Pages of HR advice pop up, ethics blogs, cautionary tales. All with the same theme—it’s dangerous territory.
“God, Teresa,” I scold myself. “What the hell is wrong with you?” I set the laptop aside.
I glance toward the study’s small bar where cut-glass decanters gleam beneath the lamplight. A drink would surely quiet the tremor in my hands. Better yet, I could drop the folder on the desk, text Vlad that I fulfilled my duty, and leave before I unravel any further.
I’m halfway to standing when a voice as smooth as dark honey rumbles behind me.
“Interesting search history,kotenok.”
A shriek escapes my throat. I twist in the chair.
Vladimir stands a few steps inside the office, close enough to see the screen of my laptop where I’d set it down. His suit jacket is off, shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms, an impossibly sexy grin curving his mouth. The firelight paints bronze along the angles of his face, and his eyes—dark and knowing—sparkle with wicked amusement.
CHAPTER 4
TERESA
My heart thrums as he shuts the study doors behind him, cutting off the world. I grab the laptop and press it to my chest before fumbling for an apology.
“I… I was just… uh, typing stuff into Google.” I’m off to a bad start.
“That much is obvious.” His grin fades as his expression turns thoughtful. He moves with predatory ease, reminding me of a wolf circling its prey. “You Google your doubts. That’s endearing.”
Endearing. God help me.
He pauses at the desk, the brown folder catching the firelight.
“It appeared Volkov’s order today upset you,” I say, needing words to fill the space, trying to change the subject. “Whatever it was.”
Vlad’s eyes flick to mine. “Upset? No. Annoyed is more like it.” He taps the folder. “It will force a choice I do not relish—empireor conscience. And I have so little conscience left.” A faint smile ghosts across his mouth. “Volkov knows this.”
A chill skates down my spine. “You mean he wants you to?—”
He silences me with a look that silently says, “Don’t ask. Not yet.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “It’s not my business.”
“No need to apologize.” He turns to the bar. Crystal clinks as he pours smoky amber liquid into a cut-glass tumbler. Without breaking eye contact, he brings it over and places it in my quivering hand.
“To steady your nerves.” The directive is soft, absolute.
I hesitate, lips brushing the rim. The scent of whiskey reaches my nose. “I shouldn’t.”
I want to, but I shouldn’t.
“You should,” he counters, eyes narrowing a fraction. “Drink.”
Heat flushes my cheeks. I tip it back. Liquid fire blooms down my throat, warm enough to hush the tremor in my fingers. But the tremor in my chest only sharpens.
He picks up the folder and opens it, skimming dense pages while I watch the muscles play along his jaw. The veins in his forearms shift under his skin. Everything about him is precise, disciplined, yet I sense a thread pulled taut beneath that calm. One deliberate motion and the man could snap.
“You asked Google if it’s wrong to be attracted to your boss,” he says without looking up.
Embarrassment scorches me. “That was ridiculous. I was?—”
He chuckles, cutting me off. “I hope the next words out of your mouth aren’t ‘I was asking for a friend.’”
That gets a small, nervous laugh out of me. “No. I was just… I don’t know. Burning off nerves while waiting for you.”
