Page 59 of British Bratva: A Russian Mafia Romance

Maxim hadn’t thought it mattered that I should have been in walking boots and carrying a rucksack rather than court shoes and a pencil skirt. He said Sandra would care more about the book and that there was no sense distracting her by trailing mud all over the expensive coir carpet.

He seemed to be bang on the money.

“Oh you poor thing. What the devil are you doing here?”

“I thought you might be able to do me a favour.”

Sandra’s office was wall to wall bookshelves, mostly things written by authors they represented. It was as much a trophy cabinet as anything else could be. The only wall space had framed pictures of her at awards events, shaking hands with people who all looked very important.

She picked up a pen off the desk, fiddling with it between her fingers in an almost impatient gesture. Her sympathy was wearing thin.

“Well I just know that Pierce would have absolutely hated to have publication delayed for anything at all. And it seems rather like after all this whoever’s been threatening him has gone and gotten their way. It’s heartbreaking.”

Sandra’s eyes narrowed and the pace of the pen swishing up and down between her fingers increased. “Go on.”

“Well, I know he was so desperately secretive about what he was working on, but it’s really the only thing I have of him, and I would love to be a part of bringing it to the final step, publication. If you’ll have me.”

Her eyebrows arched sharply. “Are you asking me for a job, Ms Harrington?”

“Oh goodness, no!” I laughed. She laughed. We all laughed, even though we both knew there was nothing funny about it. “I was thinking I could volunteer my time. Now that I’m done with school I’m at a loose end, and I can’t mill about at my friend’s house all day long.”

“I should think not.” Sandra readjusted her glasses. “Well, as it happens there isn’t a great deal left to do on Pierce’s book. As it happens, I’m done with all of the formatting changes and I’m running the final copy over to the printer this afternoon personally. By hand. Pierce really was – is – such a stickler for nothing going via email and I dread to think what he’d do to me if a copy got intercepted.”

“Oh that’s wonderful.” I fixed my smile in place. “He’ll be so pleased. Do you have it here? Do you think I could take a look. It was just all so… unexpected to come home to this, and it’s the only thing I have of him because the house…” I covered my mouth with my hand and gave a delicate-sounding sob, imagining I was some quivering romantic heroine.

Sandra didn’t entirely look convinced. I sobbed again, and I could practically see the cogs turning. Whether she believed me or not, the prospect of risking a teenage girl breaking down in her private office was too horrific to bear.

She plucked a tissue out of the square little box of tissues on the corner of her desk and held it out to me, barely disguising her look of discomfort. “There, there. Come now. Do pull yourself together.”

I took the tissue and let out a wet sounding gasp, like I was still struggling to control my tears.

“If I could just take a look at his book. I’d feel so much better to be able to read his words.”

Sandra’s smile turned brittle. “Darling, I would just love to be able to do that, but you know how particular Pierce is. No one is to read the thing before it’s out in the public domain.”

I nodded, looking suitably miserable. And Sandra let out a long suffering sigh and spun her desk chair over to the low filing cabinet, propping one pair of glasses onto her head to keep her hair back out of her face and putting on the pair slung around her neck on a slim chain.

When she came up from flicking through files, she put a thick manilla folder down on the desk. It was tied up with a length of ribbon in what I recognised as Pierce’s signature style, because he thought it added class or gravitas, or because he was a superstitious old bastard. I didn’t really care what his reasons were. And there was a slim black pendrive tucked under the ribbon.

“This is the only hard copy in existence, and I damn well hope he has an electronic back up because he banned me, on pain of death from making another copy of the blasted thing on his encrypted pen drive. You understand why I’m a little possessive of it.”

My eyes fixed onto the folder, breathing suddenly calm. It was within grasping distance. I could practically snatch it up off the desk and get everything Maxim needed. There would be no question of me showing my worth to the Bratva if I did just that.

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