Chapter 22
Chapter twenty-two
Alisa
“How’d you sleep?” Dmitri asked while handing me a cup of coffee.
I’d tossed and turned all night. But he’d been the cause, so I wasn’t about to tell him that.
My body stiffened as I thought back to his dark laughter echoing through the thin walls when I’d hit my peak last night.
Fuck, he’d almost certainly heard me. But thankfully his talents didn’t extend as far as mind reading, so he had no idea who was the star of my fantasies.
Still, I avoided his eyes and took a long sip of the drink. Rich chocolate and almond flavor met my tongue. I inhaled the sugary scent and took another sip while trying not to moan.
“Did you go to Starbucks?” I asked, reluctantly pulling the drink away from my lips.
“Made it,” he said, taking a sip of his own much darker colored coffee.
“Did-”
“If you ask me if I poisoned it, I’m taking it back.”
I’d actually been about to ask if that was cinnamon I tasted.
“You’ll have to take it off my cold dead body,” I teased, holding the drink possessively against my chest.
After I said the words, awareness snapped into me. My shoulders sagged. What was I doing? Joking with him? Getting off at the thought of him? This place was messing with my head, and his all-consuming presence wasn’t helping.
I needed to banish these feelings, and focus on surviving the weekend.
I took out the ledger. “I have some new ideas.”
“I figured as much,” he said, opening the door to the library for me.
After the door clicked shut behind us, he pulled a carefully folded piece of paper from his suit pocket. Careful not to brush his hand and give my hormones another reason to take over my brain, I took it.
“What is it?” I asked.
“There were a few things that stuck out to me when I was touring Jayden’s production plant yesterday. Cross reference them with your notes, and we’ll go over all your findings when I get back.”
“Where are you going?” I asked, reading through his perfect handwriting. Unlike my scrawling penmanship, every letter was meticulously crafted.
“I need to check something with my men.”
Wait, were they in the area? Before I could ask, he pointed at a number on the page. It was insane that a finger that large could write something so perfectly fine-tuned. Those fingers-
I tightened my grip on the piece of the paper in a futile attempt to rein in my thoughts.
“I’ll look into it,” I said. “Go handle your thing.”
I needed him out of here before I did something stupid.
“Are you dismissing me?” he asked with a deep laugh, leaning against the doorframe.
I swallowed as my eyes focused on the muscles straining against his suit. The very muscles I’d been fantasizing about last night.
“Yes,” I said, making a sarcastic flicking gesture with my hand.
Dmitri’s eyes darkened.
“Kotenok,” his voice deepened when he said the word, “you don’t get to order me around.”
A tingle ran up my spine, leaving me standing ramrod straight. His eyes focused in on the movement, his lips curving into a smile.
“Be good while I’m gone,” he said.
The door shut behind him before my fuzzy mind could come up with any kind of comeback.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I mentally shook myself out of the stupor he’d left me in. This was not like me at all.
Thankfully, the text I received distracted me from all thoughts of Dmitri. With a smile, I read Gemma’s text complaining about the book selection at the thrift store we frequented. It’d been the thing that brought us together. Each of us had been after the same dog-eared copy.
That fateful day had ended with two strangers agreeing to share a fantasy novel.
I leaned against the wall and glanced at the immaculate bookshelf. Like me, I bet Gemma would kill to have a personal library like this. Aged oak floor-to-ceiling shelves and an insane view bracketing it. I snapped a picture and sent it to her.
Part of me hated the omissions to her. I’d told her I was here for a work trip, which was technically true. But still…
‘Dude has that much money for books, and can’t even pick out an interesting one,’ Gemma’s reply read.
I snorted. It was true.
The spines on these books weren’t even creased in the slightest. I wondered if Jayden had even read a single one. But as my eyes lazily glossed over the non-fiction books about being an outstanding leader, my attention caught on a green book.
I frowned and stepped closer. What was a cookbook doing here? There were hundreds of books on seizing power and maximizing your potential. This was the only one out of place, and it was the only book with a crease along the spine.
With amusement I flicked it open. Was Jayden secretly a cooking connoisseur?
When I swiped to a dog-eared page detailing how to make chicken marsala, my mouth dropped open. With growing excitement, I noted underlines scrawled underneath the measurements and the accompanying annotations.
This could be absolutely nothing. Maybe he just wanted to make sure that he remembered to put six ounces of prosciutto instead of the recommended four. I turned the page and memorized the notations.
But what if this was some sort of code….
