My phone vibrates in my purse, and I excuse myself to check it. It’s a text from the security team confirming my location. Standard protocol now, apparently. By this point, I’ve gotten used to the bodyguards trailing me everywhere, the check-ins, and the constant awareness that someone is always watching.
What I haven’t gotten used to is Menlow.
He wasn’t in the office today. Some meeting with his cousins, he said. Bratva business that he didn’t elaborate on, and I didn’t ask. Ever since the night I slept in his bed, I’ve slept in his room every night. We haven’t had sex again, and sleeping next to him, feeling his body heat on my skin all night, has been almost maddening, but that’s not what he needs right now. Neither of us has acknowledged it. I just… end up there. And he just… lets me stay.
I pull up his contact and type out a message.
Team celebration at The Copper Still. Might be late getting home.
I stare at the word “home” for a moment. When did his penthouse become home? When did I stop thinking of it as a prison and start thinking of it as somewhere I actually want to return to?
The response comes almost immediately.Enjoy yourself. I’ll send Trenton.
Trenton is one of the bodyguards. The quiet one with the buzz cut who always stands by the door like a very well-dressed statue. He’s been my shadow for most outings, silent and unobtrusive but always there.
You don’t have to. I’ll be fine.
Humor me.
I roll my eyes but can’t help the small smile that tugs at my lips. Overprotective ass.
“Everything okay?” Derek asks as I slip my phone back into my purse.
“Fine. Just checking in with a friend.”
“Hot date waiting for you at home?” He grins and waggles his eyebrows. “Is that why you’ve been so mysterious lately? Secret boyfriend?”
“No boyfriend. Just a friend checking in.” The lie comes easily now. I’ve had plenty of practice lately. “Nothing exciting.”
“Uh-huh. Sure.” He doesn’t look convinced, but he lets it drop. “Well, whoever this friend is, they’re lucky to have you. You’ve been working insane hours on this deal.”
“We all have.”
“Yeah, but you caught that liability cap error. That alone saved the whole thing.” He tops off my champagne. “You deserve to celebrate.”
I accept the refill gratefully. The bubbles tickle my nose as I take a sip, and I let myself relax into the booth cushion. One night of normalcy. That’s all I’m asking for.
Twenty minutes later, I’m deep in conversation with Priya about a clause in the Shyman contract when I feel it. That prickle at the back of my neck. That awareness means someone is watching me.
I look around the bar casually, expecting to see Trenton lurking by the entrance in his standard dark suit and earpiece.
Instead, I see Menlow.
He’s at the far end of the bar, sipping on what looks like whiskey and pretending to check his phone. He’s changed out of his usual suit into something more casual—dark jeans and a black button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. The top two buttons are undone, revealing a sliver of his chest. He looks like any other guy out for a drink after work.
Except he’s not any other guy. He’s Menlow Karpov. And he’s here. In person. Not sending a bodyguard like he said he would.
Our eyes meet for just a second. He gives me a barely perceptible nod, then looks away, returning his attention to his phone like I’m nobody. Like we’re strangers.
What is he doing here?
“Kirsten?” Priya waves a hand in front of my face. “You still with me? I was asking about the indemnification language.”
I force myself to look away from Menlow and focus on my colleague. “Sorry. Got distracted. What were you saying?”
“The indemnification clause. Shyman’s team pushed back hard on the mutual indemnification, remember? I thought we were going to lose them over it.”
“Right. Right, yes.” I nod like I’m following, but my attention is split. I can feel Menlow’s presence across the room like a gravitational pull. “But we worked it out in the end.”
