Page 40 of Shatter Me

“At least the curator hasn’t made you crash a car yet,” Alexi quips. “Remember when Erik was so busy thinking about that nurse that he drove straight into?—”

“That was different,” Erik protests, throwing a pen at Alexi’s head. “And if you finish that story, I’ll tell them about you and the Swedish diplomat’s daughter.”

“Children,” Nikolai sighs, but his eyes sparkle with rare warmth. “Though I must say, Dmitri, it’s refreshing to see you human for once. Even if your timing is terrible.”

“Says the man who postponed a major weapons deal because Sofia sneezed,” I counter.

My brothers burst out laughing, and even Nikolai can’t maintain his dignified facade. These moments are rare—when we can drop our masks and just be brothers instead of crime lords. When the weight of empire lifts just enough to breathe.

“Seriously though,” Alexi says, wiping tears from his eyes, “you should see your face when someone mentions her name. It’s like watching a computer malfunction.”

“I hate all of you,” I mutter into my scotch, but there’s no heat. These idiots are my family, after all.

16

TASH

Icheck my watch; it’s eight a.m. exactly. The door opens, and Dmitri strides in, impeccably dressed in a charcoal Armani suit that catches my breath. I force myself to focus on the stack of papers before me.

“Good morning, Mr. Ivanov.” My voice comes out steadier than I expected. “I have the authentication reports you requested.”

“Excellent.” He closes the door with a soft click that echoes in my ears. “Walk me through them.”

I clear my throat and begin shuffling through the documents. “The carbon dating confirms the pieces are from the correct period. We also completed spectroscopic analysis on the pigments...” I pass him the first report.

His fingers brush mine as he takes the paper. The brief contact sends electricity through my veins and memories of those same fingers on my skin flood back unbidden. I clench my jaw and continue.

“The certification from the International Art Registry came through last night. Everything matches the provenance documents.” I slide another report across my desk, carefully avoiding touching him this time.

“And the export permits?” His arctic blue eyes study me over the top of the papers.

“All in order.” I tap a blue folder. “Though getting the Russian Ministry of Culture to expedite was...” I trail off, remembering the countless calls and favors I had to call in.

“Challenging?” A hint of amusement colors his voice. “I imagine so.”

I straighten my spine and meet his gaze directly. “Nothing I couldn’t handle. The collection will be ready for installation next week, assuming the board approves.”

“They will.” He sets the papers down with precise movements. “You’ve been very thorough, Ms. Blackwood.”

The way he says my name makes my pulse quicken. I grip the edge of my desk, anchoring myself to its solid wood. “Just doing my job, Mr. Ivanov.”

“Is this why you wanted to meet before the board convenes?” I gather the papers into a neat stack, trying to ignore how his presence fills my office.

“No.” Dmitri moves closer, his cologne teasing my senses. “The reports could have waited for the meeting.”

I freeze, my hands still on the papers. “Then why?—”

“I want to apologize for my behavior at the gala.” His voice descends in pitch. “I was... unnecessarily harsh.”

A laugh escapes before I can stop it. “That’s one way to put it.”

“Let me make it up to you.” He leans against my desk, so close that I can see the subtle scar near his temple. “Have dinner with me tonight.”

My stomach flips. “Dinner?”

“At L’Artisan. Eight o’clock.”

I shake my head, even as part of me thrills at the invitation. “That’s not a good idea.”

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