Page 13 of Tarnished Tyrant (Zhukova Bratva 1)

“What kind of memos?”

“Mostly telling me to hurry up,” Georgia snorted. “Apparently, I wasn’t moving fast enough. He ended up sending down some of the in-house accountants to help out and rush me along.”

I frown. “That kind of ruins the integrity of the audit, doesn’t it?”

“When you get in there, you’ll understand. Whatever it takes to get done fast, do it. Then come back and tell me all about it. When you get home, we’ll go out for drinks, okay? You’ll need ‘em.”

“Yeah, definitely.” I smile and then hear the church a few blocks down chime the hour. “Shit. It’s three o’clock already. I’m so late. I have to go.”

“Good luck and godspeed,” Georgia says.

I hang up with her and hurry into the building. The first elevator is crammed full, so I wait three more minutes for an open one and then zip up to the thirty-fifth floor.

As soon as the doors open, I’m facing a rounded wooden desk with “Zhukova Incorporated” emblazoned on the side in gold letters. The woman behind the desk has sleek black hair and a long, narrow face with impossibly high cheekbones. She looks like she could have a second career in modeling.

“Appointment?” she asks in a flat voice.

“Oh, um… Yes. Well, no.” I smile awkwardly. “I’m here to do the audit. My boss, Roger, was supposed to be with me, but—”

“Belle Dowan,” she interrupts. “Follow me.”

She stands up, her fitted pencil skirt hugging her skinny waist and closely following the swell of her hips. The woman is stupid gorgeous. I have a hard time keeping up with her as she sashays down the hallway.

Finally, she stops outside of an office door and raps her knuckles against the wood. A second later, she opens the door.

“Arnold? Belle Dowan is here to see you for the audit.”

If someone told me the woman was a robot rigged with a library of pre-recorded messages, I’d believe them. She sounds lifeless.

An equally lifeless “Enter” sounds from inside the office. The woman waves me into the room and then closes the door behind me.

I have to blink against the sudden gloom. It’s like stepping into a dungeon.

“Sorry,” Arnold says. “I’m sensitive to light.”

I hear a chair spin and then I’m blinded a second time with piercing white light as he pulls the cord for his window shades.

"You're here for the audit, then,” he remarks.

It's a statement, not a question. I stumble into the room, my eyes still trying to adjust.

"Yes." I grab the back of a leather chair and maneuver around it. "I'm Belle. A colleague, Roger, was supposed to be here with me, but due to… unforeseen circumstances, I'll be handling this audit alone."

"Is everything alright?”

Considering Roger is probably sipping on cocktails beachside right now, I’d say yeah, he's fine.

"He is." I force a smile. "Thanks for your concern."

Arnold clears his throat. "You won't suffer the same unforeseen circumstances?"

"I'm sorry?"

"We expect punctuality. Dependability.Loyalty." His eyes seem to glimmer on the last quality, lingering on me for a moment before he turns his attention to a stack of papers in sudden need of straightening on his desk.

I nod. "I understand. Absolutely. I know I’m running late today, but this is not standard for me. My flight got in this morning and then I couldn't get a taxi. I'll be better the rest of the week."

I can't tell whether Arnold is convinced or not, because he refuses to look at me. He grabs the stack from his desk and swivels around to tuck it in the filing cabinet behind him.

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