.
She’s nervous, though she’s trying her damndest not to show it.
“And the team dynamics?” I press. “How do you find working with your colleagues?”
“Fine. Everyone’s professional.” She pauses before choosing her next words with care. “There’s been some anxiety since the merger announcement. People are worried about their positions.”
“Including you?”
“I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t crossed my mind.”
“Honesty. I appreciate that.” I make a note in the folder, more for show than anything. “Where were you before this? What brought you to Vasiliev?”
“I worked for a smaller firm. Milar & Associates. The work was good, but the growth opportunities were limited. When this position opened up, it seemed like the right move.”
“Are you finding them? The better opportunities?”
She presses her lips into a thin line before answering, “I was hoping to. The merger has made things uncertain.”
“How do you mean?”
She takes a breath, and I watch her decide how much to reveal. “There are rumors about layoffs. Restructuring. I’m sure you’ve heard them.”
“I have.”
“I’m good at what I do, Mr. Karpov. I know I haven’t been here long, but I’ve proven my value. My numbers speak for themselves. I’m not asking for special treatment just because we… I mean, all I want is a fair evaluation based on merit.”
“They do speak for themselves,” I agree as I close the folder and set it aside. “Which is why you’re not on any list.”
Relief crosses her face before she can hide it. Her shoulders drop half an inch, and some of the stiffness leaves her posture. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. You earned your position through your work.
That’s all that matters here.” I stand and move around the desk, where I lean against the front of it so I’m closer to her.
Close enough to catch that same perfume from before.
“I’m not interested in politics or tenure.
I’m interested in results. Deliver those, and you’ll have nothing to worry about. ”
She looks up at me, and I’m struck again by how pretty she is. The freckles scattered across her cheekbones. The slight furrow between her brows that seems permanently etched there. The full lips I remember tasting like gin.
“Is there anything else?” she asks after clearing her throat.
Several things, actually. Starting with why she left without waking me. But I keep those questions locked away where they belong.
“Tell me about the company culture,” I say instead. “What’s the mood like on the floor? Give me the unfiltered version.”
“Well, productivity is down because people spend half their time speculating instead of working.” She pauses, seeming to weigh whether to continue. “Honestly, morale has been low since the merger was announced. People are scared, and scared people make mistakes.”
“What would help?”
The question seems to surprise her. She tilts her head, considering. “Communication, probably. Transparency about what’s happening and what to expect. Right now, it’s all rumors. That makes everything worse.”
“Noted. And what about you? Are you scared?”
“I was,” she concedes with a nod. “Before this conversation.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m cautiously optimistic.”
I let myself smile. Just a little. “Cautious is smart. Optimism is good. Put them together, and you might just survive this transition.”
She stands before smoothing her blazer with both hands. “Is that everything, Mr. Karpov?”
“For now.” I return to my chair, putting the desk between us again. “I’ll be working from this office for the foreseeable future. If you have concerns or observations about the integration process, my door is open.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
She turns to leave. I watch her walk to the door, noting the way she carries herself. Confident but guarded. Like she’s ready for the ground to shift beneath her feet at any moment.
“Kirsten.”
She stops with her hand on the doorknob and glances back over her shoulder. “Yes?”
“Welcome to Karpov Industries.”
A small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. The first genuine one I’ve seen from her today. “Thank you, Mr. Karpov.”
Then she’s gone, and I’m left staring at a closed door like an idiot.
I scrub a hand over my face and let out a long breath. That went well, actually. No awkwardness. No acknowledgment of what happened between us. Just two professionals having a professional conversation.
Except my heart is still pounding. And I can still smell her perfume lingering in the room.
My phone goes off with a text from Alexei: Oleg is making noise. Call me when you can.
Reality crashes back in. I have bigger problems than a woman who got under my skin.
I dial my brother’s number. He picks up on the first ring.
“What kind of noise?”
“He’s not happy about losing his front company. Nothing concrete yet, but my sources say they’re planning something. Could be retaliation. Could just be posturing to save face.”
“Keep watching. Let me know the second anything changes.”
“Will do. You know how he operates, Menlow. He’s patient. He’ll wait until we let our guard down, then strike when we least expect it.”
“Then we don’t let our guard down.”
“Easier said than done. The man’s been running his operation for fifteen years. He didn’t get this far by being stupid.”
“Neither did we. How did everything go with the integration?”
“Fine. Just a lot of moving pieces.”
“Anything I should know about?”
“Not yet.”
I hang up before he can probe further. Alexei knows me too well. If I talk to him much longer, he’ll figure out something’s off.
I turn to stare out the window. The Chicago skyline stretches before me, all glass and steel and ambition. Somewhere out there, Oleg Volkov is licking his wounds and plotting his next move.
Let him plot. We’ve beaten enemies much worse than the Volkovs before.
But right now, in this moment, I allow myself to feel something other than vigilance.
I got rid of the rivals. Absorbed their company. Neutralized their influence.
And I found her.
Kirsten Berry. The woman who disappeared from my bed and haunted my thoughts. She’s not just some stranger anymore. She’s my employee. She works in this building, walks these halls, exists within my orbit.
She pretended not to know me today. Played along with the fiction that we’re strangers meeting for the first time. I respect that. It was the smart thing to do.
But I saw the way she held her breath when I moved closer. The way her eyes tracked my movements, even when she tried to focus on my words.
She remembers. Every bit as clearly as I do.
The question is what to do about it.