I turned back to the ledger and tried to find a connection. Maybe this was all a complete waste of time, but if I was right, then this might be the key to how he was cooking the books.
As the sun stretched across the chilly lake, I stayed rooted to the spot glancing back and forth between the cookbook and the ledger, trying to decipher the meaning.
“I didn’t realize you were so enthusiastic about cooking,” Dmitri drawled from the door, his eyes glancing lazily at the cookbook.
I nearly jumped out of my skin. I hadn’t even heard him come in, I’d been so engrossed in figuring out if there was a connection.
“I’m not,” I said, reluctantly shutting the book. As if on cue, my stomach rumbled. I’d consumed nothing but coffee and the words in that book.
“Looks like I’ll be handling dinner then.” Dmitri motioned me forward with a commanding flick of his finger. “Bring the cookbook with you. I’ll see if there’s anything interesting to make.”
“Weren’t we going out to eat with Jayden?”
“Jayden’s leaving us to our own devices for the evening,” he said, leaning against the doorjamb.
“That’s… odd,” I said, picking up the cookbook and the ledger, trying to decide how to approach him with my hypothesis.
“Not really.” He led me through the hallways like he owned the place. “Probably cleaning up whatever mess he doesn’t want us to find.”
“Should we be watching him?” I said, sitting on a cushioned stool underneath the huge kitchen island.
“Handled.” Across the island, he leaned an elbow against the marble, and stretched his other hand towards the book. “Anything interesting?”
I stared at his giant hands, and my brain stuttered for a moment.
“Ummm, yes actually,” I said, mentally smacking myself. I killed people for a living, was twentieth in the rankings, and yet I couldn’t seem to form a coherent thought to save my life.
“Tell me more.”
He leaned his chin against his tatted knuckles, and it was as if his presence was sucking all the breath and thoughts out of me. I’d spent hours trying to crack this code, nearly combusting from excitement, and now all I could focus on was the nearness of him.
I yanked my gaze away from him and focused on the cookbook. “I found this inside the library….”
Before I could think too hard that it was probably just a coincidence and that I should stay silent, I launched into my conjectures.
Dmitri stayed silent the entire time, and I refused to look up from the cookbook, unsure if I was more worried about his physicality killing my train of thought or seeing his reaction.
“So… what do you think?” I asked, finally looking at him.
Dmitri nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “Smart,” he said.
I searched his face, waiting to find a hint of the sarcasm he was ready to unleash on me.
But a smirk didn’t cross his lips as he said, “It isn’t enough to bring back to the Pakhan.”
My shoulders slumped. Of course not. All I had was a cooking book with underlined numbers. How could I have been so stupid to think that this was actually worth working on? That I could do something that actually mattered.
“Yet,” he added, a frown gracing his lips. “It’s a good lead. I’ll have my men look into it.”
He typed something into his phone before flicking through the cookbook. His finger paused on the marked up page of chicken marsala.
With long steps, Dmitri strode to the pantry and appraised the fully stocked space like it was his own kitchen. He nodded to himself as he peered into the refrigerator.
“What’s up?” I asked, pressing my hands onto the marble, and trying to see what he was looking for.
A small smile crossed his lips as he pulled out some chicken, olive oil, and prosciutto. “I’m making dinner, kotenok.”
My brows furrowed as he took out butter, parsley, and chicken stock.
“Chicken marsala?” I guessed, thinking back to the ingredients I’d memorized after the hours of cross-examining the recipe.
He nodded before he began slicing the chicken breasts with precise, sharp movements.
“Is it a good idea to let Jayden know we’re onto him?” I said, entranced by the expert way he handled the knife. I’d planned to put the book in its rightful spot before Jayden got home. Not throw it in his face.
“If the ingredient changes are his master key to cooking the accounting books, then he’ll panic when he discovers we know. And while he’s covering it up…” Dmitri slammed a mallet onto the chicken breast, pounding it flat.
It was brilliant. If the changes in the recipes were meaningless, then there’d be no harm. But if he started panicking, then we’d have the answer to the Pakhan’s question.
“Do you need any help?” I asked, nodding towards the ingredients.
Dmitri leaned against the counter and absently twisted the mallet in his hands. “I’d prefer to survive the meal,” he drawled.
“Are you that concerned about my cooking?” I said with a laugh.
“That’s not what I’m worried about.”
The roughness in his tone set off a memory from the day we’d sparred and I’d threatened him with poison. ‘I’d hate to snap that pretty little neck of yours, Alisa.’
I blinked back to the present, and this time when he slammed the mallet into the chicken, my stomach thudded along with it.