Yelisey sits back and shakes his head, then drops it into his hands. “I’ve tried all usual tricks, boss. All usual.” His accent is thick today. “He’s going to die of shock and blood loss soon if I keep going.”
I glance to the table where Tiana is—was—coloring. She’s gone. I look around. The door is still shut. She has to be in here, but I can’t see her. I stand while Yelisey continues his story of woe. He’s never had a hostage he couldn’t break and seems determined that no Whelan lackey will endanger his record of success.
But I can’t hear him, because I’ve managed to lose a three-year-old in a sealed room.
I stand and walk around the desk. She isn’t under the table or the chair or the sofa, and I know because I’ve knelt and crawled from one piece to the other to check. I hear her giggle and motion for Yelisey to be quiet.
“Kostya …”
Another giggle, and I know where she is. Hiding behind the curtain. I leave her there and take my seat because now I can see her bright pink shoes underneath the fabric gathered at the side of the window. My heart has slowed, and now I can focus on Yelisey.
He needs reassurance. Guidance. A steady hand.
As I’m about to talk him around to a new bout of confidence, the giggle is across the room, flipping on and off the sofa. Again. With more fearlessness than before.
“Should I come back, boss?”
I’m presented with a unique problem. I have dealt with conspiracy and disloyalty, with rivals and enemies. I am decisive by nature and act without the uselessness of regret. But this is a child. Little more than a baby. I can’t very well lock her in a trunk.
“I want results from the Whelan hostage by this afternoon.”
He fires back, “Rub a lamp.”
I cock an eyebrow. Friendship allows him a protection few others benefit from, but even when we’re watching a game or shooting pool, I don’t often suffer his sarcasm.
“Yelisey, my friend, if I had a genie, what use would I have for you?”
When I come back after my lunch meeting, Charlotte is playing a game of peekaboo with Tiana, who’s crawled under the table now.
“Charlotte?” I say.
She snaps to attention, a short tendril of hair falling free from the severe bun at her collar, and I have to force my eyes to remain open so they don’t fall shut and let me fantasize about pulling the pins from her hair, sifting my fingers through the long coppery curls—then yanking them back while I fuck her from behind.
But she’s already engaged with Tiana, already on the floor beside her, singing a song about a school bus and its wipers. She’s worked Tiana from under the table and out into the open as her singsong voice keeps the tune going.
“Charlotte, your job description has changed.”
She cocks her head and stares at me. “This was a one-time thing,” she says cautiously. “Seasonal, remember?”
“This is more important than that.”
“I don’t remember agreeing to anything along those lines,” she says carefully. Her eyes are narrowed at me.
“And I don’t remember asking if you agreed.”
Tiana interrupts and blurts, “Let’s play hide-and-go-seek! I’ll hide first. Ready, set, go!” She takes off, scampering under the couch. Charlotte plays along, but she keeps her gaze burning in my direction as she slides carefully around the office.
“What is this new job, Mr. Zinon?” The “Mister” is laced with sarcasm.
I steeple my fingers together, lean back in my seat, and say, “You are going to move in with me.”
To my surprise, she just laughs. “You’ve got the wrong girl for that job, sir.”
I press my thumb to my lips. “I think I have exactly the right one, actually.”
Again, that blush. Fuck. So damn innocent.
“Then pitch it to me,” she replies.
“What?”
“Pitch me the job.” There’s a twinkle in her eyes now, as she creeps around the couch, still playing games with my daughter. Tiana is giggling from behind the curtains.
I smile. Apparently, sweet Charlotte is full of a great deal of fire I have never seen before. “You’re good with …” And, goddammit, I’ve fallen again into the infinite fuckability of her lips and forgotten my entire train of thought.
“Tiana?” She pulls her lips into her mouth, I suppose to hide a smile.
“Yes. You’re very good with Tiana.”
Long ago, I learned never to show my emotions during a negotiation. Every interaction requires its own mask, but I am unprepared this time. I haven’t considered anything more than my need to have my daughter cared for.
“I want you to be a caretaker for her.”
She’s already shaking her head and Tiana has taken her marker and is writing on the windows now, but I can’t move. This is important to me in ways nothing has ever been.
“Move in. Set up my house for a daughter. Watch her.”
Maybe I’m saying it wrong. This isn’t a part of the English language I’ve ever had to use before. I almost add Please before I remember who the fuck I am and who I am speaking to.
She redirects Tiana back to the chair and they sit together. “What about my job here? I have the plans for the fundraiser next week … the one—” She stands, holding Tiana on her hip as she pulls the folder she handed me earlier. “The one we discussed to, um, distract the media from the Bratva rumors.” She taps the folder open in front of me.
She’s worried about her job. Her money. It’s fair. No one I’ve ever hired has kept my schedule so tight and tidy or anticipated my needs with such finesse.
I
