Page 12 of Wicked Arrangement

“My name is Artem, Mr. Volkov sent me. Your grandmother’s expenses have been paid in full,” he continues.

Although it’s exactly what I asked for, I’m taken aback by this information. I’d have expected there to be a discussion about repayment first. Who spends almost ninety thousand dollars on a stranger without an agreement in place first aboutgetting it back? It occurs to me then that I could have made a big mistake. I know nothing about the man I am now indebted to. What if he’s some sort of loan shark?

“Oh,” I say, my voice small and uncertain.

“I have instructions to take you to Mr. Volkov so you can speak face-to-face,” Artem states.

I know there’s no point fighting this. I owe him that much and more for helping.

“Okay. Just let me tell my grandmother that I’m leaving,” I reply.

He nods his assent, and I rush off to do just that, fielding the questions from Abigail and Gran with a lie that I am going home to shower and meet with Amelia. They both seem relieved that I am going, and both have expressed concern that I’ve not left since Gran arrived, so I get away without issue.

It’s only as I climb into the blacked-out SUV, and we pull away from the hospital that I wonder if not telling anyone where I am going is the smartest of ideas.

Chapter 7

Kimberly

Iknew Yaroslav Volkov was rich, but not this rich. The mansion we pull up to is huge. Like, bigger than my high school big. Volkov isn’t just a millionaire, he’s got to be a billionaire with a house like this. It’s located in an area aptly named Tuxedo Park, somewhere everyone knows of, but people like me never go to. The mansion itself is painted a gleaming white that’s dazzling in the bright sunlight. I wonder how often he must have to get it repainted to keep it so pristine.

The sprawling mansion looks like it’s made up of eight houses combined with a grand porch held up by four columns. The drive up to the building is long with a perfectly mowed lawn flagging the pebbled drive, leading up to a driveway complete with a miniature traffic circle. My mouth pops open and I’m unable to hide my awe as I gawp at the place. If it looks like this outside, I can only imagine what it’s like inside.

I suddenly feel acutely aware of how out of place I am here. I wish I’d had a proper shower and change of clothes first. I’ve been in the same sweatpants and T-shirt since yesterday when Abigail bought me a change of clothes and I’ve mostly been washing myself in the sink of the tiny bathroom in Gran’s room, so I’m decidedly not fresh.

The gravel of the driveway crunches underneath the car as we pull to a stop. Artem gets out and comes to open the door for me.

“Thanks,” I say awkwardly. I still feel uncomfortable around him, he’s a man of few words, mostly responding to my attempt at conversation with monosyllabic answers for the duration of the short car ride.

“Follow me, Mr. Volkov is waiting for you,” he says before striding off, not checking to see if I’m following.

We walk inside the grand entrance, and I’m again amazed by the extravagance of the place. There’s a freaking double staircase for crying out loud! My sneakers squeak audibly on the tiled floor, and I cringe at the sound, it’s like even the house knows I don’t belong. Artem leads me through a seemingly never-ending maze of corridors, though the word corridors doesn’t do them justice, they’re so wide and the crisp white walls are adorned with modern art—I dread to think how much the paintings cost.

Finally, we reach a door, and he opens it, standing aside and gesturing for me to enter which I do. “Mr. Volkov will be in shortly. Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Um, maybe just a water?” I ask.

He nods, following me in and opening up a cupboard to reveal a hidden well-stocked mini fridge. He hands me a Fiji water which I take gratefully, opening it up and greedily sipping it.

“Thanks,” I say.

He nods and leaves, shutting the door behind him and leaving me alone. I’m clearly in an office. On one wall there is the cupboard with the hidden fridge, on the counter there’s a selection of expensive-looking scotch and crystal glassware.Opposite this, there’s an impressively large tidy desk with a well-stocked bookshelf behind it that fills the wall from floor to ceiling. By the large window, there’s a giant floor-standing globe. I wonder if it’s one of those ones that are hollow inside to store things. Next to it, are two stylish yet comfortable-looking leather couches. The desk has just one chair at it, a state-of-the-art matching leather one.

I hover, uncertain of what to do now. Should I sit down? I don’t want him to think I’m snooping.

Before I can decide, I hear the door open behind me. I whip around, coming face to face with Yaroslav Volkov. He’s even more handsome than I remembered. My breath catches and I suddenly feel hot and flustered. He’s so tall that he towers over me, and I’m not short. As he was the first time I met him he’s wearing a suit, this one is a pale gray that is perfectly tailored to his athletic physique.

“Miss Walsh, I trust you had an agreeable journey here?” he says, his voice like warm honey.

“Call me Kim, please,” I reply, I tend to prefer Kimmy, but somehow that feels too informal for a man like Yaroslav, and Kimberly is too formal for my liking. “And yes, it was fine, thank you,” I add, uncertain of what I should say in this scenario. This man has just paid off more money than I could ever dream of being able to repay with my salary.

“Kim it is,” he confirms with a nod before adding, “Please, sit,” and gesturing toward the couches.

I nod, turning and walking over to perch on the edge of the nearest couch. I can feel the heat of his gaze on me and find myself again wishing that I’d had a chance to shower andchange. He sits down opposite me and fixes me with his steely gaze. He doesn’t speak and I shift on the couch, feeling a little uncomfortable under his scrutiny. I pull on one of my curls, an old nervous habit. Unable to bear the silence, I speak first.

“Thank you so much. I don’t know how to express how grateful I am. Or how I’m ever going to repay you for your kindness. I promise I will pay you back somehow,” I gush, though I have no idea how I can possibly do that.

“It wasn’t out of kindness that I paid your grandmother’s bill,” he states calmly, still watching me intently.

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