by Jacey Conrad
But mostly, it just felt like interference.
“I could leave,” she suggested softly, making Viktor step forward again, an alarmed expression twisting his features. “I could move to Miami or New York, some other place with active diamond traffic.”
“Don’t even speak of that,” Papa said, his voice stern. “What would I do without my Irina? How could you ask me to live my final years without you?”
“Papa, please…” She trailed off. She could think of nothing else to say. What other way could she ask for her freedom? What other reason could she give for not wanting to be married off to a virtual stranger? How did one ask for the strings to be removed from her father’s love?
“No,” Papa said, smacking his palm on the table, a noise that made Irina’s frayed nerves jerk. “This is my final word on the subject, Irina. End of discussion.”
Biting her lips, Irina told herself not to panic. There was no guarantee that Andrey would be interested in a match with her. Beyond sending the flowers, he had shown no interest in her. And as far as she knew, the flowers were possibly a gesture of guilt for murdering her potentially drug-thieving husband. She doubted she was even his type.
She would just avoid Andrey. She would become a social ninja, avoiding Papa’s machinations. And when she did see Andrey, she would make herself as ungracious and unappealing as possible, rude and obnoxious.
Right?
Standing in the quiet, luxurious lobby of the Hotel Beaumont, Irina was starting to doubt the wisdom of bringing Viktor on business errands outside of the werewolf community. Irina had refused a large security detail to the swanky hotel, just off the tony Belltown district near Elliot Bay. A contingent of large, leather jacket-clad thugs would only draw more attention to her and the jewels she was carrying. And for once, Viktor had listened.
However, without additional security back-up, he’d been twitchy as hell since they’d walked through the blue-and-gold lobby into the elegant hotel bar. Not even the soothing strains of Frank Sinatra hits from the baby grand in the corner put him at ease.
She’d ordered him a double vodka, but he’d refused it, wanting to stay sharp.
“There’s no reason to be tense,” she told him, sipping her own martini. She was determined to enjoy this little sojourn to the “normal” side of town, knowing that she was surrounded by humans, most of whom were involved in legitimate, legal activities. Given the rare opportunity of a mundane afternoon, she’d dressed carefully in a sage green suit that brought out the coppery highlights in her hair. She would not allow Viktor’s sour mood to spoil her good one.
“We’re in an unsecured location, surrounded by people I don’t know and, in addition to security concerns about your person, we’re carrying half a million dollars’ worth of diamonds,” he muttered in her ear. “That’s several reasons to be tense.”
“Well, Mr. Williamson isn’t a threat. He’s ordered custom pieces from us for years.”
“Why does he want to meet here instead of the shop?” Viktor asked. He stood with his back to the white marble bar, his eyes ceaselessly scanning the comfortable, subtly lit space.
“Our shop—well, the neighborhood around our shop—makes him nervous. Mr. Williamson is a very sweet, very normal non-criminal man, who happens to have exquisite taste in jewelry. And since it’s his twentieth anniversary, we’re willing to go that extra mile to make him comfortable.”
Viktor’s lips curved and something close to fondness warmed his wintry eyes. “You really like this part of the job, don’t you?”
“You mean the ‘working with customers who wouldn’t stab me in the face for a pack of gum’ part? Yes, I do. Seeing people like Mr. Williamson living their normal human lives reminds me that there are people out there who are doing it right.”
“Normal people are boring,” Viktor countered.
“I’m normal people.”
“Hardly,” he said.
“Viktor, about the meeting I had with my father the other day,” she said, toying with the tiny plastic sword that secured her martini olives. “My father’s plans—”
Viktor’s brow furrowed and his mouth dropped open, as if he was about to interrupt her. But his interruption was interrupted by George Williamson’s sonorous voice at her shoulder. “Irina, so good to see you.”
Irina turned on her stool and greeted her client warmly. She stretched out her hand to shake Mr. Williamson’s. “George.”
Squat, potbellied and blessed with a head full of curly salt-and-pepper hair, Mr. Williamson held her hand as she hopped off of the barstool. He gestured toward one of the more private tables on the far side of the bar. “Shall we?”
