But now...
"Did you come here to talk about your sister?"
"No." He knew everything about Paige's last moments. Just like Tahey once said, Thomas had been a detailed journal keeper, and it had been a shallow comfort, knowing that Paige hadn't felt any kind of pain when she died.
Thomas studied the younger man with a mixture of weariness and wariness. If not his sister, then...
Ah.
His little girl had refused to tell him much about this man. Only that Dmitry had been so bitter about his sister's death that he had used Tahey to hurt Thomas. He hates me, Tahey had once said, and I can't blame him.
And at that time, Thomas had believed her.
Now, however...
"Were you surprised," Thomas asked quietly, "when you heard me admit my guilt?"
"Why did you?"
The roughness of the billionaire's voice was the first glimpse Thomas had of Dmitry Adrianov's feelings, and it gave him hope.
"I know what I've done was unforgivable, Mr. Adrianov. I am sorry for causing your sister's death, and if I could have a chance to relive my life, what my daughter has taught me...I believe it would make a difference. And I wouldn't make the same mistakes." Thomas breathed hard. "But that's the thing about life. You only get one chance in some cases, and...I...I'm sorry about your sister." The older man's voice became harsh with self-loathing and remorse. "I'm sorry for taking her away from you and your family."
Dmitry's face was ashen. For so long, so fucking long, he had wished this man's death, wished he had it in his power to destroy Thomas Baskerville—-
But now...
His eyes squeezed shut.
Tell me what to do, Paige.
Tell me how to avenge you.
Please.
But instead of his sister's voice, the words he heard were from those of her killer.
"I know I am not and will never be a good man," Thomas said rawly. "But I'm here, paying for my crimes, and I wished there was more I could do to atone for my sins, because my daughter..." The older man choked back a sob. "She told me something I still don't quite believe myself, but I'm...I'm trying. She told me it's never too late, and...I think, that's what you came here to hear. You want to know if it's not too late for you and Tahey...don't you?"
Chapter Seventeen
Although Keagan offered to hook her up with another job, Tahey wasn't ready to jump into another corporate job so soon. She had a feeling that anything resembling an office would be enough to make her cry. Instead, she politely turned down her friend's offer and accepted another friend's invitation to fly out to Wyoming.
Tahey had met Story back in her university days, and the two of them - along with A.W. and S.M. - made up the B.G. Club. On paper, it stood for Book Girls, but the real meaning behind the name was Bullied Girls. All of them - their moderator included - had been bullied at one point in their lives, and having this in common had made it easier for the girls to become fast friends.
Since then, Story had married a wealthy and devastatingly sexy sheikh who occasionally doubled as a horse instructor (long, long, long story) in the remote little town of Hartland, Wyoming.
The last time the two girls met, Story had still been pregnant. Now, however, her friend was a mother to a precocious three-year-old named Elana, and if rumors were to be believed, the cheeky little kid was her Papa's worst nightmare.
Tahey now had a job mucking stables, and although it was the very opposite of glamorous, Tahey couldn't be any more grateful. Story had tried to get her to work elsewhere, of course, but Tahey wouldn't hear of it. What mattered most to her was that this job didn't remind her of her days at Strakh Inc., and it had her actually looking forward to hours of shoveling manure out of the stalls and having fun while giving the sheikh's horses a good, long bath.
Today was the end of another productive day, and Tahey gave the beautiful white stallion an affectionate little pat. "Now that you're all sparkly, please, please try to keep yourself this way until tomorrow at least? Please?"
The Arabian proudly shook its head, and Tahey wrinkled her nose. "Are you saying you enjoy being dirty?"
She wasn't really expecting an answer, but she heard one nevertheless.
"I do."
Tahey jerked.
No.
She turned around, and the voice she had been hoping was nothing but a hallucination—-
It was real.
Because he was here.
Dmitry.
She watched him walk close and had to fight against the urge to bolt. It almost felt like déjà vu, really. The last time Tahey felt this way, it had been that day she was in the battle room, and she was about to be interviewed by the men of Strakh Inc.
Tahey lifted her chin. Even frightened as she was at that time, she hadn't run, so no way was she going to run now. She was tougher now. Truly.
Dmitry now stood inches before her. Big, sleek, and beautiful like the dangerous cat he still reminded her of, and even though he was wearing one of his terribly expensive suits, it wasn't enough to mute the tension his powerful frame radiated—-
A sick, horrifying thought struck her, and her eyes flew up to him. "Is it my dad?" she whispered. "Did he do something again?"
Dmitry could've cursed himself for not expecting Tahey to think and fear such a thing. "No," he said right away. "There's nothing for you to worry about on that score."
"I d-don't understand then..." Tahey wrapped her arms around herself, confusion and fear making her feel cold from within. "Why are you here?"
Dmitry shoved his hands deep in his pockets. "I'd like you to work for me again."
Tahey stared at him as if he had lost his mind. "No."
"Are you saying you'd rather work in this dump?" Dmitry snarled.
"Yes."
"Don't lie—-"
"That's your thing," she pointed out unevenly, "not mine."
"Fuck."
And
