Page 5 of Love to Defy You
Mikhail raises his eyebrows. “She knows you by name?”
“It’s her job to know.”
He glances around the ornate lobby with an appreciative hum. “Maybe I should start banking here.”
I fold my arms and lean against a marble column. “Yes, can you imagine? The Bratva finally parking their money at a reputable institution instead of a shipping container stuffed with cash—“
The blonde returns with empty hands, and Mikhail elbows me in the ribs to shut up.
I glare at him. “Ow.”
“Mr. Vasiliev will see you in his office,” the blonde says. “I’ll bring your coffee tray there.”
Mikhail grins. “You’re very considerate. Thank you, sweetheart.” He steps forward to place his hand on the small of her back. “Lead the way.”
I roll my eyes and follow Mikhail and the blonde toward the elevator, tuning them out as they flirt back and forth. I check the time on my phone and count down the number of hours until I’m back with Willow in Saint-Tropez.
I’ve been putting off this trip for a year, preferring to handle everything by phone and email, but my physical presence is required to sign legal documents and ensure everything is in order. Once I head off to school in the fall, I’ll be too busy to deal with it, so I may as well get it over with now.
My mother is set up with a substantial monthly allowance, but she calls me every two weeks to ask for more and gets upset when I tell her to fuck off. She hates that I’m in complete control of her finances, but my father put me as the inheritor for a reason. If it were up to my mother, she’d squander all of it on luxury shopping trips and plastic surgery. And if I give in to her temper tantrums, she’ll keep asking for more, more, more.
When the elevator pings, the blonde leads us down the hall to the end, where the door to Fyodor’s corner office stands open. She knocks on the wood and peeks her head in. “Mr. Vasiliev, Mr. Kurochkin is here.”
“Send him in.”
She steps aside and gestures us through the door, which leads into a lavish office with ornate furnishings that date back to the Romanov dynasty. Behind an oak desk, Fyodor rises to his feet and buttons his suit jacket. He comes around to offer me a handshake but doesn’t quite meet my eye.
“Mikhail,” he says, clapping him on the shoulder. “I didn’t expect you to be here.”
He gives him a broad grin. “Just looking out for my friend. Someone has to make sure you don’t swindle him out of all his money.”
Fyodor laughs. “Of course you are, Mickey. I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.” He gestures to a pair of armchairs in front of his desk. “Please, take a seat.”
The blonde assistant returns with a cup of coffee, which she passes to Mikhail. She waits while he takes a sip.
“Ah, that’s good.” He makes a show of how much he enjoys it. “You make an excellent cup of coffee.”
“Thank you. Please let me know if I can get you anything else.” She places her hand on Mikhail’s arm and leans closer. “And I mean anything.” Straightening up, she gives him a seductive smile before sauntering off.
Mikhail cranes his neck to watch her leave until she closes the door behind her. “I must say, Fyodor, you’ve got excellent service here.”
“We didn’t come here to get you laid,” I say. “Can we focus, please?”
“Don’t mind me.” He raises the coffee cup to his lips and slurps with deliberate obnoxiousness. “I’m just a fly on the wall.”
“A horsefly, more like it,” I fire back.
“Yeah, yeah.” He dismisses my remark with a wave of his hand. “Anyway, Fyodor, what are you doing grunt work for? Is your father forcing you to work over the summer holiday?”
Fyodor loosens his tie and leans back in his executive chair, the leather groaning beneath him. “Yeah. I have to slog right along with the plebians to ‘learn the trade,’ so he says. It’s pure hell.”
“Fuck this place.” Mikhail sets his coffee down with a clatter. “Let’s go to Santorini instead. You, me, and Alek, right now.”
“I’ll endure the drudgery until I pick up my father’s mantle.” Fyodor’s gaze flicks to me. “Wouldn’t want to bite the hand that feeds me.”
I give him a tight-lipped smile, but the temperature of the room drops several degrees. “Careful, Fyodor, or I’ll take my business to Sberbank instead.”
He clears his throat. “Anyway, I have your file pulled up here. I have all the paperwork drawn up that you need to sign. I just have a few questions. Namely, how do you want to divide the assets upon your death?”