“Of course.” They retreated to a quiet corner booth, where Irina discreetly opened her briefcase to show him the gorgeous diamond-and-platinum bracelet she’d designed for his wife. Mr. Williamson took out the small oblong red velvet case and inspected Irina’s handiwork.
“Excellent work, as usual. She’s going to love this,” Mr. Williamson assured her, closing the case and sliding the envelope containing Irina’s check into the briefcase. Irina asked about his wife’s pottery class, his children and their college studies, his golf game. Viktor kept his back turned to them, apparently finding this conversation too boring to follow.
With their drinks finished and their business completed, Mr. Williamson cleared his throat. He nodded toward the black silk band tied around the sleeve of her suit jacket. “I was so sorry to hear about your husband, Irina. How are you doing?”
She smiled, but it was the tight, “public Irina” smile. “As well as one could expect,” she said. “Thank you for your condolences.”
“Well, if you need anything, you let me know,” he said, giving her hand a fatherly pat. Mr. Williamson tucked the bracelet box into his own briefcase, locked it, and toddled out of the bar.
“See?” Irina poked Viktor in the back. “Money and goods exchanged. No bloodshed. Easy peasy.”
Viktor harrumphed.
“Now, will you have a drink with me?” she asked, pushing up from the booth and hefting her suitcase toward the bar. “I think we need to talk.”
“Nothing good has ever followed that sentence,” he muttered, handing her up onto the barstool before climbing onto his own.
“Hush,” she said, signaling the bartender. “Seriously, I want to talk to you about my father’s—”
“Irina,” a voice sounded behind her.
Sonofabitch! How many times could one train of thought get run off the track?
Viktor stood, placing himself between the approaching man and Irina. He was blond, in his forties, gym-fit, with a weathered, Robert Redford look about him. Irina cleared her throat, placing a hand against Viktor’s shoulder, as if introducing him and not moving him out of the way so she could greet her friend.
“Viktor Zhukovsky, this is Ted Sorenson, the creative director of Winston-Court Jewelers. We met at a gemology conference a few years ago,” Irina told Viktor.
“And several since,” Ted said, winking at her. “It’s always a breath of fresh air to talk to a woman who not only knows how to create jewelry, but how to wear it.”
Viktor growled as Ted’s eyes swept over the peridot-encrusted collar-style necklace she’d paired with her suit. Irina whispered so low only Viktor’s canine ears could hear, “Stand down. It’s fine.”
Viktor let out a distinctly wolf-like huff.
“It’s so good to see you,” Ted said, kissing Irina’s cheek, which didn’t help Viktor’s huffing issue. “It’s been what, two years?”
“About that, since Los Angeles,” she said.
“That was an interesting conference.” Ted laughed, a big booming sound that echoed throughout the bar.
“I shouldn’t have laughed at chocolate diamonds becoming a big seller during that trendsetting seminar,” Irina admitted.
“Well, who would have guessed that women would want brown stones in their jewelry?”
“No one in their right min
d,” Irina laughed, high and sweet, a sound of genuine pleasure. And Viktor seemed none too pleased that it was someone else making her laugh like that, given the way he was glaring at poor Ted. “So what brings you to town?”
“I’m here interviewing someone to head up our west coast offices. The interview was a bit of a flop, actually. The guy seemed to think that basing his entire portfolio on the Byzantine movement was going to get him hired, can you imagine?”
“I know I can’t,” Viktor muttered.
Irina nudged him with her elbow while kindly telling Ted, “Well, I hope you find someone. It sounds like a great position.”
Ted stared at her for a long moment, a contemplative look on his face. “You would be a great candidate. You’ve always had an eye for design and no one knows the business from start to finish like you. If you think you might be interested, why don’t you give me a call?”
Ted deftly pulled a business card from his pocket and handed it to her.
“Oh, I don’t know—”
“I know, I know, you would have to talk about it with your husband, just talk it over and give me a call.” He pressed the card into her hand. “You’d be doing me a favor.”
