43. Natalia

43

NATALIA

"If Abby asks me about Andrey, I give you permission to execute her," I tell Remi, dropping to give him his morning scratch behind the ears.

His tongue lolls out of his mouth, and I know in theory he's fully capable of turning Abby inside out, but he's so cute that it's hard to believe right now.

"Good thing you don't speak English," I say, leading him towards the door. "I'm not sure you'd understand my sarcasm."

Especially since it's barely sarcastic. Abby is the only person who talks to me at work anymore—if you don't count Byron, which I barely do since Andrey traumatized him. Byron is afraid to look at me wrong, lest he face Andrey's wrath. And Abby only wants to talk about Andrey. Work hours have not exactly been a fountain of joy the last few weeks.

I open the door of the pool house to let Remi out—and nearly step on a tiny box sitting on the welcome mat.

"What the…?"

It's wrapped in white ribbon, a small card flapping from the bow. I glance over at the pool, where two of my burly bodyguards are approaching, looking sleepy. Neither one seems to be aware of my little gift.

Flipping the card over, I read the neatly scrawled words.

Happy Birthday. I'm sorry I missed it.

It's not signed, but I know exactly who it's from. Smiling, I pull the lid off the box to find a gorgeous gold pendant sitting on the black velvet cushion.

Etched with cherries.

A burst of laughter escapes me and Remi's ears perk up. He cocks his head to the side as if waiting for an explanation.

I shake my head in amusement. "Oh, he's good."

Remi lets out a confused bark.

"I said no more presents—" I hold up the pendant. "—and then he goes and gives me something I can't refuse. Crafty."

Remi barks a couple more times.

"Hold on a second." I rush inside to slip the pendant onto a thin chain and fasten it around my neck. When I get back outside, Leonty and Anatoly are waiting. "Let's go, boys!"

"You're too cheery for a Monday," Leonty notes.

Anatoly nods in agreement. "Yeah. What's up with you? You're never this happy to be going to work."

I tuck the pendant out of sight beneath my blouse and do my best to control the smile on my face. "Yeah, well: new week, new attitude."

But "new week, new attitude" is not the philosophy my colleagues have embraced this fine Monday. They still eye Remi warily like he really might execute them on the spot, and then turn those same wary eyes on me.

Word has gotten around that I'm with Andrey Kuznetsov, and no one can figure out why I'm still showing up to work every day.

The old me would've been bothered. But somehow, with my new pendant sitting right over my heart, it's bearable.

Between that and the lingering feelings from my first real conversation with Andrey, I kinda feel untouchable as I skip around the office, keeping my head down and getting my work done. And when Byron asks me to join him in his office for lunch rather than eat hunched over my keyboard like normal, the world is so fricking peachy that I accept without a second thought.

"Byron!" I exclaim when I see my favorite pepper fried chicken with ranch dipping sauce from Burning Bird on his desk. "You shouldn't have."

"I know you've been having a hard time lately," he explains. "I wanted to do something to cheer you up."

I'm as cheered up as I could be, but I will never turn down fried chicken. I sit down and let him push my chair into the desk. "Thank you so much."

He pulls his chair closer and sits down next to me. A little closer than necessary, but I've got my fried chicken goggles on.

"Just trying to be a gentleman." He says it almost like he's trying to insinuate that there are other men in my life who are far from gentlemanly.

I suppress a smile and accept the drink he offers me. "Well, you've certainly been that. Honestly, you're a good friend."

"‘Friend…'" He repeats the word bitterly.

I pretend like I didn't hear as I reach for the pepper chicken. "Hm, it smells?—"

"Natalia."

My hand freezes on the aluminum foil wrapping. Dread prickles down my spine. Swallowing, I turn to him. "Yes, Byron?"

"We've known each other a long time now."

I wipe my sweaty palms on the front of my skirt. "We have. Two years, I think."

"Longer," he insists. "Almost three."

I give him a weak smile. "Has it been that long?"

His hand finds its way to my knee and I freeze. My eyes fall to the spot where his fingers are curling around my flesh. Squeezing. Kneading. He's leaving behind little red divots everywhere he touches, like bedbugs.

"I don't think it's a secret how I feel about you."

Mayday, mayday. Houston, we have a problem…

Where are my freaking bodyguards when I need them?

"Byron… listen?—"

"I know what you're going to say." Byron's face contorts into a scowl. " Him . Well, fuck him, Natalia. He doesn't deserve you. You need a man who truly appreciates you."

It's distracting how tightly he's gripping my leg. It's starting to hurt, honestly. "Byron… I'm carrying his child."

"I don't care! You said you weren't with him. I don't care that you're having his baby. That's how much I want you."

My stomach twists. But not because of anything he's saying. Well, not just because of what he's saying.

It's because, as he speaks, his hand moves higher and higher up my thigh, nudging my skirt out of the way.

"Byron, stop!"

"We could be great together, Natalia."

My skin crawls as he reaches my inner thigh. Finally regaining some control over my body, I slap his hand away and get to my feet. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

His mouth falls open like a dumbstruck fish. "I'm just trying to make you understand?—"

"What I understand is that you're my boss and you just put your hand up my skirt! It's inappropriate."

He shakes his head. "I know I'm your boss, but that doesn't mean this can't work."

"This was supposed to be lunch." The smell of the chicken is still taunting me. I'm starving, and I have a strong feeling I'm not going to be eating a bite. "I don't want anything more than that, Byron."

He narrows his eyes until they're just slivers of black, the blue entirely gone. "You think this is inappropriate?"

"It is," I say softly. "I'm sorry, but?—"

"So getting fucked on my desk by that psychopath is appropriate, but this isn't?"

Byron advances on me, moving closer even as I back away. My heart is thundering in my chest and cold sweat is prickling at the base of my spine.

"Scared of me, now?" he taunts. "Am I being ‘inappropriate'?"

"You're not yourself, Byron," I squeak out.

"You don't know me the way you think you do," he hisses. "Just like I thought I knew you, walking around the office, all sweet and smiley, pretending to be a nice girl. You're not a nice girl. Nice girls don't do the kinds of things you've done to me."

"I'm sorry if I ever led you on. Believe me, it was never my intention. I was under the impression we were colleagues and friends. End of story." His eyes flash furiously as two veins in his temples pulse. "I'm leaving now."

My back is to him when he speaks. "Got what you wanted from me and now, you're just gonna walk away, huh?"

My instincts are screaming at me not to take the bait. But my sense of pride wins out over reason.

"What is that supposed to mean?" I ask, whirling around.

His smile is ugly. "The rumor mill has been churning since you fucked Kuznetsov in my office. Another employee would have gotten the sack for doing what you did. Who do you think shielded you from HR all these weeks? Who do you think kept the truth from reaching Mr. Ewes?"

My jaw drops. "That's why you didn't fire me? You were trying to manipulate me?"

"I was trying to protect you!" he roars. "Do you know what they're calling you in the office? Do you know what they say about you? They're calling you the office slut! Compared to you, Abby looks like the Virgin Mary."

I'm expecting it and still, it hurts. "Well, everyone is entitled to their opinions."

"I don't know why I wasted my time on you," he snarls as I rip open the door and step into the hall, praying it closes before the rest of his insult can reach me.

It doesn't shut fast enough.

"You're nothing but a two-bit whore who's willing to sacrifice her pride for a man with a fat wallet."