by Jasmin Quinn
After she and Rusya were settled, Janice stepped past Esma and took a chair behind her, near the fireplace. It was disconcerting to have the woman at her back, not part of the circle. Rusya and Janice had a direct line of sight with each other. Esma could only see Rusya. It made her feel unaccountably defenceless. But clearly, Rusya Savisin was running the show, not his… Janice… whatever she was to him.
“Esma.” He said her name again, rolling it around his Russian accent. Heat fired through her as it fell from his lips and she felt the creep of a blush. Thank god or Mahammad or whoever was on the clock today that her colouring was dark enough to somewhat hide it. Even so, it had been a long time since she blushed, since a man had that kind of effect on her. “Background Turkish?”
Esma nodded. Her throat was dry and she wished she had some water. “From Istanbul.”
“Where were you born?”
“Istanbul.” A lie.
He looked down at her resume. “A linguist. Ph.D. Impressive.”
That irked Esma. Always did. Men thinking a Ph.D. was impressive if a woman held it. Not something men generally said to other men. Given enough time and money, any fuck-up can get a Ph.D. was what she wanted to say, but instead, trying to keep her tone neutral, knew she hadn’t succeeded, she said, “Not really. As I’m sure you’re aware, the past several decades have seen a lot of changes in Turkey, especially where women are concerned. Some progressive, some not so much. At least women were encouraged in their academic pursuits and I got a pretty solid shove in that direction because my brain is wired to understand and easily pick up languages.” She offered a small smile to soften her words, mindful of how superior she was coming across.
Rusya looked down at the folder, quiet for a moment. Then, “I’m aware of Turkey’s political history and treatment of women.” His words were clipped and Esma inwardly cursed herself for her little soap-box speech. Not the right way to start an interview. “It’s a small field, the one of your choosing, and innate talent is meaningless unless it’s nurtured and honed. So to have the portfolio you do at your young age, it is impressive.” Esma understood the implicit message in Rusya’s words. Don’t fucking disagree with me.
She dropped her eyes to her lap, to her hands. She nodded but said nothing.
His next question. “Are you political, Esma?”
What kind of fucking question was that? But then, nothing less than she deserved after her little rant about Turkey’s equalization policies. She moved her eyes back to his face, got caught up in his strong features, smiled as she said, “Not really.”
He looked down to the file on his lap. Shifted, crossed his legs, and pointed at a line on her resume that she was too far away to see. “But you worked for the Turkish government. As a foreign attaché at the Turkish Embassy in Moscow.”
“Yes. That doesn’t make me political. It was a job.” Fuck, fuck, fuck. She sounded like she was contradicting him again. Could this be going any worse?
“Why did you leave?”
Oh yeah, it just went further south. Warmth diffused Esma’s face as she considered his question and her answer. Why did she leave? Why? Because the fucking Turkish Ambassador cornered her in the hall, tried to bend her over and fuck her and she kicked him in the nuts, hard enough that it shoved his scrotum up into his belly and ended any chances that he and his wife would have a third kid. But she decided perhaps that was information she should keep to herself. She lifted her shoulders into a small shrug, grinned a little. “It was a bad fit.”
Rusya cocked his head to the side, a hard glint to his eyes. “Why did you leave?”
Fuck. “It’s personal, Mr. Savisin.” She was keenly aware of the shallowness of her breath. She wondered what happened to failed interviewees. Did they get to walk safely out of Savisin’s house and return to their shitty lives or did he have them dragged out to the back yard, where they were shot in the head and fed to the pigs?
He nodded, let it go. “Perhaps we’ll discuss it later.” He looked at the paper he was holding, looked over at Janice, then closed the file. Esma thought the interview was over and froze. If she didn’t convince him to hire her, she would be a dead woman by tomorrow. She shifted, looked at him. Silence as he studied her. Excruciating.
Then, “What do you know of me?”
