Chapter 22 Vesper's eyes are bulging, mouth wide open, and each cheek is pinking with dumbfounded shock. You'd think I'd just shoved her out of a plane with no parachute. "We're going to what office? Whose office? Your office?!" Vesper's voice pitches higher with each word, like she's about to hyperventilate. "My office," I confirm. I keep my tone casual, but I can see her spiraling. "It's time you met my staff. They need to know who you are." "You didn't prepare me for this!" She looks down at her dress as if it personally betrayed her. Stabbed in the back once again by Saks Fifth's finest. "I look completely inappropriate." "It's a simple introduction. There's nothing to prepare for." "I would have worn something different. Something professional. This dress is..." She tugs at the fabric. "God, I look like I'm trying too hard. I'm a trollop." I bark out a laugh as the light turns green and I ease forward through the intersection. "Are you a Victorian virgin? 'Trollop'? Which circle of hell comes after that: 'plague-ridden wenches'?" Her cheeks flush even pinker. "It's not funny. I don't know what I was thinking with this dress. I never wear dresses. Ever." "So why today?" She struggles with the hem, trying to pull it down over her knees. "I don't know. I guess I wanted to look nice for-" She stops abruptly. "For Luka. Obviously." "Obviously." She hides behind her hair. It irks me, how small she's trying to make herself. "I've had this thing hanging in my closet for two years. Dead weight. I figured it was time to actually wear it, but clearly, I was wrong. I'm made for scrubs, not..." She gestures helplessly at herself once again. "You're wrong about that," I growl quietly. "You in that dress? Fucking perfect." She blinks at me, and the pink in her cheeks deepens to red. "You don't think your people will wonder what you're doing with some blonde bimbo who doesn't belong in your world?" "You know," I remark, "most women put on a pretty dress to feel confident. You're doing the opposite." She starts picking at her cuticles, a nervous habit I've noticed before. "I learned to define myself by my brain." "Or hide behind it." "Excuse me?" "You can be both things, you know. Smart and beautiful." "I... That's... I'm not..." She trails off, sentence unfinished, her breathing shallow. "It's not that simple." "It must have been hard," I offer in sympathy. "Being taken seriously, when you look like that." The tension leaves her shoulders all at once. "It wasn't just my looks. If people didn't assume I was some makeup-tutorial airhead, they assumed I only got where I am because of my father's reputation." She stares out the windshield. "Choosing to do my residency at St. Raphael's probably made it worse. Everyone there knew Dr. Fairfax-just not me." "Then why choose there at all?" "Sentiment, I guess." She fades into a fidgety unease. "I practically grew up in that hospital. It was my playground. And it's where my clearest memories of Dad are. He was pure magic with patients. He could walk into a room with a crying child and walk out with them smiling." She's somewhere else now, lost in those memories. Her fingers work at the raw spot on her nail beds. She's gazing out at the windshield as though her life is splattered out against it. "I miss him every day," she whispers. I reach over and cover her hand, stopping the picking. She freezes under my touch, and for a second, our eyes meet. Hers are glassy with unshed tears. There's more to the story. I can feel it in the way she holds herself, like she's carrying precious weight she doesn't want to shed or share. "So!" She claps her hands together, forcing brightness into her voice. "Where is this intimidating office of yours?" "Right around the corner." I make the turn and Krayev Headquarters comes into view-fifty floors of steel and glass designed to dwarf anyone who approaches, to start the work of making them feel small before they come into my office and I finish the job. "There it is." Vesper's mouth falls open as she tilts her head back to take it all in. "This is your office?" I pull into the private parking lot reserved for executives and VIPs. "Welcome." She doesn't seem to hear me. Her attention is fixed on the architectural details-the way light catches and reflects off the metal facade, the impossible height of it. "This is unreal." "You're flattering me." "I'm used to sterile buildings that have no imagination and smell like sulfuric acid. This is beautiful." I chuckle. "Well, do your best to pry your jaw off the floor. There's more to be seen inside." "No promises," she warns, shaking her head. The moment we emerge through the glass doors, people straighten. Conversations stop mid-sentence. The lazy afternoon energy evaporates as word spreads that I'm in the building. Even Vesper notices the shift. "Jesus," she mutters under her breath. "Are people really that scared of you?" "A little fear is healthy for blood circulation." "Ah, yes, I believe I read that in Grant's Atlas of Anatomy." She nudges me in the ribcage as I guide her towards the six silver elevators standing in line to the right. I approach the executive elevator and type in my access code. "This one's restricted to senior staff. I'll have someone make you a key card." Panic flashes across her face. "Will I need one?" "You're my girlfriend. We're supposed to be serious about each other, remember?" "Right." She swallows hard. "Okay. But what will my key card say? 'Girlfriend extraordinaire?'" "'Trollop.'" She shakes her head and punches me in the shoulder, but she's fighting a smile. "It's a miracle I agreed to this." Out of nowhere, something possessive and primal takes over. I'm moving before I can think, grabbing her hip and hauling her against me in the elevator, my hand dangerously close to territory I have no business exploring. "It's a miracle I let you think you had a choice." Her smile falters and uncertainty clouds her eyes. "This is all part of the act, right?" Her voice is barely a whisper. "The way you flirt with me? The way you touch me?" The doors seal. The elevator is empty. No one to perform for. No reason to have my hands on her except that I want them there. "We have to make it believable," I recite, because it's easier than the truth. She looks down, and when she meets my eyes again, her smile is forced. "Of course." She presses her palm against my chest and pushes gently away. "But there's no one here to convince." My hands itch to pull her back, but I let her go. Something has shifted between us, and I'm