Page 20 of Emerald Vices

Despite my anger, his deep, dark chuckle sends a wave of excitement and longing shooting through my core.

“I’m not the compromising type, lastochka. You should know that by now.”

9

NATALIA

I plop into my seat after visiting the copier, my desk swirling in my vision. I have to grip the arms of my chair to try to right the world before I faint and/or yak my lunch up everywhere.

It’s been happening more and more lately, ever since I moved out of the manor—unofficially speaking—and into Katya’s tiny, cramped one-bedroom apartment.

I could sit and wonder why it’s happening, but it would be a waste of time. I mean, take your pick: I’m pregnant, I haven’t been sleeping, my entire life is balanced on a razor’s edge and I don’t know which way it’s going to fall. There are no wrong answers.

It’s a recipe for another imminent breakdown.

The most confusing part?

The main reason for my problems might also be my antidote. In other words: the tall drink of water with a killer, if elusive, smile.

I haven’t heard from Andrey since I decided three days ago that I wasn’t going back to the manor. I decided to take a stand for myself.

And he decided to punish me with indifference.

Also, added security.

Mindy appears at my desk with a stack of files. “These need to be taken to Mr. Ewes. Can you handle it or should I?”

I’ve been getting a lot of those questions recently. Can you handle this? Are you okay? You look dizzy—do you need to sit down? A result of the accessory putting all of my maternity clothes to the ultimate test. “All good, Mindy. I’ll take them to him now.”

But even as I rise to my feet, my head spins and my knees threaten to buckle.

I just pulled a muscle during prenatal yoga this morning. That’s all.

Kat and I cleared out her living room so that we could get in a yoga sesh before work every morning. It’s about the only thing that relaxes me these days. And considering the number of worries percolating in my head—Misha, Remi, Andrey, this, that, and the other—I need all the help I can get.

One step in front of the next, Nat. Just keep walking.

I manage to get all the way to Richard’s office before the dizziness wins out over my resolve. I teeter to the side, gripping his desk and sending half the files careening to the floor.

“Oh, God,” I gasp, mortified. “I’m so sorry.”

Richard bends himself in two trying to help me pick up the scattered papers. He’s been inordinately nice to me ever since Byron’s “resignation” and my “promotion.” Every time he looks at me, there’s this crease that appears just between his eyebrows. A crease that might as well say, Andrey Kuznetsov Was Here.

“Why don’t you sit down, Natalia?”

The plan was to apologize my way out of the office and retreat back to my desk to collapse, but another dizzy spell hits me, and I find myself sinking into a chair as Richard brings me a glass of water.

“You don’t look so good,” he remarks.

“Just what every pregnant woman wants to hear.”

He actually pales. “I didn’t mean to offend?—”

“You didn’t offend me,” I assure him. “I was just joking. Thanks for the water.”

He breathes out a sigh of relief. Almost like he’s scared I’m gonna report back to Andrey and he’s gonna have a giant shit-storm on his hands. Oh, who am I kidding? That’s exactly what he’s scared of.

He leans against the desk. “Are you doing okay?”

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