“No. Of course not.” Her demeanor chilled. The aura of warmth that usually surrounded us dissipated into the guarded distance of unfamiliar friends. She backed away. “Have a great day. I’ll see you later.”
20
Rourke
On the ride to Roman’s office, my emotions swayed from hurt to anger and landed on sorrow. To lessen the pain of Everly’s betrayal, I focused my thoughts on the connection between McElroy, Nicky, and Prince Heinrich. Finding three of Roman’s most dangerous allies at lunch made the hairs lift on the back of my neck, and I was eager to hear his take on the situation.
Behind his enormous desk, he looked devilish in a black suit, black shirt, and silver tie. He was on the phone, speaking into the Bluetooth earpiece, in rapid-fire Russian. His hair brushed the top of his collar, longer than usual, and he hadn’t shaved. The space between my legs pulsed at the sight of him.
“Come in.” He motioned for me to approach.
I ignored the seats across from his desk and went straight to his side, swiveled his chair to face me, and settled on his lap. With an index finger, he tapped his cheek. I pressed a kiss to the spot.
The corners of his mouth turned up, but he didn’t miss a beat of his conversation.
“I missed you,” I whispered and stroked his hair.
He shook his head, placing a finger to his lips, warning me to stay silent. The stress and strain of the past few months had stolen a few pounds of weight from him, giving his features a fierce sharpness. The stubble of his beard scratched along my palms. Touching him awakened my desire. When I dotted kisses along his square jaw, he exhaled through his nose, as if summoning his self-control.
Troublemaker, he mouthed.
I winked then slipped from his lap to the floor, kneeling between his widespread knees. The blue of his eyes darkened to black as I slid my hands up his thighs, unfastened his belt, and lowered the zipper of his trousers. When I freed his cock from the opening of his silk boxers, its hard length pulsed against my hand. He ran his tongue across his bottom lip. I liked the way he watched me, knowing he was speaking with someone on the other side of the world. The liquid consonants and harsh Russian speech made my blood sing.
One of his large hands reached down to caress my face. I circled my tongue around the crown of his dick. He tasted of salt and musk. His face contorted when I took him fully in my mouth. The tip of his cock nudged the back of my throat. I swallowed to delay the gag instinct, digging my fingers into the soft fabric of his trousers. The cadence of his speech stuttered. A sense of power surged through me. I liked knowing he couldn’t concentrate because of me. Finally, he brought the teleconference to an abrupt end by disconnecting the call and groaned.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured. The softness of his expression filled me with warmth. “Your mouth feels so good. Don’t stop.” He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the back of the chair. “I won’t take long.”
Knowing a thousand employees lurked outside his closed office doors made me feel deliciously dirty and naughty. I sucked harder just to hear him groan.
The rough fibers of the rug dug into my knees, but the discomfort didn’t bother me. I wanted to give him pleasure, the way he did for me. He worked too hard for someone so young. His troubles had added lines around his eyes and mouth. Once our lives got back to normal, I was going to make sure he took better care of himself. Visions of long vacations on exotic beaches filled my head. Just me, Roman, and our kids.
The intercom buzzed, and Lorissa’s voice floated into the quiet. “Mr. Menshikov, Mr. Spitz is here to see you.”
“Damn it.” Roman pressed the speaker button. Through gritted teeth, he replied, “Tell him to come back later.”
“He insists, sir. I told him you were in a meeting with Mrs. Menshikov, but he said to interrupt.”
After a long sigh, he placed a gentle grip on each of my arms and guided me off the floor.
“Two more minutes.”
“Sorry, princess. Duty calls.”
“That’s got to be uncomfortable.” I nodded toward his angry erection, bobbing above the black linen of his trousers.
He tucked himself into his underwear. “I imagine whatever he has to tell us will make it go away.”
“I need a minute.” I stepped into the adjoining bathroom to tidy my hair and reapply lipstick. By the time I returned, the softness had been robbed from Roman’s demeanor. His shoulders were straight and tense. A muscle pulsed in his cheek. I headed toward one of the chairs near his desk, but he lifted a hand to stop me.
