Hers To Keep: THE QUINTESSENCE COLLECTION I

by Akeroyd, Serena

  “You intended to tell him at some point?”

  She glowered at Kurt. “That comes as a surprise?”

  He held up his hands in surrender. “I don’t know why. It just does.”

  She huffed out a breath then placed her hands on theirs. Covering the one Sean had rested on her lap and squeezing Kurt’s tighter. “I’m in this for the long haul,” she said softly. “I thought you’d realized that by now.”

  Sean swallowed. “We… don’t like to pressure you.”

  “And you don’t. You never do,” she retorted. “If anything, I’m the one who does. Which makes zero sense. Normally women are terrified to make the first move just in case their partner will back off.”

  “You know it’s different for us,” Sean countered.

  “Yeah, I know. Doesn’t make it easier to understand.” She pursed her lips, a thought occurring to her. “What happens if you do change your minds though? About me, I mean. About us.”

  Kurt snorted. “Like that’s going to happen.”

  She scowled at him, trying to do her best ‘Andrei’ impression. It didn’t work. If anything, they just shot each other a look—maybe she looked like she was in pain? Sascha harrumphed at the thought her scowl was unimpressive.

  “Nothing is given in this world. I can’t take anything for granted. You might change your minds. Things might not work out between us…”

  “That’s a lot of ‘might’s,” Sean answered softly. “And most of them unnecessary. If that did happen, which I highly doubt, we’d discuss it as our change in feelings happened.”

  She blinked. “You’d have a group meeting about it, huh?”

  He winced. “Not exactly.”

  “Look, just because I accept this relationship between the six of us doesn’t make me perfect. It ticks one of your boxes. Not all of them.”

  Kurt sighed. “If we aren’t showing you, every damn day, how perfect you are for us, then we’re the ones who need to be worried. Not you.”

  Her cheeks turned pink. “Really?”

  Sean squeezed her knee, drawing her gaze to his. “Really.”

  She felt her flush lessen a little, then whispered, “I’m glad.”

  Kurt blew out a breath. “We’ll work on that, but in the meanwhile, we have an issue at hand. Your dad.”

  She grimaced. “Maybe I should just say I’m sleeping with one of you. Not like he’ll approve of that… Sleeping with one of my bosses isn’t going to make him think well of me. But at least it’s not the whole truth.”

  Kurt scratched his chin. “How about we say the guest bedroom is Sawyer’s? His is the most boring. It could pass for a guest room, maybe? Then, he sleeps with you in the attic, and just has to sneak out on a morning and night.”

  She pulled a face, wishing that they hadn’t converted most of the bedrooms into their offices. They were missing an extra four bedrooms as a result. “That has disaster written all over it, but I prefer it to anything else.”

  Kurt grinned as he gave her fingers one last squeeze, then got to his feet and headed for the intercom. They were in every room of the house, and she knew he was connecting to Sawyer and Devon’s ‘Brainiac’ room.

  “Sawyer?” he said, speaking into the microphone. “Sascha’s dad’s visiting. You need to clear shit out of your bedroom, so he can sleep in there. You’ll have to bunk with Sascha while he’s here.”

  There was a groan on the other end of the line. “How come Sawyer gets to sleep with Sascha?” Devon demanded, his voice as close to a whine as it got.

  Her lips twitched. In for a freakin’ penny... “Tell him he can. He just has to sneak in and out.”

  Kurt relayed the message, shooting her a smirk as he did.

  “Amazing,” Sean murmured wryly.

  “What is?”

  “How we had no guest bedrooms and now, we have two.”

  Twenty-Five

  Andrei sighed as he bridged his hands together and rested them on his belly.

  With endless reams of data in front of him, he should have been in his element.

  Instead, the numbers were blurring.

  His heart wasn’t in it.

  For that reason, when his cell buzzed, he answered it rather than ignore it as he would usually have done when he was in the middle of working.

  “Fucking hell, Andrei, why haven’t you been answering your phone?”

  If the screen hadn’t told him who was on the other end of the line, the faint Scottish brogue would have. “What’s up, Sawyer?”

  “Sascha’s dad’s come for a visit.”

  His brows rose. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah, like I’m going to joke about something like that.”

  Andrei gawked at nothing in particular as he tried to process a spontaneous visit from a man who was going to be anything but happy about learning his daughter was playing house with five guys.

