Page 13 of Shatter Me

“And you’re acting just like them,” I scold my reflection in the window. “Getting weak-kneed over a few intense looks and some calculated touches.”

My cheeks feel warm as I remember how close he stood and how his eyes darkened when I admitted being scared. He probably got off on that, having another silly woman tremble at his feet.

I grab a fresh glass of water and gulp it down. The cool liquid helps clear my head but doesn’t wash away the lingering heat under my skin.

“Arrogant, manipulative bastard,” I whisper, but the words lack conviction. Because deep down, in places I don’t want to examine, I know it’s not just his arrogance that affects me. It’s the glimpses of something honest beneath that perfectly controlled exterior.

6

TASH

Islam another file closed, frustration building as I review the Petrov acquisition documents for the hundredth time. The board’s concerns about political sensitivities are valid. Still, this collection belongs in a museum, not locked away in some oligarch’s private vault.

The click of expensive shoes on marble makes me look up. Dmitri stands in my office doorway, his suit as impeccable as ever despite the late hour.

“The museum closed two hours ago.” I don’t bother hiding my irritation.

“But here you are.” He steps inside, uninvited. “Still fighting for the Petrov pieces.”

“Someone has to preserve art history, not hoard it for private collections.”

His lips quirk. “You think that’s what this is about? Private collectors versus public access?”

“Isn’t it?” I stand, gathering the scattered papers. “Your ‘concerns’ at the board meeting were crystal clear.”

“My concerns were keeping the museum out of an international incident.” He moves closer, picking up one of the collection photographs. “The Petrov family’s ties to certain political figures make this acquisition... complicated.”

“Art shouldn’t be political.”

“Everything is political.” His tone deepens. “Especially twelve million dollars’ worth of Russian artifacts during current tensions.”

I snatch the photo from his hand. “So we let priceless pieces disappear because we’re afraid of ruffling feathers?”

“No.” He catches my wrist, his thumb pressing against my racing pulse. “We find another way to acquire them. One that doesn’t put the museum at risk.”

"What other way?"

His eyes glitter with something dangerous. “Let me handle the negotiations. I have... connections that could smooth things over.”

“Why would you help?” I pull my hand free, ignoring how my skin burns where he had touched me.

“Perhaps I enjoy watching you fight for what you want.” He straightens his cuffs. “Even when you’re fighting me.”

“Curatorial independence means making decisions based on artistic and historical merit, not political convenience.” I circle my desk, putting distance between us. “The moment we let outside influences dictate our acquisitions-”

“Outside influences already dictate everything.” Dmitri’s voice is infuriatingly calm. “Do you think your current donors don’t have agendas?”

"That's different."

“How?” He follows my movement, matching each step. “Because they align with your worldview?”

“Because they don’t threaten the museum’s reputation!”

“No?” His laugh holds no humor. “The Richardson family’s fortune came from blood diamonds. The Weston grant? Money laundering. Your moral high ground is built on quicksand, Natasha.”

I whirl to face him. “Then why are you really here? To educate me on the corruption I already know exists?”

“I’m here because—” He closes the gap between us, backing me against the wall. “Because you fascinate me. Your passion. Your defiance. The way you pretend my presence doesn’t affect you.”

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