“No. Over here. I want you where I can touch you.” He patted the tops of his thighs, below the obvious tent in his pants.
“You’re incorrigible, Mr. Menshikov.”
“You have no idea.” His mogul façade broke long enough for him to place a kiss on the tip of my nose. “Tell Mr. Spitz to come in,” Roman snapped into the intercom.
The wide double doors opened. Spitz strode into the room, wearing a charcoal suit and black tie. His salt-and-pepper hair had been trimmed and the scruff removed from his cheeks.
Roman glowered at him. “You’ve cockblocked me twice in twenty-four hours, Spitz. This had better be good.”
“Sorry, boss.” He nodded to me in greeting.
I tried to corral feelings of irritation. It wasn’t hard to guess why he didn’t like me. He thought I was a traitor and money whore. Knowing he had Roman’s best interests at heart lessened some of my animosity. I’d have to win his trust, something earned by time and experience. Few men had the balls to defy Roman. I admired Spitz for standing his ground and taking my husband’s safety to heart.
Roman encircled an arm around my waist and pulled me closer. “Go on, Spitz. I’ve got a million things on my plate today.”
“You need to turn on the TV.” He nodded toward the wall of flat-screen televisions hidden behind the paneling.
Roman handed the remote control to me. With a press of the buttons, the sliding doors of the console opened. I punched in the news channel and focused on the screen, my mouth open.
A female news anchor spoke into the camera. “––the name of Roman Menshikov, transportation billionaire and exiled price of Kitzeh, has been linked to the death of Lavender Cunningham by unnamed sources. The party planner to the rich and famous was found dead in her Manhattan apartment early last week.”
Paparazzi photographs of Roman and Lavender flashed across the television. A much-younger Roman stood on the deck of a yacht, shirtless and wearing low-slung board shorts. The wind ruffled his dark hair. His arm looped around the waist of a bikini-clad Lavender.
I exhaled and breathed through the burn of jealousy at the way they smiled at each other. Roman’s jaw tensed, the muscles below his cheekbone flickering. He glanced at me from the corners of his eyes.
The reporter continued. “Speculation surrounds the circumstances of her death. Although authorities refused to comment on the case, a source close to the victim says she had recently argued with Menshikov over his marriage to personal assistant, Rourke Donahue.” An unflattering picture of me spun into the center of the screen. I’d been caught in the rain and splashed by a passing car as I stood on the sidewalk outside our apartment building. My hair hung in limp tangles on my shoulders, and the wet material of my blouse clung to the lumps and bumps of my figure.
Roman took the remote from my hand and clicked off the TV. “Don’t be upset. Those pictures were taken ten years ago. They had to dig deep to find them.”
“It’s not that.” A knot of growing panic twisted in my stomach. “You said you argued about the Playground. Did you argue about me too?” When Roman didn’t answer right away, I tried to wriggle away from him. “Answer me.”
“Calm down. No. I’d never discuss you or our marriage with an outsider. I didn’t owe her any explanations.”
“Who do you think is their source?” Spitz asked.
Roman pursed his lips and frowned. “I have no idea. I’m s
ure it was a plant by whomever is out for my blood right now.” He kept a firm grip on my waist. His words calmed me, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of unease. “If you’re worried about what people think, don’t be. I have an entire publicity department to make these kinds of things go away. They’ll take care of it.” He buzzed Lorissa on the intercom. “Get Hilda in Public Relations for me, would you?”
“Yes, Mr. Menshikov,” Lorissa replied.
“I just came from lunch with Everly,” I said. “Mr. McElroy was there. He had a meeting with Nicky and Prince Heinrich.” Something in Roman’s calm facade made me suspect he already knew about the meeting. “Do you think one of them is involved in this?”
Spitz groaned and raked both hands through his hair. “You had lunch after we explicitly told you to stay away from her?”
“Yes, I did.” I lifted my chin, meeting his glare. “I didn’t go behind Roman’s back. He knew.”
