Page 76 of Filthy Promises

But it’s too late to take it back now. The Polaroid is in his pocket, a ticking time bomb waiting to detonate.

Vince exits first, then offers his hand to help me out. As I take it, he pulls me closer than necessary, his lips brushing against my ear.

“Remember who you work for tonight, Rowan.”

If only he knew what was sitting in his pocket, inches away from his heart.

23

ROWAN

Katerina Volkov is nothing like I expected.

Based on Irina Petrov’s ice-queen demeanor, I assumed all Russian mafia princesses would be cut from the same frigid cloth. But Katerina is warm, animated, with a laugh that actually sounds genuine.

Color me surprised.

She greets Vince with a kiss on both cheeks, then surprises me by extending the same courtesy.

“Ms. St. Clair!” she crows happily. “A pleasure to meet Vince’s right hand.”

I smile, instantly wrong-footed by her friendliness. “Likewise, Ms. Volkov.”

“Please, call me Kat. Everyone does.”

Vince looks as surprised as I feel by her casual demeanor. We’re seated at a prime table, Katerina and Vince facing each other, me at a slightly awkward third point in the triangle. Close enoughto hear everything, not quite close enough to be fully part of the conversation.

Rowan the wallflower, as per usual.

“Vince tells me you’re new to his team,” Katerina says to me as the waiter pours wine. “How are you finding it?”

“It’s challenging,” I admit. “But rewarding.”

“I imagine so.” She smiles knowingly. “Vince has always been demanding.”

The way she says it implies history. I glance at Vince, who meets my gaze with unreadable eyes.

“You two know each other well?” I ask, unable to help myself.

“Since childhood,” Katerina answers. “Our families have been… associated… for generations.”

“Business associates,” Vince clarifies, a warning note in his voice.

Katerina laughs. “Is that what we’re calling it now? How diplomatic of you, Vincent.”

The waiter returns to take our orders. While Vince and Katerina discuss the menu, I find myself studying her more closely. She’s beautiful in a natural way—bright blond hair, striking bone structure, intelligent eyes.

But there’s something else about her. A sadness that lingers behind her smile.

Vince orders for all of us, not bothering to ask what I want. The feminist in me loathes it. The cavewoman in me howls in delight.

As we wait for our first course, Katerina turns her attention back to me. “So, Rowan, tell me about yourself. Where did you study?”

“Oh, just upstate,” I reply, feeling suddenly inadequate next to her Harvard pedigree. “Marketing and Design.”

“Impressive!” Surprisingly, she sounds sincere. “Creativity combined with strategy. No wonder Vince snatched you up.”

Vince shifts in his seat, his hand going to his inside pocket as he adjusts his position.

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