Page 12 of Tarnished Tyrant (Zhukova Bratva 1)

She snatches the money off the table and shoves it in her back pocket.

“Understood?” I ask.

She tosses me a mock salute. “Sir, yes, sir.”

I hate leaving things like this. I hate that I have to play the role of her parent. That we can’t be normal sisters who fight over clothes and watch movies together.

But there isn’t time to sort through any of that. I’m already running late as it is.

“Good. I have to go.”

I grab my purse and toss my phone, a water bottle, and my laptop inside. Then I hurry out the door.

Just before I close it, I pop my head back into the room. “I love you, E.”

Elise sighs. “Love you, too, B.”

For now, that will have to do.

* * *

I’m finally standing in front of the building that houses Zhukova Incorporated. Sweaty and panting, but here. No thanks to the New York City Transit Authority or the millions of yellow cabs that drove right past my waving arms.

My phone rings. I answer it in an exhausted daze.

“I can’t talk right now, Georgia,” I mutter, shoving the phone between my ear and shoulder as I dig through my purse for a napkin or scrap of paper to dab the sweat from my forehead.

“Then why did you answer?”

“Because I… shit, I don’t know.”

“Is it because you’re having a heart attack?” she asks. “Are you delirious?”

I decide a panty liner is as good as anything and mop up my face. “I don’t know how subways work. Or how to wave down a taxi.”

“Roger has been to New York a million times. Why didn’t you ask him for help?”

“Because I don’t see how he’d be any help from Aruba.” The words come out exactly as bitterly as I feel.

The line goes silent, and I wait. Finally, Georgia hisses into the phone. “That asshat is inAruba?What the fuck? He’s supposed to be on this trip with you!”

“I know. He called this morning and bailed right before I got on the plane.”

“Shit,” Georgia says. “So you’re handling this project alone?”

“Unless you want to hop on a plane and come help me?” I’m joking, but just barely. I’d love Georgia’s help.

I was being honest when I told Elise that Georgia is just a coworker. But she’s still the closest thing to a friend I have. I’ve only been in Oklahoma City for eight months, two of which revolved around getting Elise settled in my apartment. My social circle is less of a circle and more of a dot.

Georgia cackles. “I’ve done my time at Zhukova Inc., thank you very much. That’s probably why Roger bailed for an island vacation. The owner is a hardass.”

“I wish everyone would stop saying that.”

“It’s true. Most of these places want to butter up to the accountants, you know? They cater in lunch and stop by to chat, show you pictures of their kids or whatever. But Zhukova is run like a military base.”

I look up at the silver building. It gleams like a bullet, disappearing into the bright blue sky above. “Have you met the owner?”

“No. When I was there two years ago, I spoke with the VP. The owner wouldn’t deign to see me. He just issues written memos from his office. Like he’s a villain in a Bond film or something, lurking in the shadows.”

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