Page 50 of Toxic Salvation
“So,” she begins carefully, “in the interest of getting to know the father of my child better… what exactly do you do for work?”
I stop chewing and stare at her. “You’re asking me thisnow?”
“It’s obvious you’re wealthy. Your family has money. I just have no idea howyouactually make it.”
Something about this feels suspicious. Is she fishing for information about the Keres operation? Trying to determine if I’m still involved in organ trafficking? Or is she just actually trying to understand the man she’s having a child with?
“I make most of my legitimate income importing rare wines and fine champagnes from France. I’m also looking into developing my own brand eventually. Get more control over the entire process.”
“Is there anything else?”
“Gemstones.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”
“There’s a substantial market for rare stones,” I explain. “The kind you might encounter once or twice in a lifetime. Tanzanite, blue diamonds, Demantoid garnets. You’d be amazed what collectors will pay for the right piece.”
“Wow.” She seems impressed. “So that’s what your company does? Alcohol and gemstones?”
“Among other things. We have interests in various business ventures worldwide. I also maintain personal investments in restaurants, nightclubs, and other enterprises here and in Russia.”
“Do you have a plan?” she asks quietly. “For what you’ll do after you shut down the Keres operation?”
“Of course I have a plan.”
She waits expectantly, but I don’t elaborate. After a moment, she prompts, “Which is…?”
“Is this a business meeting I wasn’t informed about?” I ask. “Are you trying to pitch me an investment opportunity, or do you have some personal stake in my financial affairs?”
“I thought it would be obvious.” She breaks eye contact, staring down at her hands. “I’m carrying your son. Of course it’s personal.”
I lean forward to catch her eyes. “What exactly are you worried about, Vesper? That I won’t be able to provide for you and the baby? Because I can assure you, neither of you will ever want for anything.”
“That’s not my concern.”
“Then tell me what is.”
She hesitates, and all the calm composure she walked in with evaporates. There’s something she’s not telling me, and it’s making her nervous as hell.
“I don’t care how much money you make,” she finally says. “I care about how you make it.”
My jaw tightens. “What you’re really saying is that you still don’t trust me.”
Anger flashes across her face, but she’s fighting to control it. “I’m just returning the favor.”
What if Osip was onto something? What if Vesper really is working for Ihor? What if she’s using our connection to gather intelligence? What if everything between us has been an elaborate setup, a hoax, a fraud, a trap?
The thought makes perfect sense for approximately two seconds before I dismiss it as paranoid bullshit. The idea of Vesper collaborating with my enemies is absurd.
But as she stares me down with those ice-blue eyes, I wonder if I’m thinking with my dick instead of my brain.
She stands and collects my empty plate. “I should get to bed. It’s late.”
I’m momentarily distracted when she bends over and gives me an unintentional view of her cleavage. But not distracted enough to miss the way her gaze darts toward my desk, searching for… something.
“Goodnight, Kovan.”
As she turns to leave, her dress clings to her slightly swollen belly, and I’m reminded of how long it’s been since I touched her. Spy or not, that fact seems more important than anything else right now.
