Page 35 of Wicked Arrangement

“You said your Gran is staying at the best care home in town, I assume you mean Shady Trees?” she asks, mentioning the best government-funded place.

“No actually, Yaroslav insisted on putting her in Greenacre,” I reply. I know she’ll read into this, it’s the most elite private care home in the city and way out of my price range, god knows how much it’s costing Yaroslav.

“Wow. That place doesn’t come cheap. He must be seriously into you if he’s spending that kind of dough and you’re living with him already,” she replies.

“It’s not like that, Amelia, it’s… complicated. I barely know anything about him, let alone whether or not I’d want a relationship with him,” I say with a sigh.

“Hmm… he is a notoriously aloof billionaire, that’s for sure. No one even really understands what he does, or how he’s so rich. He’s relatively new on the scene and keeps under the radar. I’ve never heard of him dating anyone seriously, not for lack of many women trying. Are you sure you can trust him? He could have his pick of rich eligible, beautiful women. No offense Kimmy, you know I think you’re gorgeous, but relatively speaking, to a man like Yaroslav Volkov, you’re a nobody. Do you trust that his motives for inviting you there are honest?” she asks in concern.

I can’t blame her, she’s just looking out for me, and it’s not like I haven’t asked myself the same exact questions. I don’t know why, but I hold back from telling her the truth. Aside from the NDA, I just feel reluctant to tell her. No doubt she’d worry even more, and I think she’d get the wrong idea, thinking that this is all about money, that I’m some sort of gold digger or escort.

So, instead, I briefly reply with the only truth she needs to know, “Yes, I trust him.”

Amelia knows me well enough to tell when I’m done with a conversation, she senses she won’t get any more gossip out of me. “Good.”

Before she can ask any more probing questions, I make my excuses. “Sorry Amelia, I gotta go. We’ll talk soon.”

“Sure, look after yourself. Don’t go disappearing on me again, I want to know everything about your little romance!” she trills.

I don’t bother to reply to that. “Goodbye Amelia,” I say before hanging up the phone.

I check my messages and see that I’ve got one from Abigail, telling me that she’s been to visit Gran and assuring me everything is fine, I must enjoy myself and not worry. With that in mind, I try to do just that.

Chapter 18

Kimberly

After a relaxing day yesterday, I wake early and decide to go downstairs for breakfast. I didn’t leave my room yesterday and I now feel restless and ready for a change of scenery.

I’m surprised to find that the kitchen isn’t empty like I’d expected. At the kitchen table, which is laden with food, there are three men. Two of them look similar to the staff members I’ve seen wandering around the grounds or accompanying Yaroslav, wearing black suits and plain shirts with comms in their ears. Both are standing to one side, not talking. The other man sitting at the table is a little bit older than me and bears such a striking resemblance to Yaroslav that I have to conclude he must be his brother. I’d estimate that he’s in his early twenties, he’s not quite as tall or broad as Yaroslav, and he’s clean-shaven with short hair, but the resemblance is there in the shape of his nose and strong jawline. His eyes aren’t as dark as Yaroslav’s, more of a hazel color, but they are similarly captivating.

He looks up at me with the same piercing gaze Yaroslav often wears, as though he can see inside me and discover my secrets.

I hover in the doorway, uncertain of what to do. Yaroslav warned me that his brother might be less than happy to meet me.Should I go back upstairs? Or would that be rude now he’s seen me?

“You must be the woman who’s been distracting my brother,” he says. His tone is neither rude nor warm. Like Yaroslav, he has a Russian accent, though his isn’t as strong, with a slight American twang.

“Um, I guess,” I reply awkwardly wondering what Yaroslav’s told him. I stay where I am, uncertain if his opening was an invitation or dismissal.

“Well, what are you waiting for? I assume you’re here ‘cos you want to eat. I’m not contagious, come sit down and join me,” he instructs, gesturing at the empty chair to the side of him. “It’s been a while since I’ve had any company other than these two, and they’re hardly conversationalists,” he quips, looking over at the stern-faced bodyguards.

“Sure, thanks,” I reply, feeling a little bit more relaxed as I go to join him.

“I’m David Volkov,” he says reaching out a hand to shake mine, “And you are?”

“I’m Kimberly Walsh—or just Kim.”

“Or Kimmy,” he adds.

I smile, “Yes, Kimmy is what my Gran and best friend call me.”

“So only your favorite people call you Kimmy,” he deduces.

I shrug, “I guess so.”

“So, Kimmy, where are you from? What do you do? How do you know my brother?” he fires off rapidly.

I smirk at his decision to use the name my ‘favorite’ people use, wondering if I should deduce anything from that. I answer his questions, each time he interrupts with more questions, veering wildly off-tangent, and regaling me with stories or random facts to the point where my head is spinning. But there’s something about this man that’s really likable and I find myself happily jumping from topic to topic.

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