Chapter 1 #2
Maybe to use in punishing me later or to hold something over my head, not a word had been mentioned about that night.
I’d spent months tiptoeing around the incident as if it had never happened.
But given the brief conversation we’d had at the time, I honestly believed that’s why he’d chosen to make my life completely miserable.
At least I’d learned early on how accurate the phrase that looks could be deceiving was.
The second the elevator doors slowly opened, I was the first one inside, crowding the corner in the back.
If I was going for a little space, I was an idiot.
The steel box was soon packed like sardines.
To avoid suffocation, I closed my eyes and instantly, images of my boss’s chiseled face popped into my mind, a cause-and-effect moment hitting me hard.
In a split second, my pulse had skyrocketed.
He could still cause me to swoon. Damn the man.
I narrowly avoided another collision while heading to my desk, which was strategically placed just outside my boss’ office. When I slipped in, I tried to avoid eye contact with anyone else. I’d jump into work and no one would ever know I was twenty-seven minutes late.
You bet I was precise because he was. Stash Chertov, chief financial officer and part owner of the Chertov Corporation. While his surname was on the building and etched in the all-glass entrance doors, he was the cousin of the president of operations. Half cousins to be precise.
If there was such a thing.
Both friends and enemies had accredited a portion of the company’s successful expansion to the sultry Russian himself.
What was I saying? There were several men of obvious Russian descent who appeared every so often.
Maybe I was hungry for a larger piece of the pie.
They could certainly afford it. While the incident at Christmas remained painful, at least I hadn’t crossed paths with the drunk jerk from that night.
The male owners of the company were similar in attire and demeanor, barely saying two words while gracing the team with their presence.
Rumors were typical in any successful business, yet those involving the Chertov family were dark and sordid in nature.
Whispered words regarded the family as being true Russia Bratva, only recently increasing their presence and powerful control over New York City and beyond.
There was a third man on the books, someone I’d met only twice. Kazimir and his family remained in Russia, holding down their corporate operations and some said a true kingdom.
Several of the stories were wild, tales of catching one or another bludgeoning a man to death, another being shot outside Broadway.
While the Big Apple had both its share of vicious crimes and bystanders refusing to get involved no matter how heinous the situation, I highly doubted one of them could get away with murdering someone in cold blood in front of the bright lights of Broadway.
The allure of danger was a powerful aphrodisiac, half the women and a portion of the men in the company drooling over Stash and his cousin Dimitri. There were a few staunch believers in never dipping a toe into the gray area, fearful our company would eventually be shut down by the FBI.
If the company was involved in dark economics, I’d discovered no evidence.
Given I was heavily involved in every financial aspect, my spidey sense would have been raised at least once.
However, I was no fool. I could smell work underground and was determined to find out what Stash and his family were involved in.
I’d always had a strong sense of curiosity, something my mother had also warned me against.
With my boss’ door closed, meaning he’d arrived right on time, I was hopeful he was busy on a conference call, which were frequent and typical given the time difference with Moscow.
In a flurry, I yanked my glasses from my purse, shoving them onto my face. I’d never manage to see the financial numbers on the screen without them.
I didn’t miss a beat, opening my email and within five minutes, I’d answered all twelve emails with precise attention to detail, returned an RSVP for a luncheon I knew Mr. Chertov didn’t want to attend, and signed off on a large order of office supplies.
You bet I’d learned to be efficient as the man’s glorified secretary. At least he’d yet to have me grabbing his dry cleaning while on my forty-five-minute lunch break. With a roll of my eyes, I pulled out a piece of my favorite candy, popping it into my mouth.
When my personal cellphone rang, I groaned.
Personals calls were permitted but frowned upon, like almost everything else personable, entertaining, or heartwarming.
With the morning I’d already had, I was fearful the bad luck would continue.
Ah, just my bestie calling, hopefully confirming lunch today.
Not that breaking bread would be any big deal.
We were working girls, everything in New York expensive. We confined ourselves to either the company’s cafeteria or on nice days the lovely atrium on the fourteen floor to eat our white bread and mayonnaise sandwiches. I rolled my eyes before answering.
“Hey, hey,” Tawny cooed. “How’s it shakin’ this morning, babe?”
“Uh-oh. I know that tone.”
“What tone?”
I glanced over my shoulder to ensure his door hadn’t been opened. “The ‘I need a favor’ tone.”
“How do you do that?”