Chapter 3Claire
3
Claire
T he sharp trill of my phone pierces through the gentle afternoon hush of Bloom House, making me jump and scatter rose petals across the wooden counter. The screen illuminates with Jay’s name, accompanied by a photo of us from happier times, his arm slung around my shoulders, both of us grinning at the beach. My fingers tremble slightly as I swipe to answer the call, the knot of anxiety tightening my gut.
There’s always something with him, some kind of reason. He’s never just calling to see how I’m doing.
“Claire?” Jay’s voice crackles through the speaker, thick with emotion and tinged with that particular tone I’ve come to recognize, the one that signals another crisis. “I messed up. I messed up bad.” His words quiver like autumn leaves in the wind, each syllable heavy with regret.
My stomach plummets as if I’ve missed a step going downstairs, the sensation so visceral I have to grip the counter’s edge. The sweet scent of lilies suddenly feels cloying, suffocating. “What did you do?” The words escape in a whisper, though I already sense the magnitude of what’s coming.
“I got arrested.” He chokes out the words, followed by a sound that might be a sob. “They did a sting at this underground gambling place in Little Odessa. I swear I didn’t know.” His voice cracks, the desperation in it making my heart ache despite the anger beginning to simmer beneath my skin.
“You promised me, Jay!” I interrupt, my voice rising. “Three days ago, you looked me in the eye and said you hadn’t gambled in months!”
“I know, I know.” Jay’s voice quivers, his shoulders dropping. “I’m sorry. I thought I could win enough to settle some debts.”
“What debts?” I demand, gripping the phone tighter. Static crackles through the line, followed by silence. My stomach twists into knots as the quiet stretches between us. “Jay, answer me.”
“Look,” he says finally, each syllable dragging like lead through molasses. Static crackles through the prison phone line, nearly drowning out his shaky exhale. “I need you to take care of Mom and Dad, okay? Make sure they don’t...” His voice splinters, the sound raw and vulnerable in a way that makes my stomach clench. “I don’t think I’m getting out of this one. The evidence, the charges… They’re bad, Claire. Really bad.”
The fluorescent lights buzz overhead as I pace the length of my kitchen, phone pressed against my ear. Memories flash through my mind, the time he “borrowed” my savings for college, the countless IOUs, and Mom’s tears when he pawned her wedding ring.
That should’ve been unforgivable, and yet we forgave him. How many more times will that happen? How much more do we need to suffer because of what he’s doing?
“And why should I clean up your mess this time?” The words rip from my throat, sharp enough to cut. My free hand balls into a fist at my side. “I’m done bailing you out, Jay. I mean it.”
“Claire, please. There’s something else you need to know. Something important?—”
The bell above the shop door jingles, cutting him off.
“I have to go,” I say quickly. “A customer just came in.”
“Wait, Claire! You don’t understand!”
I hang up, my hands shaking as I set down the phone. Taking a deep breath, I plaster on a smile and turn to greet whoever has entered. My smile freezes as two men in impeccably tailored suits stride in, their expressions unreadable. Something about their purposeful gait makes me uncomfortable.
“Can I help you gentlemen?” I ask, my voice wavering slightly.
The taller man shifts his weight, causing the floorboards to creak beneath his Italian leather shoes. His hand disappears beneath his charcoal jacket, emerging with a matte black pistol. The metal catches the morning light streaming through the shop windows. My throat constricts as he angles the weapon downward, keeping it partially concealed behind his thigh but ensuring I see it clearly.
“Miss Bennett.” His voice carries the practiced smoothness of expensive whiskey. “Our boss would like a word with you. You’re going to come with us, nice and quiet.”
The bell above the door chimes again as another customer enters, browsing the displays of daffodils near the front. Beyond them, past the rows of sweet-scented lilies and vibrant carnations, my mother hums softly while arranging white roses in the workspace behind the counter. The second man follows my glance toward her, his thin lips curling upward.
“I wouldn’t try anything foolish,” he says as he steps closer, his cologne sharp and expensive. “We’d hate for your mother to get caught in the crossfire.” He gestures subtly toward the elderly woman now examining our selection of sympathy cards. “Not to mention any innocent bystanders once we’re out on the street. Things get messy fast when people don’t follow commands.”
My heart pounds while I weigh my options. These men are clearly professionals, and I have no doubt they’d follow through on their threats. I nod slowly, trying to keep my voice steady. “Just let me tell my mother I’m stepping out for a moment.”
