7. Mikhail

"Finally," I say down the long hallway. "I've been waiting for you."

This entire fucking building is full of people who don't know a damn thing. Every employee I've spoken to all morning has pointed a trembling finger in the direction of the empty desk outside my new office.

"Margaret will be able to help when she gets here," they said before fleeing into nearby offices and locking the doors behind them.

As if I couldn't get in by myself if I wanted to. I own them all now. Cerberus Industries. This building. All of it.

The problem is, this Margaret, who is apparently the only useful person in this entire company, is also the only person in the office who hadn't shown her face yet.

Until now.

If her coworkers are to be believed, Margaret runs this place. Margaret knows where the keys to the conference room are; Margaret is the holder of the passwords and the keeper of the schedule. By the looks of it, there isn't a single thing that takes place under this roof that doesn't go through Margaret.

Maybe that's why Margaret, my new personal assistant, feels fine rolling into work twenty-five minutes late.

Her heels click down the hallway in front of me, a pair of high-waisted trousers hugging the generous swell of her ass. It crosses my mind that Margaret might get away with showing up late because she looks so fucking good doing it.

"You're the P.A., aren't you?" I call.

She stops dead in the center of the hallway. Her hips go still, but her wavy, honey blonde hair swishes back and forth across her stiffened spine.

I can't stop myself from tracing the curve of her hips. From noting the cinch of her waist.

I catalog her the way I cataloged the rest of Cerberus Industries assets. I may only be taking over the business as a way to launder money from my much more profitable gunrunning ventures, but that doesn't mean I won't trim the fat around here.

Or, in the case of Queen fucking Margaret, tear it off with my teeth.

It's been a long time since I've been even vaguely interested in a woman. There hasn't been time. But now that I'm finalizing things, there's no reason I couldn't have a little fun before I fire her.

"You're late." I'm only a few steps behind her when she finally turns around.

Her eyes are emerald green in the fluorescents. I have a good view of them because they are as wide as saucers. Her skin is pale white. She wobbles on her heels like she might fall backward.

I want her.The familiar thought pangs through me the same way it has only two other times in my life.

Both times, as it turns out, for the exact same woman.

Viviana Giordano.

She exhales a single word. "Mikhail." Her full lips wrap around my name exactly the way I remember.

She shouldn't be here. She's gone. I know because I've paid a fuck ton of money to make sure of it. I've had a private investigator on my personal payroll for the last six years trying to track down where this woman went and they found nothing.

Part of me was proud. I told Viviana to leave while she had the chance and she actually listened.

Another part of me has always wondered if the fact that I couldn't find her is why she pops up in my thoughts so often. I'm used to getting exactly what I want in life. Not being able to find her was unusual.

Humans long for what they can't have. That's all it is. That's what I told myself on those endless, sleepless nights.

But here she is in front of me.

And I still want her.

"What are you doing here?"

Her eyes dart around like she's looking for the eject button. Her hands are knotted into fists at her side.

The last time we saw each other was a little unconventional, but she shouldn't be this nervous. I never hurt her. Quite the opposite, actually.

I take a step closer. "Viviana, what?—"

Suddenly, she shoves her hand at me, a paper-thin smile plastered on her face. "Margaret. I'm Margaret. Nice to meet you."

My gaze flicks from her hand to her face. There's a sheen of sweat on her forehead and her hand is shaking.

She's lying. I know she's lying.

But I don't know why.

Trofim is gone. She isn't in any danger from me. What does she have to hide?

I grab her hand and hold it, running my thumb over the soft inside of her wrist. Her throat bobs and I remember what it felt like under my palm. The way her pulse fluttered in my hand. I bet her heart is pounding just as hard now as it did the last time I touched her six years ago.

I know who you really are, Viviana, my thumb says, stroking over her silky skin. You can't hide from me.