not sure if it's the building, the situation, or me that's spooked her. Whatever the cause, I need to get my shit together. Because right now, I'm fighting to hide the physical evidence of exactly how much I want her, and that's not a conversation I'm ready to have. The elevator opens to reveal the executive floor-black marble shot through with white veins, textured felt walls, and enough open space to make visitors feel insignificant. Only three offices up here: mine, Pavel's, and Osip's. Ihor used to have the fourth, but that's empty now. Some bridges you burn completely. "Mr. Krayev!" My assistants, Henry and Maggie, spring to attention at their desks. Osip and Pavel emerge from Pavel's office, both grinning like foxes in the henhouse. Pavel's is genuine. Osip looks like he's about to burst with whatever smart-ass comment he's holding back. A handful of senior staff linger nearby-board members who just finished their morning reports. The timing isn't coincidental. Pavel's text confirmed they'd still be here when we arrived. The more eyes on this next display, the better. "Kovan!" one of them calls out, straightening his Burberry suit. "You missed the board meeting. That's not like you." "I was busy." I wrap my arm around Vesper's waist to drive home the point. "Gentlemen, I'd like you all to meet Dr. Vesper Fairfax. My girlfriend." A murmur ripples through the group. Vesper presses closer to my side like she wants to disappear into my shadow. "Girlfriend?" One of the board members perks up, giving Vesper a look that makes my jaw clench. "How wonderful that you've found someone." "Actually, we've been together for a while now," I say, knowing this information will be all over the building by nightfall. "I thought it was time she saw where I work." I introduce her to the half-dozen board members, all of whom are blandly polite and deferential, mostly because they know I'd fucking gut them myself if they step a toe out of line. More people approach, wanting introductions. While Vesper chats with the only two female board members, I step aside to watch her work. She's nervous-there's a sheen of sweat on her forehead-but she's handling herself. "She seems tense," Osip observes, sliding up beside me. "Very tense," Pavel agrees. "Then maybe you two should help put her at ease instead of standing here making observations," I suggest. "That woman doesn't strike me as the 'go with the flow' type," Osip says. "Maybe not," Pavel agrees, "but there's something about her⁠-" "If you're about to comment on her body, I'll knock your teeth out." Pavel's eyes narrow. "My teeth are perfect as is, thank you very much. And keep your voice down. What I was going to say is that she has presence." "Nice ass, too," Osip adds unhelpfully. "Will you shut up?" Pavel hisses. "I wasn't looking at her ass." "Someone was," Osip says, nodding toward Eric Lawrence, Osip's assistant, who is openly gawking at Vesper with his head tilted and his lips curved in appreciation. He practically has cartoon hearts in his eyes. Angry heat surges through me, thorny and possessive. "Get your boy under control, Osip." But before Osip can say anything, Vesper starts walking toward us, and Lawrence's gaze follows the sway of her hips with obvious interest. "Lawrence!" My voice cuts through every conversation in the vicinity. "Get over here. Now." Despite being Osip's employee, Lawrence hurries over like a puppy who thinks he's about to get a treat. "Morning, boss," he says with that clueless grin. "Pack your things. You're fired." His face goes pale and slack. "What? You're joking." "Do I look like I'm joking?" "But... but why?" His eyes dart frantically between me and Osip. "Because I don't employ men who disrespect what's mine." Understanding dawns on his face as he glances toward Vesper. "I didn't... I was just... I wasn't looking at her like that!" "Yes, you were." "Sir, please, I didn't mean⁠-" "Mean to what?" Lawrence's Adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard. He turns to Osip in desperation. "Mr. Pikalov, please⁠-" "You should've been more subtle," Osip says with a shrug. "Rule number one: never check out the boss's woman." When Lawrence realizes no help is coming from that direction, he turns back to me. "I swear I'll never look at her again." "You're right. You won't." I point to the exit. "Now, get your shit and go." He stumbles away without another word, smart enough to keep his eyes rooted on the floor. The moment he's gone, I'm faced with Osip and Pavel's matching grins. "What?" I snarl. "Someone's possessive," Osip observes, poking me in the ribs. "It's cute seeing you jealous. So cute I'll even forgive you for firing my assistant." I bat his hand away. "I'm playing a part. Lawrence will tell everyone why he got canned. Adds authenticity." "Right," Pavel says, not buying it for a second. "That was all for show. Mhmm. Sure." "Of course it was." "Even if I believed that," Pavel continues, "which, for the record, I don't-it'll take more than firing one guy to convince Ihor and Yana you're serious about her." "Don't worry. I'm not done yet." I leave them and cross back to Vesper, who's deep in conversation with Matvey Gregovich, the oldest serving member of the board. "... thirty years this September," he's saying. "I⁠-" Before I can think it through, I lean in and kiss her. Right there in front of everyone. It starts as a quick kiss for show, but the moment our lips touch, everything changes. She's soft and warm and tastes like coffee and something sweet I can't name. A small whimper escapes her throat, and just like that, I'm drowning. I deepen the kiss, forgetting where we are, forgetting why I started this. All I know is that she feels perfect against me and I never want to let her go. Then someone whistles-probably Osip-and reality crashes back. Vesper pulls away first, her hand pressed against my chest, cheeks flushed and eyes carefully avoiding mine. "Ah, young love," Matvey sighs, hands clasped over his heart. "I'm so happy young Mr. Kovan found someone special. It's about time." Vesper's eyes flick to mine, and there's that uncertainty again. That careful distance that makes me want to shake her and kiss her and demand she stop looking at me like I'm going to hurt her. But I don't do any of those things. Instead, I spend the rest of her visit finding excuses to touch her. Each brush of skin on skin is just another a reminder of how fucked I am. Because what started as an act is becoming something else entirely. And I'm not sure I want to stop it.