  “What’s he doing here?”

  “He’s visiting. Just landed an hour ago. Anyway, I’m calling to warn you. Devon and I are going to be bunking with Sascha. Henry’s going to be sleeping in my room. Don’t fuck it up for her by giving the game away.”

  Andrei blinked. “Okay. Is his reason for being here anything to do with what we learned about her past?”

  “Not so far as I can tell. He split up with his wife recently, and I think he’s down and putting on a brave face.” Sawyer grunted. “Barrel of laughs. But anyway, what time will you be back?”

  Andrei had to snort. “You do realize, in the nearly two decades I’ve known you, that’s probably the first time you’ve ever asked me that.”

  He didn’t have to see the eye roll to know that was what Sawyer was doing. “Sascha’s never been a part of our lives before,” came the answer. “And her dad has never popped by for a visit. What time?”

  He conceded that with a wry smile. “True.” He looked at the clock on his desk, down at the sheets before him. “An hour? If traffic’s good.”

  “Traffic’s never good,” Sawyer groused. “I’ll say you’ll be here shortly.”

  Andrei grinned. “Thanks. See you later.”

  They both cut the call, and Andrei shot the other man in his office a look. “I’ll need to leave soon.”

  Jacobie, Andrei’s current business partner, shrugged. “Sure.”

  Jacobie was a tech whiz that had taken Europe by storm with his recent developments in cryptography. Backed by family money, he’d risen hard and fast, but the pressure wasn’t crushing him. If anything, he was flourishing.

  Andrei and he were working together on two projects.

  The likelihood of a hostile takeover of one of Jacobie’s core distribution companies had come to his attention. Something Andrei was helping him avoid. Then, as they’d worked together on that project, they’d come to be friends, and had realized they shared similar mentalities on their view of the world.

  Their second project was more of a hobby. Ethical capitalism. They were writing a dissertation on it, with the vague hope in the future they could publish it.

  Today, however, Andrei was working on the former issue rather than the latter.

  A steel magnate in India had taken a deep interest in Jacobie’s activities, going so far as to buy up stock wherever he could in anything Jacobie had invested in.

  Narinder Singh was a pain in Jacobie’s butt, but he was a joy for Andrei. He did love a good game of chess; he was Russian, after all. And he and Singh had been battling like Grandmasters for months now.

  “It’s not like Singh’s made any recent moves,” Jacobie was saying. “You can probably cut down on the amount of time you spend here. I know you hate coming into the office.”

  Andrei snorted. “That’s very short-sighted of you, my friend.”

  Jacobie’s brows rose. “Why is it?”

  He had two HQs. One at the family pile in Surrey, one in the heart of the City at Canary Wharf. They met here, and Andrei shared Jacobie’s office when they planned strategy. Not only did he not want his o
wn office—schlepping into the City a few times a month was bad enough without formalizing his work with the company—but working in Jacobie’s personal office simply made more sense.

  They had to work closely together, but more than that, the strategies discussed in here were of a sensitive nature. Jacobie had his room swept for bugs with the frequency of a conspiracy theorist. If anywhere was safe, it was here.

  “Just because he hasn’t made a move in four months, doesn’t mean he isn’t planning.”

  “True,” Jacobie ceded. “Wishful thinking on my part. I wish I’d never let the company go public.”

  “You wouldn’t be a billionaire if you hadn’t,” Andrei pointed out. “And you do like your toys.”

  Jacobie’s grin was swift. “Yeah, there is that.”

  Andrei shook his head. Jacobie was greedy, but it didn’t irritate him as it usually did. If anything, he found it amusing.

  Jacobie played games, and because Andrei loved manipulating markets, he could appreciate that in the other man.

  He collected his papers together and pushed his chair back from where he worked at the table the board met at in Jacobie’s office.

  “What do you think Singh’s end game is?”

  Andrei shrugged. “I don’t know.” And he really didn’t. He’d come across several plays like this in his career, but Singh played with a delicacy he could appreciate.

  “We’ll never know what he wants. There’s no point in questioning it. We just have to make sure we’re two steps ahead.” He’d have preferred five or more, but that was how good Singh was.

  “Do I even want to know your plans?”

  Andrei’s grin was swift. “Niet.”

