Johan steps forward half a pace, shoulders loose, hands visible. “Her personal life is none of your concern,” he says. “It has nothing to do with business.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot one of the policemen on the scene moving closer, as if sensing that a fight between two of the richest men in Chicago is about two seconds from breaking out.
“We good here?” the policeman asks.
“We’re good,” Sasha says smoothly.
“Okay, everyone take a deep breath,” I say. “Ange and I nearly got killed. She saved my life in there, if that counts for anything.”
Sasha’s gaze flicks to me, then Angie. “Clear your desk.”
Angie’s eyes widen. “Are you firing me?”
“I said clear your desk. By the end of the day.”
“What the hell are you doing?” I ask, glaring at him.
Angie flinches, then straightens until she could cut glass with her posture. “Understood,” she says, her voice steady. “By end of day.” She’s smart enough to understand that causing a scene wouldn’t do her any favors. I can tell she’s pissed, using every last bit of her strength to keep her anger in check.
Johan’s a different story. His eyes flash. “Are you fucking kidding, Orlov?”
Sasha turns those obsidian eyes onto Johan. “I don’t need your commentary on how to run my company. I know how to handle what’s mine.”
The word lands on my skin like a brand. I hate it.
“Enough,” I cut in. “This isn’t a conference room—it’s adamn sidewalk right in front of a crime scene.” I glance at Angie. “You okay with him?” I nod in Johan’s direction.
“Yes,” she says without a trace of hesitation in her voice.
I turn to Johan. “She’s safe with you?”
“Yes, of course,” he answers before turning to Sasha. “So you fire my girlfriend in the middle of a goddamn crime scene, twenty minutes after getting shot at, and you think I won’t take that personally?”
Sasha doesn’t flinch. “It’s just business. You of all people should know that.”
Johan says nothing, his hands balled into fists. For a moment, I worry he might take a swing. That wouldnotbe a good idea.
The space between the two men is silent, the only sound coming from the low din of traffic in the distance and the chatter of police radios. A few cops are watching from a few yards away, poised to rush in and break things up if they have to. But it doesn’t happen.
Angie steps between the two men. “Enough. Johan, let’s go.”
Johan exhales, and I sense the temperature of the space lower by a few degrees. It’s enough to make me feel confident that no one’s going to leave this confrontation with a bloody nose—or worse.
“If this is how AngelCorp does business, perhaps I need to rethink our merger.”
“Do what you want,” says Sasha, low and final.
Johan looks my way, his expression softening, as if extending apologies for… something. Then he places his hand on the small of Angie’s back, guiding her toward his car. She glances back at me just once, eyes meeting mine, and a quick look almost manages to telepathically transmit:Be careful with him.
When they’re gone, Sasha lays his hand on my shoulder—more of a directing gesture, not tender. “We’re leaving.”
“Of course we are,” I mutter. “I’m just another pawn to move on your chessboard, after all.”
His jaw tightens. “Gabriella.”
“I nearly got killed—again—and your first instinct is to fire my best friend and then move me around like cargo?” My voice cracks as I speak, and I hate that it does. “Do you even hear yourself?”
He starts to speak, the flashing lights of the police cars painting his face in red and blue. Suddenly, I can’t stand the sight of him looking so composed while everything around us feels so shattered.
