Page 48 of Emerald Malice

Right where she belongs.

17

NATALIA

It’s annoying how well I sleep in my new bed.

I wake up at quarter to six, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Then I remember who’s responsible for my record-setting night of REM, and I get grumpy all over again.

But it’s fine. It doesn’t matter.

Andrey Kuznetsov sure doesn’t.

I’m ready to take on the world today—or, well, if not quite the world, then at the very least, I’m ready to take on the evil ne’er-do-wells of Sunshield Insurance, my employer and enemy du jour.

Armed with all my things—another item to be grumpy about: Andrey was right that it took only one trip for his men to bring my stuff to my new residence—I do some light yoga on the deck, followed by a twenty-minute dip in the pool.

By seven, I’m dressed in my favorite black slacks-white shirt combo, and it’s go time. All I need is a little breakfast pick-me-up—preferably something buttery and sweet—then my nemeses at Sunshield should prepare for the worst day of their lives.

My cheerful mood hits a snag the moment I step out of the pool house.

Andrey is standing on the patio, clearly waiting for me. “Dobroye utro,” he murmurs as I freeze in the threshold.

The surprise isn’t Andrey—it’s the four tall men surrounding him, all staring at me.

“Come to audition your boy band for me?” I point at one of them with a head of tight, curly ringlets. “I’d go with Permed and Dangerous. Or, wait, wait—New Curls on the Block.”

Leonty, the boyish blonde who drove me to my apartment, is the only one I recognize. He’s also the only one who laughs.

“Call them what you want; you’ll be spending a lot of time with them,” Andrey says drily. “You’ve already met Leonty. This is Leif.” He points to a man with long, dirty blond hair. “That’s Olaf—” Olaf sports a teardrop tattoo under his right eye. “—and finally, Anatoly.”

Anatoly, the curly-haired butt of my not-all-that-funny opening joke, grimaces in my direction.

I stare at the motley group of charmers with a wry rendition of It’s Raining Men playing in my head. Somehow, even my thoughts are off-key.

“Okay, well, nice to meet you all.” I give them an awkward wave. “But I think four bodyguards might be a bit of overkill.”

“Don’t worry,” Andrey assures me. “They’ll be discreet.”

“Look at them. A giant might not crush you underfoot, but it’s still a giant. People are going to notice.”

Andrey turns with a dismissive wave. “You leave that to them. Now, come on—you need breakfast before work.”

“Andrey!” I yell, racing after him.

He doesn’t slow down, so I have to jog across the grass to keep up. Not exactly the easiest thing to do in heels.

“Andrey, hold up. I need to speak to?—”

I manage to fall into step with him, but before I can finish speaking, he turns to me with a disapproving glint in his eye. “Is that what you’re wearing to work?”

I stare down at my favorite—and let’s be honest, nicest—outfit. “Yes. What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s—” His eyes trail up and down my body. “You know what? Doesn’t matter. You look fine.”

With that, he turns and heads into the house.

“You’re an ass!” I throw at his back.

---