“This whole deal is a fucking nightmare,” Spitz growled. “Do you have any idea what’s at stake here? You’re jeopardizing your husband’s safety.”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m the enemy. No one cares more about his wellbeing than me,” The volume of my voice climbed as I lost control of my temper.
Roman lifted a hand. Beneath his stern expression, I sensed a hint of amusement at my outburst. “Spitz, I don’t appreciate your tone. Rourke is able to make her own decisions. If she feels Everly can be trusted, then you need to respect her choices.”
“I apologize for being blunt, but I’m trying to do a job here, and the two of you are making it extremely difficult.” Frustration roughened his deep voice.
“Deal with it,” Roman said, turning his attention back to me. His tone gentled. “Did you learn anything interesting, Rourke?”
I gave them a brief recap of our conversations. “I don’t know what they were talking about at their table, but none of them seemed very happy.”
“You did good, baby,” Roman said, tenderly brushing my hair over my shoulder. “Spitz is right to be worried. Until this dies down, I think you should be very careful around the McElroys. No more dinners at their house. You can’t trust Everly or her father.”
“Agreed.” I threaded my fingers through his, enjoying their strength and masculinity. His touch lessened some of the heartache over Everly’s defection. “I wanted to give her a chance to come to me first, and she didn’t.”
Spitz scratched his fingers over his jaw. “If McElroy is meeting with Heinrich, it means there are negotiations on the table. Maybe you need to meet with Heinrich and see what he’s planning. You can’t afford for those two to join forces. He’s the reason you’re in this mess.”
“I’m more concerned about Nicky’s presence at that table than anyone else.” Roman drummed his fingers on my thigh. “I asked him to monitor McElroy, not hang out with him.”
The intercom beeped. “Mr. Menshikov, Hilda from PR on line seven.”
He pressed the speaker button. “Hilda, Channel 197 just ran an unflattering piece on me and my wife. Get hold of them and ask them to make a retraction. Be sure to remind them that I own a large percentage of their stock.”
“Yes, sir. Right away.”
He smiled. “Sometimes it’s good to be me.”
Spitz cleared his throat. “I hate to rush you, but time is of the essence here, and I’ve got something else to cover with you.”
Roman twirled a finger through the air. “Get on with it then.”
Spitz extended his palm. “Mrs. Menshikov, can I have your phone?”
In my hurry to greet Roman, I’d dropped my purse beneath his desk. I dug inside and handed the iPhone to Spitz. He dropped it to the floor and smashed it with his heel.
I gasped in horror. “What are you doing?”
“Your movements are being monitored through your phone. We found the tracking software during a routine check a few minutes ago.” He squatted and swept the bits of plastic and metal into his hand. “Which is one hell of a mystery, because I gave you this phone myself, and it was clean. Have you opened any strange emails or clicked on weird links?”
“Of course not. I’m very careful.” I frowned, remembering Ivan’s explicit training on the matter.
“Has your phone been out of your sight for any period of time?”
I bit my lower lip, thinking back over the past few weeks, and shook my head. “No. Never. Except—” The memory made my heart plummet. “I dropped my phone in the car a few days ago. Lance found it and returned it to me.” The three of us exchanged glances.
“Have you had any issues with him?” Roman asked. “Anything at all?”
“No. Nothing. He’s very loyal.”
“I’ll speak with him,” Spitz said, his voice grave and quiet.
“He should be in the hall.” I didn’t want to believe Lance could betray us. The walls of the room seemed to be closing in, suffocating me.
“Mr. Menshikov?” Lorissa buzzed into the room, her voice floating from the speakerphone. “Sir, Agent Frankel is here to see you.”
21
Rourke
My world collapsed at the sight of Roman in handcuffs. He stood tall and proud beside Agent Frankel’s sedan, expression stoic. The man guided him into the backseat. I hovered on the sidewalk, arms wrapped around my waist, nearly oblivious to the stares of passersby and their flashing cell phone cameras, and fought the urge to cry.
