Konstantin is saying something in Russian. Too low for me to catch. But whatever it is—it makes her smile in that quiet, intimate way that makes it feel like it’s just the two of them. There are rumors about Olena, plenty of them, but all of a sudden I’m wondering… is it possible to work so closely together and not have some kind of deep emotional connection?
Possible to kill together, rely on one another, build an empire together… a knot of jealousy burns in my sternum.
This is different than how I’ve contributed to Martynov Global Holdings for the past year and a half. Olena has literallykilledfor him. Has he done the same for her?
Is that why she’s so loyal? Or is it something else?
I shouldn’t care.
I have no right to care. After all, I’m just the surrogate.
I watch for another second—maybe two—and then push the glass door open harder than necessary. The sound makes both of them look over.
Olena’s eyes narrow.
Konstantin straightens.
His eyes drag over me slowly—bare legs, rounded belly, blouse too snug, lips pressed into a tight line.
“Miss Wolfe,” he says, his voice all quiet thunder. “How fortunate. We were just speaking of you.”
I arch a brow. “Oh?”
Olena steps back slightly, arms crossing. I can’t tell if she’s uncomfortable or annoyed. I don’t care at the moment, but judging from past interactions, she doesnotapprove of the use that Konstantin has put me to.
“Your file was needed for the Avenue development review,” Konstantin explains. “Olena mentioned you flagged a discrepancy.”
“Oh,” I say lightly. “Sothat’swhat you two were giggling about?”
Giggling. I wince inwardly. I sound like a jealous housewife.
Konstantin’s lip twitches. “Is something wrong, Miss Wolfe?”
“No, nothing.” I step forward, placing the manila folder on the edge of his desk. “Though you might want to wipe the lip print off your shirt.”
Am I losing my mind? Olena’s eyes flash. She’snotwearing lipstick, never does, but I can’t seem to stop myself. There truly is a red smudge,just there.
His brow lifts. “Excuse me?”
“Right there,” I say, pointing to his collar. “Unless that’s blood. I forget—it’s hard to tell with you.”
He chuckles, and Olena’s lips quirk up in a smile. Before he can say more, I pivot toward the door. But he follows.
“Audrey.”
I pause, his breath brushing my neck.
“You’re jealous.”
“I’m not.”
He leans in closer. “You are.”
I turn, trying to glare at him but failing. The sight of his smirk—infuriating and smug—makes my stomach flutter and my throat tighten. Olena slips past the two of us, her eyes sliding from one to the other.
“You’re at work,” she reminds him, her accented voice somehow severe and gorgeous all at once. “Keep that in mind, Martynov. Wouldn’t want anyone to see you… vulnerable.”
Then she’s gone. And I’m left to face Konstantin’s accusation.