Okay, a question she could answer, should answer. Don’t show judgement though, stay respectful. “Not everything, but enough to understand who I would be working for should you hire me.” She offered him a small smile. She did know. His name, his background, his holdings, his criminal activities, his trusted advisors.
He shifted on the sofa, uncrossed his legs and leaned towards her. “Why?”
One word. Made her mouth dry up. “Why not?” It came out as a dry husk of a whisper. She cleared her throat. “I need a job. You need a translator. I’m a pretty damn good one.” She wanted to say fucking but recalled reading that one shouldn’t use profanity during job interviews, if that’s what this was. Mind you, she didn’t think the author necessarily had Rusya Savisin in mind when he wrote the article.
She reached down and picked a piece of invisible lint off her skirt as she endured his unwavering inspection. It was so fucking unsettling. It was like he was trying to see into her soul and know her.
Chapter 3
Rusya Savisin studied the small woman sitting before him. She was nervous, uncomfortable under his scrutiny, but she had a way about her. She didn’t flinch or cringe. She smiled when she answered his questions, a small upturning of her lips that extended to her eyes and made them sparkle. She was intelligent and not really modest about it, though he didn’t think she knew how she was perceived by others.
She was in her mid- to late-20s he guessed and brown everywhere, brown shoulder-length curly hair, deep brown eyes, silky light brown skin. She attracted him for a reason he couldn’t fathom. She had a sexuality and she knew that her smile was attractive, but she kept it on a leash, either knowing that it was the wrong thing to do with him, or not realizing that she did it at all.
He wondered about her. About her past, about what brought her to this point in time, to his house seeking a place with the Russian Bratva. On paper, she was skillful, but something made her untouchable in the mainstream academic world. Something in her past that she was holding on to – didn’t want to share. He wanted to know though. It wasn’t like him to be so curious about a woman, but then it was rare that a woman distracted him. And this little Turk was definitely doing that.
The smallness of her preoccupied him. A bit over five feet he guessed and probably not much more than 100 pounds. Not that she was child-like. No, she had the curves, even if she was dressed conservatively. No jewelry, no earrings. Not even piercings. He tried not to be a typical male, tried not to get distracted by her sexiness, but he couldn’t help envisioning her naked in his arms, her legs wrapped around his back while he fucked her. The image of them together stroked his cock and made him shift in his seat.
“Have you ever killed someone?” He was deviating from his script, but he wanted to see her reaction. He heard a small intake of breath coming from Janice’s direction as Esma’s eyes grew a little bigger. He grinned to himself. He’d unsettled them both. It was going to be a good day.
That she said ‘no’ didn’t surprise him, but her fractional hesitation did. He thought she was lying. Then she followed her reply up with a slight smile and a cheeky question. “Have you, Mr. Savisin?”
His face cracked and he smiled broadly. It almost physically hurt, not something he did often. He was at a loss for words. There was not a single man or woman that he knew who would dare ask such a question of him, except maybe his 2IC, Anto Kharzin. This little slip of a woman had the nerve and she did so in such a way that he could hardly be angry without giving up a piece of himself.
He shook his head. “Not recently.” What else could he say? He almost deserved her comeback. After all, who asks such a question as he did?
He reopened the file and
returned to the script. He’d already asked her the question, but he wanted more from her. He wanted to know her vulnerabilities. “Why are you here, Esma? In my house, in this room?” He liked her name for some reason, liked how it sounded as it rolled from his lips, his accent almost turning it into poetry.
She lost her smile, her lips tugging downward, the sparkle in her eyes disappearing behind a dullness. She looked down at her skirt, plucked at it with her small thin fingers. Then up again, into his eyes. “I don’t have a country, or a home… or family,” she said softly. “I need work, a roof over my head, a bed to sleep in. I want to wake up in the morning and not be afraid.”
He studied her. A good answer, but was she real or playing him? It would be a dangerous game to do that. But she’d know it. Her intelligence was too high – a stupid person could not have given such an answer. He wished Anto was here with him instead of off on his honeymoon. Anto would know, he had that way about him.