I love you, Roman mouthed through the window. Seconds later, the car merged into traffic. I remained on the sidewalk, staring after it, until Spitz placed a hand on my elbow. Hopelessness swelled in my chest, threatening to crack my ribs.
“Mrs. Menshikov, I need you to come back inside the building, please.” He guided me through the revolving doors and into the lobby, away from the cameras.
“Can’t you do something?” Numbness settled over me, heavy and oppressive.
“I’m afraid not.” He pressed the elevator call button. Defeat flattened the sharpness of his features.
The ascent to Roman’s office floor took an eternity. Each passing second felt like a knife blade to my guts. I couldn’t stand by and watch Roman being unjustly accused of murder. There had to be something I could do, favors to be called in, or friends who could assist. “What happens now?”
“He’ll be booked into the jail and held until his pre-trial hearing. The judge will set bail, and we can—hopefully—get him out.” When he looked at me, his gaze held the same disapproval he’d shown earlier. “He’s going to need an attorney. The best his money can buy.”
We faced the elevator doors. Our reflections in the polished steel stared back at us. “You don’t like me.”
“No, I don’t.” He clasped his hands in front of him, legs braced apart. “But I don’t have to like you to work for your husband.”
“You can think whatever you want about me, but I’m telling you, I’ll do anything to help him. I need you to set aside your misgivings for now. We’ve got to work together on this, for his sake.”
“Agreed.”
When the elevator doors opened, I straightened my shoulders and prepared to do battle. Employees huddled around the reception desk and turned to gape at us. I met their scandalized stares with confidence, unblinking, until they averted their gazes.
“Back to business everyone. We have work to do.”
They scurried back to their cubicles.
“Spitz, I need a new phone ASAP.” I strode down the corridor, purpose in my step. He caught up to my side. “Is there anyone you can call to see what’s going on?”
“I’ve got a few contacts.”
The heels of my shoes clicked on the pristine tile floor. “Who’s the best criminal attorney in the city?”
“Kellie Laghari,” he said without hesitation.
I’d heard the name before. She’d recently defended a movie star accused of killing his wife.
I paused at Lorissa’s desk. Concern deepened the fine lines around her eyes and mouth. “Is there any
thing I can do to help, Mrs. Menshikov?” she asked.
“Yes. Get Kellie Laghari on the phone. Tell her it’s urgent.”
Inside Roman’s office, I laid my forehead on the desk, closed my eyes, and cursed. How had things gotten so far from the grasp of our control?
Within a minute, Lorissa called into the room. “Mrs. Menshikov? I wasn’t able to get Kellie Laghari on the phone. Her assistant says she’s in court today and booked solid for the next thirty days. I left a message. And Everly McElroy is on line two for you.”
I drew in a deep breath and tried to push aside the rising tide of panic. “Keep calling Ms. Laghari and get her firm’s address. I’ll go to her if she won’t come to me.” Placing a hand over my racing heart, I counted to ten, hoping to regain a semblance of composure before taking Everly’s call. “Hey, what’s up?”
“I tried to text you. Your phone isn’t working. I took a chance that you’d be in the office. I just heard about Roman. It’s bad, isn’t it?” Her voice, normally quiet and modulated, sounded thin and strained.
“Yes.” I rubbed my forehead with two fingers, hoping to ease the dull ache between my temples.
She sighed. “I need to talk to you—in person. It’s important.”
“I’ve got a lot going on.”
“I’m in front of your building. I’ll make it quick.” She paused. “Please, Rourke.”
Five minutes later, she stood in front of Roman’s desk, shifting from one foot to the other. The blue hue of her dress intensified the color of her eyes. Her hands trembled as she smoothed the crown of her long, red hair.
“So what’s the emergency?” I asked, unable to hide the hurt of her betrayal. She was supposed to be my best friend, the person I trusted most after Roman.
After an audible intake of air, she said, “The day Lavender Cunningham died, I found out she was having an affair with my dad.”
The Exiled Prince Trilogy Page 47