"Good. You've met Margaret." Viviana jerks her hand away as a dumpy man in a wrinkled suit walks over. He steps too close to her, the tip of his scuffed dress shoe covering the toe of her heel. "Mr. Novikov is looking for the keys to the kingdom, Marge. Passwords, keys, all that good stuff."

"Marge"? Give me a fucking break.

I slide closer, forcing the imbecile back and wedging myself between them.

Viviana doesn't want to look at me, but she doesn't have a choice. Not unless she wants to raise more eyebrows than mine.

"I've been looking for you for a long time," I murmur.

She swallows and spins away. "I have a file with all of the security information on my laptop, sir. I'll get it for you."

I wave Rumpled Suit away and drum my fingers on Viviana's desk. She mistypes her password three times before her computer dings with recognition.

"You're a hard woman to find."

She looks around, but we're alone. My new office is at the back of the third floor. Her desk is stationed just outside my door. Close enough to touch.

"Sorry. I was running late this morning. I would have been on time if I'd known I was going to see—meet my new boss."

I have a feeling she wouldn't be here at all if she knew I would be waiting for her inside. Which begs the question: why?

Why have I been looking for her while she wants nothing more than to sprint in the opposite direction?

I lean on my elbows, only a few inches away. She smells like vanilla and honey, sweet and warm. The same way she tastes. "Are we going to pretend we haven't met before?"

She turns her hazel eyes on me. She's fighting to stay calm, but she's practically buzzing out of her skin. "What's your email? Is it the same as Mr. Fredrickson's old account or do you have a new one set up?"

"How long have you been here?" I ask.

If she's been here this entire time, I'm going to make sure Kenan never works another day as a P.I. He'll be strip-mining glaciers in Siberia by the time I'm done with him.

Alternatively, I could send him a thank-you bonus for being absolute shit at his job. Viviana has been back in my life for five minutes and she's already proving to be a distraction. Tracking her down could have thrown everything off-course.

A distraction like her is the last thing I need as I'm finalizing things I set in motion six fucking years ago.

She tugs on her lower lip and turns back to the screen. "I can set up a new account for you. I'll send the file there. Then you'll have everything you need."

"Don't bother. I already have what I want."

"You're being inappropriate." Viviana jerks her hand away and spins her chair to face me.

There she is.

"Then maybe I shouldn't tell you that you look fucking delicious."

"Maybe not." Her jaw twitches. "I don't know how things usually operate under your control, but?—"

"Actually, I think you have an intimate understanding of what it's like to be under my control… Viviana."

Her face flushes red before she stands up. Her rolling chair slams back against the wall. "Mr. Novikov, I don't know who you think I am—or who you think you are, for that matter—but you can't talk to your employees like this."

"Mik—Mr. Novikov." Raoul looks sorry to have interrupted, but that doesn't stop him from surveying the scene. How close we're standing. Her eyes narrowed in defiance.

"What, Raoul?" I growl, turning back to Viviana. I feel like she'll disappear if I look away.

"The shareholders are here to sign the final documents," he reminds me. "They're in the boardroom."

Ten minutes ago, we didn't have a key for the boardroom, which is why I went looking for Margaret in the first place. I'm guessing Anatoly got bored with waiting and put a shoulder through the door.

I'll be annoyed with him for that later. Right now, I'm too busy paying attention to the flash of recognition in Margaret's eyes.

She knows these people. Their names. She's met them all before.

"Alright." I wave Raoul off. "Go ahead. I'll follow you."

If it was Anatoly, he'd resist. He'd want to stay and watch the show. But Raoul strides away without hesitation, leaving us alone again.

I turn towards the door and Viviana sags in relief. Only to go rigid again once I snap my fingers.

"Come along, Margaret. I've waited long enough for you. Don't waste any more of my time."

She blinks. "But I don't—I don't go to these meetings."

The disappointment on her face tells me all I need to know: Viviana wants to escape.

But until I understand why the sight of me has her running for the hills, I'm not letting her out of my sight.

"You do now." I swipe her purse off of her desk and offer her an elbow. "I want to keep you close."