Chapter 7
Sarah
I ’m preparing to leave for the day when Mrs. Nykova appears in my office doorway with her usual composed expression.
She adjusts the papers in her hands before speaking. “Mr. Barinov has requested you stay late this evening. He’d like to discuss your progress on the compliance review.”
I glance at the clock on my computer screen. It’s already past five, and most of the staff has gone home for the day. “How late?”
“He didn’t specify, but he mentioned you should plan to have dinner here.” Her tone is matter-of-fact, as if this is a perfectly normal request. “Shall I let him know you’re available?”
The suggestion catches me unprepared. In the three weeks I’ve worked here, Yarik has never asked me to stay for dinner, and our work sessions have always been strictly professional, aside from some lingering looks and brief touches that we both pretend are accidents.
“Is this about something specific? Did I make an error in the compliance materials?”
Mrs. Nykova’s expression gives away nothing. “I wasn’t given details. Simply the request for your continued presence this evening.”
I consider my options. Refusing would be insubordination, and I need this job too much to risk making him unhappy. Whatever this dinner meeting is about, I’ll handle it professionally and hope for the best. “All right. Should I wait in my office?”
“Mr. Barinov will send for you when he’s ready.” She turns to leave, then pauses. “You might want to freshen up. The private dining room is more formal than your usual work meetings.”
She disappears down the hallway, leaving me with a dozen questions and no answers.
I spend the next two hours trying to finish up loose ends while my mind spins through possibilities.
Maybe he wants to extend my probationary period, or he’s decided I’m not working out after all, or maybe the past three weeks of careful professionalism weren’t enough to erase the memory of our kiss by the pool.
When it’s almost seven, I’m wound so tight I can barely sit still.
I use the executive washroom to touch up my makeup and make sure my hair isn’t completely disheveled from the day’s work.
The navy blue dress I’m wearing is one I’ve worn several times now in his presence.
It’s simple and professional, but in the mirror’s lighting, it looks more elegant than I remembered.
Or I’m just projecting my wishful thoughts.
At seven o’clock precisely, Mrs. Nykova reappears. “Mr. Barinov is ready for you now.”
She leads me through corridors I’ve never seen before, past formal reception rooms and up a curved staircase to the second floor.
The private dining room is smaller than I expected, being intimate rather than imposing.
A round table is set for two with white linens, crystal glasses, and flickering candles.
Classical music plays softly from hidden speakers, and the whole scene feels more like a date than a business meeting.
Yarik stands near tall windows that overlook the gardens, wearing dark slacks and a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He looks relaxed and comfortable, which somehow makes me more nervous rather than less.
He moves away from the windows as I enter. “Sarah, thank you for staying.”
I take the chair he indicates, noting he’s chosen a table small enough that we’ll be sitting closely together. “Mrs. Nykova said you wanted to discuss the compliance review?”
“Among other things.” He pours wine from an open bottle into both our glasses, which seems strange for a business meeting. “I thought we deserved a meal without interruptions or the pretense of working.”
I frown at the wine and then at him. “I don’t understand.”
He takes the seat across from me, close enough I can smell his cologne and see the candlelight reflecting in his eyes.
“We’ve been dancing around each other for almost three weeks, maintaining professional distance while pretending we don’t feel what’s happening between us.
Tonight, I’d like to have an honest conversation. ”
My pulse speeds up, and I reach for my wine glass to give my hands something to do. The stem feels delicate between my fingers, and I’m careful not to grip it too tightly. “Yarik, I don’t think?—”
“Just dinner, Sarah. Just two people talking without expectations.”
The wine is excellent, smooth and warming as I take a careful sip. It’s layered and expensive, making me savor it even without knowing why. “What did you want to talk about?”
“You. Your work. How you’re settling in here.” He leans back in his chair, studying my face intense focus. “Whether you’re happy.”
My mouth is dry in spite of the wine, and I have to swallow it along with a lump in my throat before I can speak, going for aloof and grateful. “I’m grateful for the opportunity. The work is challenging in ways I didn’t expect, and I’m learning a lot.”