Rusya said, “Do you think that being in my house would keep you from being afraid?”
“Do you mean, am I afraid of you?” He didn’t mean that, but now he was curious. Wanted to know her answer. He caught the slight tremble of her fingers before she moved her other hand over and clasped them together. “I’m terrified of you.” She stopped and then when he didn’t respond, she added. “But I know how to follow the rules, I know how to work hard. I would never let you down.”
He felt a small smile tug at his lips as he considered her answer. “Of course you wouldn’t, Esma.” She was embellishing. Afraid, yes, but not terrified. And as he looked at her, he wondered if she really knew how to follow the rules. She didn’t seem like someone who would be easily maneuvered. She was thoughtful, independent and a little playful. He likened her to a puppy then tried to banish the thought. Puppies were trainable. He wondered if she was. But she needed this job, that much was clear. For reasons she didn’t want to share. He’d find out eventually what those reasons were. He’d find out everything about her, because now that he’d met her, he wanted to know.
She shot to her feet as he stood. Three feet from him, so short she didn’t reached his shoulder. So sleight it would take nothing to crush her. And so soft…
He turned to Janice who was also standing and nodded. “Have the spare suite in the east quarter readied for her.” He watched as Janice furrowed her forehead. He loved the woman for her organization and discretion. He would be lost without her. He understood her reaction, but he wanted Esma near for some reason. He was not a fool with women, not really anything with them, but Esma made him curious, which was something he hadn’t felt in a long time. He was going to indulge his curiosity and Janice would have to put up with it.
His attention returned to Esma, who was smiling broadly. “Move in today and get settled. Janice will work with you on logistics. Tomorrow, we’ll get started.”
“Thank you, Mr. Savisin,” she said, still grinning, her eyes sparkling again. She knew enough not to offer her hand to him.
He didn’t return her smile, just studied her until she flushed and dropped her eyes.
Then Janice stepped up and pulled her by the arm. “Let’s get you started, Esma.” Janice’s voice was soft, but Rusya heard the brittleness. She disagreed with his decision. He wondered why. He would ask her later.
Chapter 4
Esma followed Janice out of the office and back to the huge open foyer, then up the sweeping staircase on the right, past several doors and down another hall. Janice said nothing until she reached a door. She flipped it open, stood back and waited until Esma crossed the threshold, then followed her in. Esma looked around the room. It was larger than she expected. A nice little suite with a queen-sized bed, an alcove window, where a small table edged by two cozy-looking armchairs was placed. A fireplace surrounded by a love seat and two chairs. A work area with a desk, a TV on the wall. A walk-in closet and an ensuite bathroom. Like a bachelor’s suite without the kitchen. Maybe the nicest room she’d ever had.
“Is it satisfactory?” Janice asked, watching Esma closely.
She turned to the woman and grinned. This room, this house made her feel safe. The feeling was incongruent with her reality, but she felt like she could curl up on the love seat in front of a warm, roaring fire and every fear of hers would disappear. Jackman couldn’t get her here and that mattered more to her than her current fragile state of affairs. Strangely, it was the first time the craving for a drink wasn’t at the forefront of her thoughts. “Yes. Thank you.”
“I wasn’t expecting Rusya to set you up in this suite.”
Esma filed that information away as she acknowledged Janice’s words with a nod. What was Janice expecting?
“I’ll have the housekeeper come up and freshen the room, get some linens and towels.” Janice gazed at her, then smiled like she had secret. She didn’t share though. Instead, she turned. “Come, I’ll show you the rest of the house. And the ropes for living around here. How much have you got to move in?”
Esma shrugged as she caught up to Janice. “Just a couple of suitcases.” The house was huge, a mansion, a maze and Esma thought she could get easily disoriented in the dark or if… say… she had a few too many shots of tequila under her belt.
Janice pointed out Rusya’s suite, like hers, a door, closed. “Don’t go in unless you’re invited.”
