Page 28 of Filthy Promises

I do as instructed, then stand awkwardly, waiting.

Finally, he closes his laptop and levels those blue eyes at me. “How was your first day?”

“Overwhelming,” I admit. “But, uh… interesting.”

For lack of a better word.

“You did well.”

There it is again—that rush of pleasure at his approval. It’s pathetic how desperately I crave it. “Thank you, Mr. Akopov.”

“I noticed you picked up the calendar system quickly.”

I hesitate. “About that... There are some appointments that seem a bit…” I search for a neutral word and end up settling on, “ … unconventional.”

His expression doesn’t change. “Such as?”

“The 3 A.M. meetings, amongst other things. The ones marked ‘OFFSITE’ in red.”

He steeples his fingers. “Does my schedule concern you, Ms. St. Clair?”

“Er, no, sir. I just want to make sure I understand my responsibilities.”

“Your responsibility is to do as you’re told.” His voice is soft but it contains a warning I’d be stupid to ignore. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

I swallow hard. “Yes, sir.”

“I appreciate curiosity.” He leans back in his chair. “But in this case, what you don’t know can’t hurt you.”

My stomach does a little bachata step. It’s as good as a confirmation.

“That will be all for today,” he says. “Go home, get some rest. Tomorrow will be even busier.”

“Yes, Mr. Akopov. Goodnight.”

I’m halfway to the elevator, already wondering whether my mattress will support my weight when I cannonball onto it, when I realize I’ve left my purse at my desk.

Dammit.Groaning, I turn back.

As I approach my desk, I hear Vincent’s voice from his office. The door is slightly ajar. “… shipment arrives at the docks tomorrow night,” he says in a low tone. “Make sure our people are in position.”

I freeze.

“No witnesses,” he continues. “Andrei wants this handled cleanly.”

Oh my God.This isn’t corporate business. This is… something else entirely.

“If the commissioner gives you trouble, remind him of our arrangement,” Vince adds. “And Mikhail? No mistakes this time.”

I back away from the door, but my heel catches on the carpet. I stumble, catching myself against my desk with a thud.

The phone call stops abruptly.

“Hello?” Vincent calls out. “Who’s there?”

Terror shoots through me. I grab my purse and dart toward the stairwell, not risking the elevator’s ding giving me away.

I take the stairs two at a time, my mind racing faster than my feet.

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