The next morning, I wake her with coffee and a croissant from the bakery she likes downtown.
“You’re being suspiciously nice,” she says, eyeing me over the rim of her cup.
“I’m always nice to you.”
“You’re always something. Nice isn’t always the word I’d use.” But she’s smiling. “What do you want?”
“Come with me.”
I lead her down the hall to the room next to my home office. It’s been empty since I bought the penthouse, just a spare room I never had use for. Until now.
I open the door, and Savannah gasps.
The room has been completely transformed. A sleek desk sits in front of floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the city. There’s a comfortable leather chair, bookshelves already filled with marketing texts and business references, a couch for when she needs to think, and the latest computer setup money can buy.
“What is this?” she asks.
“Your office. I had it done while we were in Paris.” I watch her face as she takes it all in. “You’ve been working from the dining table, and that’s not sustainable. You need your own space.”
She walks to the desk, running her fingers over the smooth wood. “Ledger, this is too much.”
“Nothing is too much for you.” I lean against the doorframe. “You’re not going to the main office every day, not with Dmitri Kozlov still a threat. But that doesn’t mean you can’t work. This way, you have everything you need right here.”
“My own office.” She’s smiling now, genuine and bright. “In your penthouse.”
“Our penthouse. And yes, your own office. Complete with a door you can close when I’m being annoying.”
She laughs and crosses to me, wrapping her arms around my waist. “Thank you. This is perfect.”
“You’re perfect.” I kiss the top of her head. “Now get to work. I have a meeting with Silas in an hour, and I don’t want you distracting me.”
“I distract you?”
“Yes, you do.”
I leave her to explore her new space and head to my own office. Through the wall, I can hear her moving around, the soft sounds of her settling in.
An hour later, I check on her. She’s at her desk, laptop open, completely absorbed in whatever she’s working on. Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun, and she’s wearing one of my T-shirts with leggings. She looks young and beautiful and completely at home.
“How’s it going?” I ask from the doorway.
She looks up, startled. “Good. Really good, actually. This setup is incredible. I’m working on the Q4 campaign revisions, and having a proper workspace makes everything so much easier.”
“I’m glad.” I cross to her desk and lean down to kiss her. “Marie’s making lunch in an hour. Don’t forget to eat.”
“I won’t.”
But I know she will. She gets absorbed in work and forgets about everything else, including food, which is why I’ll have Marie bring lunch to her office whether she asks for it or not.
Back in my own office, I review contracts and handle calls. The Paris deal is moving forward smoothly. The Chicago acquisitions are on track. The legitimate side of my empire runs like a well-oiled machine.
It’s the other side that requires constant attention.
Marie knocks softly. “Mr. Volkov, I’ve prepared lunch for you and Mrs. Volkov. Should I serve it in the dining room?”
“Bring mine here. Take hers to her office. And make sure she actually eats it.”
Marie smiles. “Of course, sir.”
