Almost.
The kitchen smells like coffee and something sweet when I finally emerge from the bedroom, my heels clicking softly against the marble floors. I round the corner expecting to find Drake and stop short when I see Konstantin sprawled on one of the leather stools at the island, a cup of coffee cradled in hismassive hands and a plate of strawberries arranged before him like a still life painting.
He looks up when I enter, and a grin spreads across his face that makes his ice-colored eyes crinkle at the corners.
"You are the cutest secretary I've ever seen." His Russian accent curls around the words like smoke, soft but unmistakably present, turning his vowels into something musical and his consonants into crushed velvet. "Those glasses.” He throws up a chef’s kiss. “I don't know how my brother will get any work done with you looking as edible as all these strawberries."
Heat floods my cheeks at the compliment, and I adjust my glasses in a nervous gesture I can't seem to break. Konstantin is dressed casually today, dark jeans paired with a gray henley that stretches across his broad shoulders. The sleeves are pushed up to reveal forearms covered in intricate tattoos that disappear beneath the fabric. He looks like a man who could snap someone's neck without breaking a sweat. He probably has, but there's a warmth in his expression that softens the edges of his dangerous aura.
"Don't be shy,malyshka." He pushes the plate of berries toward me. "Take some."
“Malyshka,” I repeat. “What does that mean?”
“Baby girl. Little one. It is almost like your sweetheart in English. I can’t wait to see Drake's face when I call youmalyshka." A dark playfulness settles over Kon’s expression. His lip kicks up in a smirk full of brotherly affection toward Drake.
I file that away for later. Instead of encouraging him, I cross to the island and perch on the stool beside him, reaching for a couple of the plump red fruits. The first one bursts across mytongue, sweet and tart and perfectly ripe, and I close my eyes for a moment to savor the simple pleasure of good food.
When I open them, Konstantin is watching me with an expression I can't quite read. There's a calmness about him, a stillness that speaks of a man completely comfortable in his own skin. But underneath that tranquility lurks a darkness, a shadow that says quite clearly that if you cross him, he will gladly make you pay for it in ways you can't imagine.
He doesn't scare me. I'm not sure what that says about me at this point. Either I've become so desensitized to dangerous men that my survival instincts have atrophied, or I genuinely like him despite the threat he represents.
Only time will tell which it is.
“Good, yeah?”
I nod. “Very sweet. Where is Mr. Moses?"
"Boss had early business." Konstantin takes a long sip of his coffee, the dark liquid steaming gently in the morning light. "I'm your guard for a little while if you don’t mind."
Boss. The word lands in my chest with an unexpected sting. Drake left before I woke up, sent someone else to escort me to work, didn't even bother to say good morning himself.
No. This is better, I tell myself firmly. Distance is good. Distance is safe. Distance means I won't do anything stupid like kiss him again or watch him through cracked doors in the middle of the night.
Konstantin rises from his stool and crosses to the coffee maker, pouring a fresh cup that he presses into my hands with agentleness that surprises me. The ceramic is warm against my palms, and the rich, bitter aroma curls up to tease my senses.
"Cream? Sugar? Bourbon?"
I let out a soft chuckle. "Not this early but come find me after work. Black is fine for now. Thank you."
He nods approvingly and leads me toward the elevator, making small talk as we walk. He asks about my morning, comments on the weather, mentions that Marta left muffins in the bread box if I want something more substantial than fruit. His kindness has a polished quality, like a host making sure a new guest feels welcome.
The elevator doors slide open and we step inside, the car beginning its descent toward the lower floors of Redthorne Holdings.
"You called Drake 'boss,'" I say, watching the floor numbers tick downward. "But I thought you worked with him, not for him."
Konstantin's smile widens, showing a flash of white teeth. "It's an affectionate term. We are all brothers."
Got it. I think.
"Is there a lot of trouble here?" I gesture vaguely at some soot smudging the inside corner of the elevator car. “I also noticed the scaffolding in the lobby yesterday, the mis-matched paint behind the security desk for repaired walls. Should I be worried?"
"Don't let the repairs fool you." Konstantin's voice carries the weight of absolute certainty. "This place is safe. Drake wouldn't have brought you here otherwise." He pauses, his expressionsoftening. "Rafael wouldn't have Persia and his baby here all the time either. Trust me. You're protected."
Fair point. I nod slowly, letting his assurance settle into my chest alongside the warmth of the coffee.
The elevator slows as we approach our destination, and Konstantin turns to face me fully. His ice-colored eyes hold mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch.
"He's not as hard as he pretends to be." The words come out soft, almost conspiratorial. "Don't tell him I said that. But don't break his heart, okay?"