“Thank you for thinking of me,” she said, politely. Letting him know about Sergei’s “passing” would only embarrass him.
“I’ll wait for your call,” Todd said, taking her hand. “Well, I’m off to the airport. It was good to see you.”
Viktor made an imperceptibly low growling sound. Irina shook her head slightly and Viktor stepped back.
“Relax. He doesn’t mean any harm,” she chided as Ted walked out of the bar. “Ted’s got a much younger girlfriend who keeps him on very tight leash. If he had anything resembling sexual feelings for me, she would smash the jar where she keeps his balls.”
Viktor’s lips twitched, but he kept his disgruntled tone. “It just seems like a coincidence that he happened to show up at the bar in the same hotel on the one day you happen to end up on this side of town?”
“He’s an old friend,” she said, even as Viktor grumbled. “If he has nefarious plans involving me, he’s playing an extremely long game.”
“Are we done here?” he asked brusquely, taking her rain jacket over his arm and taking her briefcase.
Irina shook her head vehemently, her eyes sweeping the grandeur of the lobby. She wasn’t ready to go back home yet, to retreat into her little widow’s shell. She wanted more of this, more color and light and humanity. “Change of plans. I would like to stay here tonight.”
“Out of the question.”
“Look, I need to get out of the house for the night,” she said. “I go to work every morning and then I go home at night. During the weekend, I’m home. I’m going stir crazy, going to the same two places day in and day out.” When she saw the briefest expression of disappointment flashed across his features, she added, “I just need a change of scenery, just for the night.”
“Your father won’t like it.”
“Right now, I don’t really care what my father would like. All I’m going to do is order room service and watch TV. The chance of the housekeeping staff having a vendetta against me just waiting to be fulfilled is pretty low. Book the adjacent room and stay there if it will make you feel better. Hell, book all of the adjacent rooms if you want. I just can’t sleep in that house another night without a break.” She handed him her “company” Visa.
“I’ll go book the room,” he grumbled.
Irina tapped Ted’s card between her fingers. She had to start her own life. She could get a job at a real jeweler’s, with clean stock and legitimate customers. It could mean a step toward independence for her. She could have a normal life, like Mr. Williamson, maybe meet and marry a nice human husband without mafia ties. She might even be able to move into a different city. Nik and Galya could come visit, and Papa, too, if he ever forgave her. She had to do something for herself. She had to be selfish for once in her life.
The dream, the hope of it, bloomed inside her chest like a bright, hothouse flower. And it withered just as quickly when Andrey Lupesco entered the hotel lobby, making his way to her.
Shit.
Dressed in an ink black suit that matched his hair (and knowing her luck, his soul), Andrey was all sharp angles and incongruously polite smiles. “Mrs. Volkov, how nice to see you.”
He took her hand in his, surprising her with its warmth. She’d imagined him as cold-blooded for so long, she thought shaking his hand would feel like petting a snake. Flustered, all of her plans to be rude and unappealing flew out of her head, and her conditioning dragged the public version of herself back to the fore. “Mr. Lupesco, this is a surprise. And you must call me ‘Irina.’ When you say, ‘Mrs. Volkov,’ I turn around and look for my mother-in-law, and well, you’ve met my mother-in-law.”
A flash of surprise and amusement brightened Andrey’s silver eyes and she heard him make the faintest snorting sound. He cleared his throat. “Yes, well, I was sorry to have missed you at the funeral. I would have liked to offer you my condolences personally, but I certainly understand your distress. How are you?”
“As well as one could expect.”
“Well, you are lovely, even in your grief,” Andrey said, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. Irina resisted the urge to pull her hand away and wipe it on her skirt. “Your father told me you would be meeting a customer here and I decided pop by to say hello, since you were in my neighborhood.”
Irina recalled that Andrey had office space in one of the swankier sections of town, an attempt to appear as legitimate as possible. So, what, Papa was setting her up on play dates now? And what was Andrey thinking, playing along?
