“And… maybe something in… shipping.”
Her throat bobs. So she’s sharp, then; she took note of things moving through the warehouse, even if she didn’t know what was in the crates. Another glance at her file and a note jotted by Lauren:Sister-in-law of David Lipovsky.
Ah.
Surely David wouldn’t be stupid enough to send someone untrustworthy, a whistleblower. Not when he’s hiding millions for me in offshore accounts and money laundering.
“You have a background in energy resources. What do you plan to do with that?”
Her brows knit again, not having expected the question. “Um… I’d like to get my master’s in land administration. Someday.”
A slight flush creeps up her neck from under her blouse. For a moment the world tilts. I shake my head surreptitiously, caught off guard by feeling unbalanced by the sight of a self-conscious woman?
Who is she?
“Ah. Did your brother-in-law happen to mention that my philanthropic branch has donated over ten million dollars to wildlife conservation and historical preservation in the last three years?”
There’s no surprise on her face, which means either Lipovsky told her or she did her own research. “It’s why I thought this might be a good fit.”
There’s a slight stress on ‘might.’ She’s still testing me out, as I am her. I can’t afford to bring the wrong person into Ursa, not with the expansion north.
I lean against the edge of the desk. “You’ve done your research.”
“I like to know who I’m working for.”
“And you’re comfortable with… everything you’ve heard?”
“That depends on what you mean byeverything.”
There it is—the pulse under her words. A quiet challenge.
I circle behind her chair. The movement makes her straighten, just slightly. I catch the faint scent of something warm, like cinnamon and sugar. It stirs an image I can’t quite summon, something buried deep in time and smoke.
“You’re bold,” I say. “Most people walk in here trying not to breathe too loudly.”
“I’ve never been very good at holding my breath,” she says.
I almost smile. Almost.
“I appreciate your honesty,” I murmur, bracing my hands on the back of her chair, leaning close enough to feel her tension rise. “But tell me something, Miss Adler. You seem sharp enough to know Ursa Arcane doesn’t run on charity alone. What exactly are you willing to overlook?”
She turns her head slightly, and her profile is illuminated by the light. There’s color in her cheeks now. “Whatever it is you do here, Mr. Medvedev,” she says quietly, “I assume you have your reasons. I don’t need to agree with them. I just need to do my job—and I happen to believe your conservation work has real value. So if I have to overlook certain details to help fund something good, then yes, I can live with that.”
Her honesty is disarming. And irritating.
I move closer. My hands rest on either side of the chair, caging her in without touching. “You won’t overlook it,” I say softly. “You’ll be complicit in it.”
She looks up at me then, fully, and for a moment the room narrows to the space between us. Something electric moves through it, subtle, but undeniable. Her eyes drop briefly to my collar, to the faint edge of a tattoo that creeps above the line of my shirt. An impulse decision from when I was twenty-one and reckless. I shift, pulling it higher.
“I’m aware of what that means,” she says, voice low.
Every instinct says she’s telling the truth. Every instinct also says I shouldn’t trust her.
Finally, I step back, putting distance between us. “Call me Mr. Medvedev,” I say. “We’ll see how long you last.”
Her lips curve, not quite a smile. “Understood, Mr. Medvedev.”
I turn to the window, the view of the river shimmering beyond the trees. Behind me, I can still feel her presence still; warm, steady, unsettlingly alive.