He shakes his head slightly. “That’s not what I asked. Are you happy, Sarah?”
The question startles me with its simplicity.
Am I happy? I consider the past few weeks since starting this job.
Despite the complications with Yarik and the ongoing threat from Alex, though I’ve received no more text messages, I’ve felt more like myself than I have in months.
“Yes.” The admission surprises me with its certainty.
“For the first time in a long while, I think I am happy.”
A smile touches the corners of his mouth. “Good. I want you to be happy here.”
Mrs. Nykova appears as silently as a ghost, placing plates of what looks like a gourmet salad in front of us before disappearing again. The service is so smooth it’s almost invisible, allowing us to maintain the illusion we’re alone.
I gesture to the elegant table setting and perfectly plated food. “This is beautiful, but you didn’t need to go to this much trouble. If you wanted to discuss my work, we could have done it in your office.”
He appears almost flustered for an instant. “I wanted to see you somewhere you might feel comfortable being yourself instead of trying to be the perfect employee.”
I smile. “I am trying to be the perfect employee.”
He gives me one of those rare, genuine smiles that transform his entire face. “I know. It’s one of the things I find most endearing about you.”
“Endearing” feels like dangerous territory, but I don’t know how to respond without making things more awkward. Instead, I focus on the salad, which is delicious and gives me an excuse not to meet his penetrating gaze.
He asks as we eat, “Tell me about your life before you came here. What did you do for fun in New York?”
I laugh, though there’s no humor in the sound. “Fun? I worked a lot, tried to stay out of trouble, and saved money when I could.” I omit all details of my tumultuous relationship with Alex.
He seems perturbed by my answer. “That doesn’t sound like much of a life for a twenty-six-year-old woman.”
I set down my fork and meet his gaze directly. “Life doesn’t always leave room for fun.”
He nods as though in agreement. “What about now? What do you do when you’re not working?”
I think about my quiet evenings with Nina, our terrible reality TV marathons, and the simple pleasure of feeling safe in my own apartment. “I read, cook with my roommate, or go for walks when the weather’s nice.”
“Simple pleasures.”
“The best kind, I think.”
We talk through the main course, which turns out to be perfectly prepared salmon with vegetables that taste incredible.
I relax despite my initial nervousness. Yarik is an excellent listener, asking thoughtful questions about my interests and opinions without prying into areas I clearly want to avoid.
He tells me about books he’s read, places he’s traveled, and his thoughts on everything from art to politics.
It’s the first real conversation I’ve had in years with someone who’s genuinely interested in what I think rather than just waiting for his turn to talk.
The wine and candlelight and his undivided attention combine to create a sense of intimacy that makes me forget why this is supposed to be inappropriate.
I say as Mrs. Nykova clears our plates and brings coffee and what looks like chocolate mousse, “You’re different tonight.”
“Different how?”
“Relaxed. Less...” I search for the right word while stirring cream into my coffee. “Less controlled, I suppose. Like you’re not performing for anyone.”
“I’m not. Right now, I’m just a man having dinner with a woman whose company I enjoy.”
I set down my coffee cup with a slight clink against the saucer. “You’re still my boss.”
“Not in this room. Not tonight.” He reaches across the table and covers my hand with his where it rests beside my dessert spoon. “Tonight, we’re just Yarik and Sarah.”
His fingers are warm against mine, and I don’t pull away even though I should. The contact sends electricity up my arm, and I have to concentrate on keeping my breathing steady. “What happens tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow, we go back to being professional, but tonight...”
“Tonight what?”
“Tonight, I’d like to kiss you again.”
The admission makes my breath catch in my throat. Heat spreads through my chest, and I feel my cheeks flush. “Yarik?—”
“I know all the reasons why it’s complicated. I know we work together, and I know about my engagement. I know this makes everything more difficult.” His thumb glides across my knuckles in a gentle, hypnotic rhythm. “None of that changes how I feel about you.”
