He grins. “Consider it your interview. Part of it, at least. Let’s see what you can do while I’m standing here.”
He hands me a flash drive and explains that it holds a ledger with at least half a dozen spreadsheets containing subtle anomalies baked into line items. It’s a test.
“While you’re standing here?”
“Yes. Consider this the least amount of pressure you’d be working under. Take your time—I’d rather you get it right slowly than rush and screw it up.” He sits in one of the chairs on the opposite side of the desk.
I settle in and open my laptop, plugging in the flash drive. Within seconds, I’m in the zone. My brain shifts into numbers mode like a second skin—columns, calculations, patterns.
Numbers don’t lie. People do.
Within minutes, I find a problem. Duplicate vendors. Two expense lines billed to different departments for the same date. Misfiled, but intentional. Clever, but sloppy.
“I’m seeing some overlap here,” I say, highlighting the area and turning the screen toward him. “Either someone’s padding reports or you’ve got a ghost vendor.”
Yuri leans toward me, close enough that I can feel the heat of his body. He smells like cedar and sex. My pulse jumps.
He scans the screen then smiles. It’s not warm or friendly. It’s admiring. “Efficient,” he says. “Most analysts don’t catch that in a week.”
I look away before he realizes what he’s doing to me. I want to hate him, I really do. But his attention makes me feel… seen. It makes me feel good.
I came here to spy. To dig. Not to want him all over again. I’m still mentally rebuilding my emotional walls when there’s a sharp knock on the glass.
Both of us glance up at the cause of the interruption, Yuri’s jaw instantly tightening. A man stands there, all smug precision in a perfectly pressed suit, self-satisfaction oozing from his pores. His shoes are expensive. So is his watch. His smile is the kind that’s rehearsed in mirrors. Two men stand behind him, unremarkable.
“Mr. Ivanov,” he says. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”
“You are.”
Yuri doesn’t stand up. Doesn’t react physically in any way. He simply closes my laptop and leans back in his chair like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
Smug Suit glances at me. “And you must be… new.”
“Research assistant,” I reply with a practiced smile. My voice is pleasant, polite. “Well, interviewing to be one, to be more precise.”
One of the men behind him writes something down in a handheld notebook.
Yuri gestures lazily between us. “Agent Spalding. Miss Jones.”
Agent Spalding. FBI. The name crackles in my memory, connected to whispers and redacted files. He’s been sniffing around the Ivanovs for years. A parasite in a $4,000 suit.
He flashes his badge. “We’re just doing a courtesy stop. Updates for the CFO.”
Yuri doesn’t invite him to sit. They stare at each other for a long, tense moment. Predator to predator. I try not to shift in my seat though I feel like a loose thread caught between two blades.
Spalding steps closer. “She’s not listed on any of the on-boarding logs.”
“She is now. There’s no reason for you to expect you’d have up-to-the-minute information on the goings-on in my company.”
My pulse flutters. I don’t know who I’m more afraid of—this smug, well-connected fed or the ice-veined Bratva heir.
“You’re quick to hire. I hope you’ve warned the lady about what she’s getting herself into,” Spalding says, eyes lingering on me. “Especially when your department’s under audit.”
Yuri smiles without humor. “If you’re done wasting my time, I’ll have legal forward you the updated records.”
“I’d prefer to see things firsthand.”
Yuri’s jaw works, then he looks at me. “Miss Jones, why don’t you take a break?”