“That was very kind of you.” She said, as Viktor approached, having slipped the hotel key and receipt into his pocket. He nodded at Konstantin, who gave him the reciprocating silent bodyguard-wolf nod.
“And I have an ulterior motive for being here.”
Irina’s eyes narrowed. Of course, he did.
“Is your business concluded?” Andrey asked. “I thought I might take you to lunch. I know a very nice Chinese restaurant just down the street. Your father said you enjoy dim sum.”
Her father. Always so helpful. Maybe Papa could hog-tie Irina and toss her into Andrey’s car trunk for him. One daughter, gift-wrapped and ready to go. Something like panic took root deep within her belly and Irina struggled to take a deep breath and keep a smile pasted on her face as she said, “Actually, it’s not concluded, the client had to make a quick call to his bank, but he’s going to be right back and we’re at a crucial stage in the process. So I’m afraid it will be a while yet. I wouldn’t want to keep you waiting. I know you’re a very busy man.”
“Never too busy for you,” he promised. “But I would hate to interrupt your business. Your father has told me how important the store is to you. I respect that. Another time, then.”
She nodded. “Thank you.”
Andrey inclined his head to her, and gave Viktor a long speculative look. He smiled that cold smile and shook her hand, turning on his heel and walking out of the lobby.
Irina’s hands shook. Holy hell, Andrey had taken a big gulp of Papa’s Kool-Aid. He was actually going to play along with her father’s bizarre matchmaking schemes. That beautiful, stupid dream of a life away from here, away from the family, with normal human, non-criminal people, was just that, a dream. She couldn’t leave Papa. She couldn’t leave Galya or Nik. And trying to avoid Papa’s plans for her would be exactly that, if she were even allowed to escape. She was trapped, without a choice, with no right to dream anything beyond Papa’s grand plans. Irina drooped against the chair, her breath stuttering in her chest. Her heart raced and her hands felt cold and clammy against her skirt.
Viktor’s lips were close at her ear, gently whispering, “Irina?”
“Get me out of here before I pass out,” she spat.
Nodding sharply, Viktor pulled her very gently across the lobby, his arm around her waist, a
s if they were just a normal couple, on their way to their hotel room after a pleasant morning spent sight-seeing. His thumb rubbed in a slow circle at the small of her back, soothing her while they waited for the elevator to drop to the lobby. A man in a suit queued behind them, waiting to board.
The elevator dinged and Viktor swept her inside the empty car. “This one’s full,” he snarled at the neatly dressed executive type behind them, who immediately stepped back, hands raised.
The moment the elevator doors closed, Irina sagged against the wall, shrugging out of her suit jacket, revealing pale arms bare in a sleeveless white silk shell. Viktor caught the jacket before it hit the floor, his arms on either side of her shoulders. “Breathe.”
Viktor’s hands stroked her arms, the heat of his skin radiating into hers, helping her relax enough to draw deep breaths through her nose. Her head lolled forward and he caught her with his shoulder, bracing her against the wall. The bell sounded for their floor. Viktor wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her forward. She felt almost normal by the time he unlocked the door to room 4374 and shoved her inside.
Viktor crossed the room in a flash, yanking the curtains closed and flicking on the desk lamp. Irina rested her ass against the dresser as she raided the mini-bar, grabbing a tiny bottle of whiskey. She unscrewed the cap and chugged.
“Slow down on that stuff,” he told her, frowning when she ignored him completely and finished the little bottle. “What did Andrey say to you?”
“Nothing,” she sighed, wiping her mouth as the whiskey burned its way down her throat. “He didn’t say anything I wouldn’t expect from the man my father is marrying me off to. And Papa’s not exactly subtle, sending Andrey down here to ambush me with a lunch invitation. Some part of me hoped it was just a passing idea, but he’s really going to do it again, isn’t he?” She swiped her hands across the tears streaming down her cheeks. “He’s going to sell me like some prize cow at the fair.”
“Well, if anything you’re at least a filly. Or a very pretty pony,” Viktor offered, wrapping his warm hand around her cold fingers.