The first man shakes his head. “No time for goodbyes. You’ll walk out with us now. Act natural.”
I swallow hard and force a smile. “Mom,” I call out, my voice only slightly strained, “I’m running a quick errand. I’ll be back soon.”
She waves absently from behind a massive arrangement of lilies. “Okay, honey. Don’t forget we have that big order coming in later.”
The men flank me as we exit the shop, their bodies tense and alert. A sleek black limousine idles at the curb, its windows tinted so dark they’re nearly opaque. One of the men opens the rear door.
“After you, Miss Bennett,” he says with mock politeness.
I hesitate for a split second before climbing in, my legs shaky. The interior is all buttery leather and polished wood. Under different circumstances, I might have been impressed, but this is terrifying.
The men slide in on either side of me, effectively boxing me in. The limo pulls smoothly into traffic.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask, hating how small my voice sounds.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” says the taller man. “Our boss doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
The drive seems to take forever, though in reality it’s probably no more than twenty minutes. We wind through the busy streets of downtown Philadelphia before pulling up in front of a towering skyscraper of glass and steel.
My captors usher me out of the limo and through the building’s imposing lobby. Heads turn as we pass, but no one intervenes, and I don’t cry out, not wanting anyone to be shot. We enter an elevator, and one of the men produces a key card, swiping it to access the penthouse level.
As the elevator ascends, my mind races. Who is this mysterious boss? What could he possibly want with me? The only thing I know for certain is that this has something to do with Jay and his gambling debts. My brother’s words from our earlier phone call echo in my head suddenly. “There’s something else you need to know. Something important ? —”
The elevator chimes when we reach the top floor. The doors slide open to reveal a reception area decorated in stark blacks and whites. A statuesque blonde woman sits behind an imposing desk, her gaze cool as she takes us in.
“Valerian Rostova is expecting you,” she says, gesturing toward a set of heavy double doors.
One of the men grips my arm, propelling me forward. I brace myself for whatever, or whoever , waits on the other side.
The heavy double doors swing open, revealing a spacious penthouse office that takes my breath away. Huge windows show a panoramic view of Philadelphia’s skyline, and the furniture looks so expensive I’m afraid to even touch it.
And is that a real Monet painting? It certainly looks like it, but it’s the man standing behind an imposing black desk that truly captures my attention. Valerian Rostova radiates power and danger, his tailored charcoal suit accentuating broad shoulders and a lean physique. His dark hair is artfully tousled, and chilling blue eyes examine me with the intensity of a hungry jaguar.
My stomach drops as I step into the room. The doors close behind me with a metal click that sounds oddly final, and I gulp audibly.
“Miss Bennett.” Valerian’s deep voice rolls through the space. “Please, have a seat.”
I perch on the edge of a sleek leather chair, smoothing my jeans with damp palms. The office temperature must be seventy degrees, yet goosebumps ripple across my skin.
“Do you know why you’re here?” Valerian circles his desk with fluid grace, coming to settle against the front edge. His proximity sends my pulse skittering.
“I assume it has something to do with my brother,” I say, proud that my voice remains steady.
The corner of his mouth lifts. “You assume correctly.” He studies me for a long moment. “Jay has accrued quite a substantial debt at my establishment.”
My throat tightens. “How substantial?”
“Enough to cost him everything.” Valerian’s tone is matter-of-fact. “Including your family’s flower shop.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. “That’s impossible. The shop belongs to my parents.”
“In my world, Miss Bennett, the sins of one family member become the responsibility of all.” His gaze is unyielding. “Your brother gambled away far more than he could ever hope to repay. The shop now belongs to me.”
Panic claws at my chest. “There has to be another way. Please, my parents have put their entire lives into that shop. They don’t deserve to lose everything because of Jay’s mistakes.”
Something flickers in Valerian’s eyes, perhaps a softening so brief I might have imagined it. He pushes off the desk and moves to the window, hands clasped behind his back. “Perhaps we can come to an arrangement,” he says after a long pause.
Hope flares, desperate and wild. “Anything. I’ll do anything.”
Valerian turns, his expression unreadable. “I find myself in need of a personal masseuse. You have the necessary skills, do you not?”
I nod, hardly daring to breathe.
“Then I propose you work for me, applying your talents to ease the... tensions that come with my position. In exchange, I’ll consider your brother’s debt paid after you’ve served me a sufficient amount of time.”
