Page 93 of Emerald Malice

I nod. “Viktor is married.”

She draws in a startled breath and her eyes fill with tears. “Oh, how wonderful. My baby, married!”

It’s hard to look at her, but I refuse to turn away. This is the sanest I’ve seen her in a long time.

“And Andrey?” she demands in a rush. It’s as if she’s aware that her memory could slip away at any moment. Time is of the essence. “Has he found someone?”

The weight on my chest gets heavier. “He’s… going to be a father.”

Tears shine brightly in her dimmed eyes. “He’ll be a wonderful father. He was always such a kind boy. So patient and thoughtful. So unlike his father.” Her gaze drifts towards the ducks. “He looks the most like Slavik, you know. Sometimes, I was afraid…”

I wait for her to continue, but her voice trails away.

After a long stretch, she turns back to me, her face slowly creasing into a frown. “You look like my husband.”

I get to my feet and resist the urge to offer her my hand.

“Come, Arina,” I say gently. “Let me walk you back to your room.”

32

NATALIA

My new plan is simple.

DO NOT THINK ABOUT ANDREY KUZNETSOV.

DO NOT FANTASIZE ABOUT ANDREY KUZNETSOV.

DO NOT WASTE TIME FEELING ANYTHING FOR ANDREY KUZNETSOV.

It’s been three days since the disastrous office incident, and I haven’t seen or heard anything from him. Which I’ve decided is a good thing.

What’s not such a good thing: still having to show my face at work after climaxing on my boss’s desk.

Abby cornered me by the copier this morning and demanded to know what really happened the other day. Did I actually fuck Andrey Kuznetsov on Byron’s desk? Or was I fucking Byron when Andrey walked in on us?

Lola and Kate from accounting gave me super nasty stink eyes while I was eating my lunch. Even Marge, the sweet old receptionist who has always been nothing short of lovely to me, pretended to be busy both times I walked past her desk today.

The one saving grace in all this has been—shocker of all shockers—Byron.

He’s the last person I would’ve expected to have my back, especially after what I let happen, but not only did he refrain from firing me, but he also refused to accept my resignation.

“No way, Nat,” he said fiercely. “You’re a good employee and I’m not going to lose you over something like this.”

“But—”

He shook his head. “You’re staying. And furthermore, I’m not taking this to the higher-ups, either. But just so you know, there is talk in the office. I’m only telling you because I want you to know it didn’t come from me.”

“Then how?—”

“Leslie caught a glimpse of what happened when she was walking to the restroom. You know what a gossip she is.”

Forget our company—the whole building will know about it by the end of the week. “Why do you want me to stay?”

“Because you’re a good employee,” he insisted. “And because I don’t want that asshole to win.”

I didn’t tell Byron that there was no hope of that; Andrey Kuznetsov always wins. The only thing we can do is ignore him.

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