I force a smile, hanging my coat on the hook by the door. "That's sweet, but you didn't have to?—"
"Of course we did!" Megan pulls me into a hug, and I let myself lean into her warmth for a moment. "This is huge! That salary is going to change everything for you."
Tyler, Megan's brother, arrives twenty minutes later, his hopeful smile making my chest ache with guilt I have no right to feel. He's sweet and earnest in his wire-rimmed glasses, presenting the wine like an offering, his brown eyes lighting up when I thank him.
We eat pasta at our tiny table, Megan chattering about her social media campaigns, Tyler asking careful questions about my new job. I try to be present, to enjoy this moment of normalcy with the people who care about me. But I can't shake the feeling that's been building all day.
Roman Sokolov sees something in me that I don't understand. He's evaluating me for a test I didn't know I was taking. And whatever he's looking for, whatever he suspects, it has something to do with my mother's debt and the company that financed it.
I smile and nod at something Megan says, take another sip of wine, and try to ignore the cold dread settling in my stomach.
Because I'm starting to suspect that this job, this opportunity that seemed too good to be true, might be exactly that.
4
ROMAN
Iarrive at the office before dawn, as usual. The city is still dark, the streets below empty except for delivery trucks and the occasional taxi. I pour myself vodka, neat, and stand at the window watching the skyline emerge from shadow. Sleep has been elusive since Eva Markova walked into my life. Every time I close my eyes, I see her brown eyes meeting mine without flinching, her competent hands organizing files, the way her lips part slightly when she's concentrating.
Fuck.
I drain the vodka and set the glass down harder than necessary. This is exactly the kind of distraction I can't afford. Not now, when someone is testing my territory, probing for weaknesses. Not when Eva herself might be the weapon aimed at my throat.
The background check sits on my desk, and I review it again, searching for something I missed. MediFund Solutions. The predatory lending company that financed her mother's medical debt. The same company my intelligence flagged as connected to Abram Yakovlev's operations. It's too convenient. Too perfect. Adesperate young woman with crushing debt, appearing exactly when I need a new secretary, with ties to my rival's schemes.
But if she's a plant, she's the best I've ever seen.
I pull up the security footage from yesterday, watching Eva move through her day. The way she handles Natasha's near-breakdown over a difficult client, producing tissues and making tea with quiet efficiency. The professional distance she maintains with everyone, never oversharing, never prying. Her body language during phone calls is open, relaxed, nothing hidden. She asks intelligent questions but never pushes beyond what's necessary for her job.
Either she's genuine, or she's been trained by someone who understands surveillance.
My phone buzzes. The security team's overnight report. Eva went straight home after work, had dinner with her roommate, made no suspicious calls or contacts. She spent an hour on her laptop reviewing what appears to be her budget spreadsheet, then went to bed at eleven. Nothing unusual. Nothing incriminating.
I should be relieved. Instead, I'm frustrated. I want her to be innocent. I want the attraction I'm fighting to be uncomplicated, to be something I can pursue without wondering if she's been sent to destroy me. But wanting doesn't make it true.
The elevator chimes at 7:30. Eva steps onto the floor, and even through the glass wall separating our offices, I feel the impact of her presence. She's wearing another tailored dress, navy blue this time, her blonde hair in that sleek bun that makes my fingers itch to pull it loose. She sets her purse in her office, then disappears toward the kitchen.
Five minutes later, she enters my office with my coffee. Black, two sugars, exactly 185 degrees. I tested the temperature yesterday with the thermometer I keep in my desk drawer. She'd been perfect.
"Good morning, Mr. Sokolov." Her voice is steady, professional. She sets the coffee on my desk with practiced precision, careful not to let our fingers touch.
"Miss Markova." I let my gaze linger on her face, watching for any reaction. A slight flush creeps up her neck, but her expression remains composed. "I have several tasks for you today."
"Of course."
I outline my requirements, watching her take notes in that neat handwriting. Files to organize, calls to make, documents to prepare. Some of the files contain coded references to my operations, nothing obvious but enough that someone looking for it would recognize the patterns. I need to see if she shows interest beyond what's necessary.
She nods, asks clarifying questions that are intelligent but not probing, then returns to her office. Through the glass wall, I watch her settle at her desk and begin working with focused intensity.
My phone rings. Lev.
"We have a problem at the docks," he says without preamble. "Another delay. Safety concerns filed overnight."
Blyat."I'll be there in twenty minutes."
I grab my jacket and walk past Eva's office. She looks up, her brown eyes questioning.
"I have a meeting off-site," I tell her. "Continue with the tasks I assigned. I'll be back this afternoon."