I think of my parents, of the devastation they’ll face if they lose the shop, and with Jay’s latest legal troubles... “I accept,” I hear myself say, “But I have conditions. You credit me five hundred dollars an hour, and I only provide legitimate massage services. No happy endings.”
I feel the need to add the last bit because of how his cold blue eyes are traveling over my body. He’s handsome, yes, but I would never be intimate with a man who is obviously a criminal. I’m not that kind of woman.
Valerian’s eyebrows rise as a hint of amusement lifts the corners of his mouth. “Agreed. I gave up on happy endings a long time ago.”
There’s something in his tone, a flicker of vulnerability beneath the cool exterior, that makes me look at him more closely. For just a moment, I think I see behind the composed mask to a man who seems lost.
“You’ll be moving into my mansion tonight,” Valerian says, his earlier vulnerability vanishing behind a mask of authority. “I need you available whenever I require your services.”
I spring up from the chair. “That’s ridiculous! I have my own apartment, my own life!”
“Which you’ll maintain during daylight hours.” He moves closer, his tall frame towering over me. “You may continue helping at your parents’ shop and seeing your regular massage clients. My men will drive you wherever you need to go.”
“I don’t need a chauffeur.” I cross my arms, lifting my chin. “Or a new address.”
“This isn’t a negotiation, Miss Bennett.” His blue eyes pierce into mine. “Consider it insurance against you running. You’ll sleep at my estate each night, available whenever I need you.”
“What about my cat?” The question slips out before I can stop it. I don’t even own a cat.
A flicker of amusement crosses his face. “Bring the cat.”
“My clothes? My things?”
“My staff will pack and move everything you need.” He walks to his desk and picks up his phone. “Your new bodyguards, Ivan and Sergei, will take you wherever you need to go today, back to the shop or to your massage clients. The choice is yours.” His lips curve into a cold smile. “Enjoy having choices while you still do.”
I dig my nails into my palms. “What if I refuse?”
“Then your parents lose their shop immediately instead of having the chance to earn it back through your service.” He speaks with the casual indifference of someone discussing the weather. “Which would you prefer?”
My shoulders slump. He knows he has me cornered. “Fine. I’ll move in.”
“Excellent.” He presses a button on his phone. “Ivan will be waiting in the lobby. Don’t try to run. My men will be watching.”
I turn toward the door, my legs shaky.
“Oh, and, Claire?”
I pause with my hand on the doorknob.
“Pack something nice for dinner. We’ll be dining together tonight.”
I glare at him and say coldly, “Of course, Mr. Rostova.”
“Valerian,” he corrects. “When we’re alone, you’ll call me Valerian.”
I nod, unable to form words under the intensity of his stare. Despite everything, a small thrill runs through me at the way he issues the command.
“Welcome to your new life, Miss Bennett,” he says as I reach the door. “I have a feeling we’re going to work very well together.”
The moment I step out of Valerian’s office, my stomach lurches violently. The world spins, and I press my hand against the wall to steady myself. “Bathroom,” I mumble as bile rises up my esophagus.
The man who greeted the two men bringing me in materializes beside me, his expression somewhere between annoyance and disgust. He grabs my elbow, steering me down a hallway to a pristine guest bathroom. I barely make it to the toilet before emptying my stomach.
The marble floor is cold against my knees when I heave as tears prick my eyes. When the nausea finally subsides, I splash cold water on my face and rinse my mouth, avoiding my reflection in the mirror.
Dmitri stands waiting when I emerge, his arms crossed. “What’s the matter? You pregnant or something? The boss won’t like that.”
A harsh laugh escapes me. The doctor’s words from ten years ago flash through my mind—polycystic ovarian syndrome, difficulty conceiving, and potential infertility. “No, I’m not pregnant.”
“Then what’s your problem?”
“My problem?” My voice rises. “My problem is that my entire life just got hijacked because my brother can’t control his gambling addiction. My problem is that I’m being forced to work for, and live with, a man who thinks he can own people. My problem is that everything I’ve worked for is being taken away from me.”
Dmitri rolls his eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic. The boss is being generous. He could have taken the shop and thrown your brother in the river.”
The casual way he mentions violence makes my skin crawl. These people really do live in a different world.
“Ivan and Sergei will drive you back to the shop,” Dmitri says, gesturing to the two men who brought me here. “Try not to puke in the car. It’s new.”
The ride back is silent. I stare out the window, watching the city blur past. The familiar storefront of Bloom House comes into view too quickly. Mom will be wondering where I’ve been. How am I supposed to explain any of this?