I can’t resist asking, “How do you feel about me?” I should be pulling away, but I can’t without hearing his answer.
“Like I’m drowning, and you’re the only thing keeping me above water.”
The raw honesty in his voice makes my chest tight with emotion. “That’s not fair. You can’t say things like that.”
He looks slightly amused. “Why not? It’s the truth.”
I shake my head, trying to maintain some semblance of rationality. “It’s not that simple. You’re getting married?—”
“To a woman I don’t love, in an arrangement that has nothing to do with what I want.” His grip on my hand tightens slightly, not painful but insistent. “Sarah, look at me.”
I lift my gaze to meet his across the candlelit table, and the intensity I see there makes my heart race. His blue eyes are dark with something that looks like desperation and desire mixed together.
“I’ve never felt the way I feel about you for anyone else. Whatever this is between us, it’s real, and it’s not going away just because it’s inconvenient.” He sounds convinced and confident, as though nothing can change his mind.
I try to find my voice, but it comes out as a whisper. “It’s more than inconvenient. It’s impossible.”
His lips turn down slightly. “Is it? Or are we just afraid to find out what might happen if we stop fighting it?”
I stare at him, torn between the logical voice in my head screaming warnings and the part of me that’s been starving for this kind of connection for what seems like all my life. “We can’t take this back...”
“I know.”
I swallow more wine to moisten my mouth. “It could ruin everything. My job, your engagement, and both our reputations.”
His voice is steady, certain. “I know that too.”
I stare at him, unable to comprehend his thoughts. “Then why are you willing to risk it?”
“I’ve finally realized there are worse things than complications.”
I search his face, looking for any sign this is just physical attraction or momentary impulse. All I see is the same longing that’s been eating at me for weeks and the same desperate need that makes me dream about his hands and his mouth and the way he looked at me by the pool.
He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “No regrets?”
I trace lazy patterns over a rose tattoo on his chest with one finger. “None. You?”
“Only that we waited so long.”
We lie in comfortable silence for a while, and I relax completely for the first time in months. This feels right in a way that nothing has for a very long time.
His voice is thoughtful when he speaks again. “Sarah, I want you to know that this doesn’t have to complicate things at work. We can keep this separate and private. No one has to know.”
I stiffen for a moment, not liking how I suddenly feel like his dirty secret. “What about your engagement?” I sound almost emotionless as I ask.
He sighs. “That’s a business arrangement. It has nothing to do with us.”
I prop myself up on one elbow to look at him, needing to see his face and search for sincerity. I need to know how he really feels. “What are you suggesting?”
“We continue this and see where it leads without worrying about other people’s expectations or complicated family politics.”
I consider his words. “You want to have an affair.” My first instinct is to recoil and get dressed, but he feels so good that I stay.
“I want to be with you. However that works and whatever that looks like.” He traces my cheek with one finger. “I know it’s not ideal, but it’s what we have.”
I consider his offer, weighing the risks against the way I feel in his arms. For the first time since leaving New York and escaping Alex, I feel like myself again.
Safe, desired, and free to make my own choices.
What he offers isn’t ideal, and it’s no fairytale.
Is it enough for me? I think about leaving him, and never feeling this way again, and whisper, “Okay.”
He stiffens slightly, like he can’t believe I’m agreeing. “Okay?”
I bite my lip before being fully candid.
“I want to be with you too, whatever that means or however complicated it gets.” It prickles my conscience as the voice of reason whispers in my mind, asking how far I’m prepared to go to keep this?
Mistress to a married man? The thought repels me, but still, I remain.
The engagement is just an arrangement, and things can change.
I cling to that rationale as he rolls us over so he’s above me again, and I see satisfaction and something deeper burning in his eyes.
“No regrets,” he says, echoing my earlier words.
I pull him down for another kiss. “No regrets.” I sound confident about it, and I don’t regret this night, but I’m not really sure I can be the other woman even if their arrangement is purely business.
His kiss and caresses quickly silence that voice of logic again, and I surrender to how he makes me feel, physically and emotionally.