Page 16 of Triplet Babies
“Your work has been excellent. Katya’s comments have nothing to do with your performance.”
“Then why did she say such things?”
I consider how much to reveal, weighing honesty against the complexity of the situation. “Katya is my fiancée. She has...opinions about how I conduct my business.”
Her expression shifts, and for a moment I see something that might be disappointment before it’s quickly hidden. “I see. Should I be concerned about job security?”
I frown. “No. Your position depends on your performance, not on anyone else’s opinions.”
“Good to know.” She returns to her work, but something has changed in the atmosphere between us. The easy collaboration we’d developed over the evening has been replaced by a careful distance.
We finish for the evening in relative quiet, with Sarah maintaining professional while clearly withdrawing emotionally. By the time we’re done, I regret Katya’s interruption more than I should. “This is excellent work,” I say as we review the final summary. “You’ve identified several issues that could have been serious problems.”
“Thank you.” She stands and begins gathering her things. “Will you need me to stay late again this week?”
“Possibly. I’ll let you know tomorrow.”
“Of course. Good night, Mr. Barinov.”
“Good night, Sarah.”
I watch her leave, noting the way she holds herself with careful dignity despite the evening’s difficulties. Katya’s visit was clearly designed to establish territory and send a message, but I’m not sure it achieved the intended effect.
If anything, it’s clarified something I hadn’t wanted to examine too closely. I’m more interested in Sarah Clark than is wise or appropriate, and judging by her reaction to learning about my engagement, the interest might not be entirely one-sided. That makes the situation considerably more complicated than a simple employment arrangement. Sarah Clark is becoming more important to me than she should be.
5
Sarah
Ishould go straight home after the evening’s work session, but I find myself walking toward the pool area as the estate settles into darkness around me. The confrontation with Katya left me feeling raw and unsettled, and the thought of driving home to Nina’s concerned questions feels overwhelming right now.
The pool house sits at the edge of the property, far enough from the main building to feel private but close enough that I’m not technically trespassing. Mrs. Nykova mentioned during my orientation that employees have access to the pool facilities during off-hours, and right now, the idea of swimming laps until my mind goes quiet sounds like exactly what I need.
The changing room is pristine and well-appointed, with fluffy towels and basic amenities that remind me this isn’t a public facility. I change into one of the guest swimsuits provided, a simple black one-piece that’s probably designer. It fits differently than the cheap ones I usually wear, conforming to mycurves, with a softer lining. Despite its simplicity, it makes me look amazing.
The pool glows with underwater lighting that turns the water an ethereal blue-green. Steam rises from the heated surface, and the surrounding landscape is bathed in subtle accent lighting that makes everything look like a scene from a magazine. I slip into the water without making a splash, immediately feeling some of the tension leave my shoulders as the warmth envelops me.
I start with slow, easy laps, focusing on my breathing and the rhythm of my strokes. The physical motion helps quiet the storm in my head, at least temporarily. I don’t want to think about Katya’s pointed comments or the way Yarik’s expression changed when he mentioned their engagement. I especially don’t want to think about the disappointment that hit me when I realized he’s spoken for.
Which is ridiculous, of course. He’s my boss, he’s wealthy and powerful and completely out of my league, and I’ve known him for exactly two days. That I’m attracted to him is inconvenient enough without adding romantic fantasies to the mix.
The water feels perfect against my skin, and I lose myself in the meditative quality of swimming, losing myself in the rhythms—stroke, breathe, turn, and repeat. It’s similar to the rhythm I find working in gardens, the physical activity letting my mind process without overthinking.
I’m maybe fifteen laps in when I surface at the deep end and notice a figure standing in the shadows near the pool house. My heart skips a beat, and I immediately think of the text message from yesterday. The silhouette is tall and masculine, watchingme from the darkness in a way that makes every instinct scream danger.
I call out, my voice higher than I intended, “Who’s there?” The figure doesn’t respond, and panic starts to claw at my throat. I raise my voice more. “I said who’s there?”
I start swimming toward the shallow end’s steps and my chance to get out of the water, but the figure moves closer to the pool’s edge. In the dim lighting, I can’t make out features, just a tall shape that could be anyone.
I’m trying to keep my voice steady, but I can hear the fear creeping in. “Please, I’m just swimming. I have permission to be here. If you want me to leave, I’ll leave.”
The figure steps into the pool lighting, and suddenly, I can see his face. Yarik looks calm and composed, wearing dark jeans and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His expression is concerned rather than threatening, and I feel stupid for panicking.
His voice is gentle, and the same tone someone might use with a frightened animal. “Sarah, it’s all right. You’re safe.”
I’m treading water in the middle of the pool, my heart still hammering from the adrenaline rush. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize anyone was here.”
He moves closer to the pool’s edge, crouching down so we’re at eye level. “I heard swimming and came to check. Are you hurt?”
