Page 38 of Scars He Gave Me (Bratva Crime Syndicate 2)

“Good. Good.” She nods but narrows her eyes. “So, what can I do for you?”

“Well, I noticed everyone is missing from the bullpen and the offices. I just wondered if there’s something I should be in on.”

She chuckles. “Peyton put a group in the quiet room to work on a project.” The quiet room is where we spend time plotting and putting together client programs that require nondisclosure agreements.

My mouth drops open. “Why am I not on that?” Not only am I usually on every big project in the company, sometimes to the point it could overwhelm me if I let it, I just landed Sentinel a huge contract. Why am I being left out in the cold?

“You need to ease back in. Take it slow.”

Friend or not—and most days I’d say friend—I want to punch her. I’m the best of the best at this company—not bragging, just saying—and Peyton and Leila have never given me a project I couldn’t deliver on.

I take a wild guess. “Is this the Flash Bomb thing?”

Her perfectly arched eyebrows disappear into her hairline, and her lips purse as she clicks her tongue. “I don’t know anything about … What’s Flash Bomb?”

She’s so full of shit. Worst liar ever. Because now she’s sitting up straight, her thumbs tapping out the rhythm of “We Will Rock You” at warp speed with her thumbs on her desk.

“I saw the file on Peyton’s desk last week.”

Green folder. White label. All caps. I know what I saw. I have no idea what it was, but by the way she’s hemming and hawing, it’s something big. Something I should be working on before anybody else in this company.

Her face is red. She won’t look at me. She’s probably the worst liar I’ve ever met. Gold medalist at the Liar Olympics. Because there’s no way she doesn’t know about whatever is going on.

It makes me wonder—paranoia striking again—why I’m on the outside when I was about to get promoted to one of the offices on this floor before my wedding.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says. “You must’ve read it wrong.”

I chuckle but it comes out as more of a scoff. I can’t believe she’s lying to my face and making it seem as if I might need my eyes checked or am delusional. More than annoyed at that, I’m also frustrated because I know my worth in this company, and she damn sure knows it, too. I don’t understand why I wouldn’t be on the top-secret project or why it has to be so top secret from me that she’s pretending it basically doesn’t even exist.

I shake my head and walk out of her office. I’m about to go find Peyton when I stop short at my desk.

Tomas is sitting in my chair, reading the fourteen Post-its I keep attached to my planner with to-do notes.

What the hell is he doing here?

I try to ignore the fact that my heart is doing a happy little jig.

12

Tomas

Corrine doesn’t look thrilled to see me. I get it—I’m invading her space, the one safe sanctuary she thought she had left after a week straight out of hell.

But I need her help. That’s all this is. I’m not on some domineering power trip.

I’m looking to hire.

“What are you doing here?” she hisses. She’s smiling at me as if I’ve given her a present, but her entire body is vibrating.

My gut aches. Looking at her stirsthingsin me. I don’t need to be stirred. I need to know what the fuck is going on with the Bratva’s business. That’s why I’m here. Not to be in her way or reminding her of everything that’s happened.

Now that I’m here, though, I regret agreeing to this little compromise. She should be locked up in a fucking vault, as far as I’m concerned. Everything about this place screamsvulnerable.The elevator in this place opens to an area crowded with desks—the one I’m seated at, by far the neatest in the room, belongs to Corinne. It’s too close to the elevator. Too out in the open.

This whole place is a safety issue. As I open my mouth to tell her, she wraps her fingers around my arm and tugs.

“Not here.” The line between ‘fuck off’ and ‘not here’ feels very thin indeed when she says it like that. I’m not sure which side of that line she intends to land on. “Come on.” She jerks me back to the elevator, drops her hand, and taps her foot while we wait.

Since we’re practically alone—I’ve only seen one other person since I arrived and she was scurrying to get inside a door before it closed—there’s no harm in talking here.

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