In the wing they were in, there were two suites. Hers and Rusya’s, and Esma understood why Janice hadn’t anticipated the suite Rusya would assign Esma. It threw her too, being this close to him, being isolated from the rest of the house. Now she wondered why. But to Janice, she simply said, “Of course.” She knew she came across as affronted by the suggestion.
Janice studied her, then smiled. “It’s hard not be curious.” The words were almost a throwaway and Esma wasn’t sure who they were meant for.
As they re-entered the main part of the house, Janice stopped a housekeeper, Ingrid, introduced her to Esma and explained the situation. Ingrid nodded. “The room will be up to standards in 30 minutes.” No questions, no real curiosity. Ingrid knew to mind her business.
“Thank you,” Esma murmured, then followed Janice who was already walking away. She pointed out rooms as she led Esma through the main level, the library, the kitchen, dining room for staff to take their meals. “Service for staff is an hour later than service for Rusya’s men – the ones on the grounds. They eat between 6 and 7 pm. You can eat before or after, but not during.” Janice advised that Esma respect the hours. Always food available in the kitchen and maid service if she needed something off-hours.
“And Mr. Savisin?”
“Rusya eats in the formal dining room if he’s entertaining or in his suite or office if he isn’t so you don’t need to worry about interrupting his meal. If there’s a dinner party, you’ll either be invited or informed to stay away.”
Esma nodded her understanding. Savisin didn’t share meals with his staff.
“You may help yourself to wine and spirits from the bar in the kitchen, after the work day and on days off, obviously.”
“I don’t drink.” Esma’s tone was clipped. She thought she should establish it now. The more people who knew she didn’t drink, the harder it would be for her take a drink.
Janice stopped and turned to her. “In recovery?”
“Muslim.”
Janice gazed at her. Esma flushed. Janice could see right through her. “So no alcohol. No pork. You practice Salat?” The women knew her shit.
Esma shook her head. “Just no alcohol.”
“Got it.” And she did. Esma could tell by the look in her eye, the set to her mouth. Not judgement though. Not even curiosity. Maybe that’s something to lose when you work for Rusya Savisin. Maybe it’s something important to lose.
They stepped outside the front entrance and stood on the landing. Though they were protected by an overhang, the rain was falling now, the day was bleak and it was getting colder. Maybe even some snow coming. Esma crossed her arms across her ches
t to ward off the chill.
“You know this already, but the guard house is there, always manned.” Janice pointed at the front gates, then drew her hand in a horizontal line along the tall stone wall. “The entire perimeter is fenced and wired. There are dogs.” She paused, frowned. She clearly was not a fan of the dogs. “They’re well-trained and have never attacked anyone but they’re not harmless. There’s an area at the back of the house that you can go into safely if you want to get outside and stretch your legs. It’s fenced, for the household only, so the dogs aren’t allowed in it.” She looked down at Esma, who barely reached her shoulders. “It’s not a prison here. You can come and go. Just have your car brought round. I’ll introduce you to Rusya’s valet and to the houseman, Eduard Osipovich tomorrow. They’re both decent so they’ll leave you alone.”
“I don’t have a car,” Esma said.
“Do you drive?”
Esma nodded. “I guess I could buy one.”
“I’ll talk to Rusya. I don’t see why he wouldn’t let you borrow one of his as you need to. I doubt he’ll want you coming and going in an Uber.” Janice smiled and it warmed her face.
Esma nodded, grinned in return. She doubted that too.
They stepped back inside, into the warmth of the house. Janice said, “If any of the men bother you, please let me know. Not Rusya. Eduard and I prefer to try to resolve such issues ourselves rather than have Rusya step in.” She paused like she wanted to say something else, but then shifted gears. “Come on – there’s more.” Esma understood. She also preferred to solve her own man problems. If there were complications, the likelihood of them getting to Janice were slim.
Janice led her past the living room to a billiards room. A couple of dart boards, a huge pool table, a wet bar, everything her heart could desire, had desired back a few months when tequila, not water, was her choice of drink.