Page 50 of The Pakhan's Arranged Bride
Ardalion Pushkin.
I peek around the corner.
The three of them having a very intense argument about Benedikt not wanting to work with Ardalion, while Nestor tries to reassure him that it’s a good idea because they need all the help they can get to track Miron down.
I have to admit that I’m on Nestor’s side with this one.
The more people we have working on the Miron issue, the sooner we can resolve it.
The sooner I can get my revenge.
Even if I have to wait for them to capture him and sneak into the holding cell—I will be the one to slit that man’s throat.
“Benedikt, just give me a second to talk,” Nestor says, his voice even and calm compared to Ardalion and Benedikt, who are at each other’s throats.
Nestor will make a plan and bring these rivals together. At least for this one project. I don’t know what it is between Benedikt and Ardalion, but they seem to have it out for each other. I wonder if something happened or if it’s just a clash of egos.
Either way, it’s not for me to interfere.
I turn away from the commotion.
Nestor is very good at dealing with situations like that. I’ve seen him defuse arguments before, and I’m confident he’ll bring Benedikt around.
But while my brother has my husband distracted, I want to take a look into Benedikt’s other office, a room just down the hall. The private one that he’s never taken me into. Every time I’ve come here with him, I haven’t had a chance to slip away on my own to explore it. This is the perfect opportunity. I’m dying to know what’s in there.
I’m hoping it’s something that might lead me to Miron. I still don’t know where he’s keeping the investigation files on that asshole.
I walk down the quiet hallway, happy I chose to wear sneakers and not my high heels, as they make it far easier to get by unheard.
Wrapping my hand around the doorknob, I resist the urge to squeal in excitement when I find it isn’t locked.
I glance left, then right, making sure no one is watching, before I slip inside. I leave the door open just a crack so that I can hear if anyone is coming.
The room is small, some kind of storage room rather than an office. There are three walls covered in shelves and one wall with a desk up against it. On the desk, there are several open files, as though someone was working on them and left to come back and finish another time.
I glance at those files first, but it’s bookkeeping. Not what I’m looking for.
Slowly, not wanting to miss any details, I browse the handwritten labels on the spines of each ring binder stacked on the shelves.
The system is labeled alphabetically. The folders list names, dates, transactions, products, deliveries—there is so much information here, it’s overwhelming. And yet, so far, nothing about Miron.
Getting impatient, I grab the ‘G’ file. I can’t be sure if Miron Galkin’s information would be under his first or last name. I’ll start with his last and then move on from there.
I set the heavy file for G down on the desk and start flipping through it, glancing over my shoulder nervously assomeone walks past the door. I pause, tense, but they keep going without noticing that the door is a bit open.Thank goodness.I breathe a sigh of relief and carry on hunting through the folder.
Page after page, I come up short. His name isn’t even mentioned in here. I suppose Benedikt never worked with him and this must be a list of Benedikt’s clients.
There is absolutely nothing useful under G, and I huff loudly, shoving it back onto the shelf.
I wander over to the M file and trace my finger along the spine.
“What are you doing in here, little fox?”
His voice is deep and makes me jump. I spin around and find Benedikt, watching me. How long has he been there? Long enough to see me put the file back?
“I’m exploring,” I say innocently.
“Really. Exploring. And what are you exploring exactly?” He steps into the room and pulls the door closed behind himself. My heart races as he walks slowly towards me, his eyes dangerous.