  Jacobie just grunted.

  There was nothing he could really say to ease Edward’s mind. Andrei would be scanning the markets like crazy, looking for any moves, any unusual highs or lows, for potential markers as to Singh’s intentions.

  Truth was, as great a game as Singh played, he was a traditionalist at heart. He always plowed money into steel. Always. That would be Andrei’s first point of call when he tried to figure out what the canny bastard was doing but for now, even the call of the game couldn’t distract him.

  What the hell was Sascha’s dad doing here?

  Departing with a quick salute, Andrei headed out into the white reception hall. It was sparse and bright, sparkling. It reminded him of Sawyer’s room. Only difference was, Sawyer’s room was bare because the bastard didn’t have an ounce of creativity. This place was bare because it was a design choice.

  Shaking his head at the thought, and hiding a grin too, he smiled at the receptionist who was gaping at him. His smile disappeared. “Are you okay?”

  The woman’s cheeks turned pink. “Of course, sir.”

  He studied her, then shrugged. “Bye.”

  Heading for the elevator, he shot another wary smile at the elegant brunette behind the desk, sighed at more owlish blinking, and was relieved when the doors closed with him the only occupant.

  Delivered to the garage, he found his Audi in its usual space—there were perks to working in close contact with the head of an international corporation—his space was right beside Jacobie’s, next to the elevator bank.

  Within ten minutes, he was zooming out into traffic, dashing in and out of the reams of cars on his way home.

  As he finagled the traffic jam, earning himself angry beeps from other drivers, he pondered what Sascha’s father was doing here. If he’d known his daughter was aware there was no blood tie between them, the reason behind his visit would have made more sense.

  Not that blood always mattered when it came to parental relationships, of course. Nor would it for Sascha. Henry Dubois was the only father she’d ever know. The only one she’d ever love.

  Love.

  Andrei, on the other hand, loathed his father, and though Vasily was his grandfather, a blood connection, he loved the man more than he could say.

  As traffic swelled as he passed Paddington, he tapped a few buttons on his dash after calculating the time difference between here and Moscow.

  “About time you called,” was the grumpy response. “I’m supposed to be the one old enough to have Alzheimer’s.”

  Andrei rolled his eyes then narrowed them as a car whizzed past, almost scraping his side. Hitting the horn, he absentmindedly told his grandfather, “Calls work two ways, you know? You can call me too.”

  “God knows who’ll answer.” Vasily knew of, and didn’t exactly disapprove of his housemates, but he didn’t want to speak to them.

  He was well aware, as with most of the household’s families, that Vasily thought he was gay and just not willing to come out.

  One reason he loved his grandfather though was that as long as neither outright mentioned it, Vasily didn’t care.

  Considering his grandfather’s generation, as well as his less than PC background, that was a huge conciliatory gesture.

  Vasily loved him enough to not want to know. If he knew, concrete, then he’d have to act or have an opinion, and he wanted neither.

  “Who answers somebody else’s cell?” Andrei retorted. “Plus, you know I’m busy.”

  “You’re always busy.”

  “Like you weren’t?” he grunted. “Still are, knowing you. I get your doctor’s reports, old man. You’re not taking your blood pressure tablets again, are you?”

  Silence came down the line. Then a barrage of Russian curses. “I will not have you spying on me through the staff!” the old man declared with all the pomp of a Tsar. Shit, in the eyes of the Bratva, he was.

  “I don’t need to use the staff to find out what’s going on with you,” he replied smugly.

  “Then who? Who’s the spy in my midst?” came the dramatic retort.

  “Why would I give up my source? I’d have to be a fool, and we both know, you raised no fool.”

  “You always were too good with words,” Vasily said after a moment’s silence.

  “And you’re probably the only person who’d ever tell me that. Numbers are more my style.”

  Vasily snorted. “Like I’m unaware of that.” He groused, “I don’t like how the tablets make me feel.”

  “Well, they’re keeping you around, so you’d better ask for another prescription or get used to it.”

  “Since when were you so bossy?”

  “Since my girlfriend showed me that’s the only way to be if you want your own way.”

  More silence. “Girlfriend?”

  His lips twitched. “Yes. She’s female. And I’m sleeping with her.”

  “She lives in the house with you?” He cleared his throat. “In fact, I don’t want to know. But this is good news. What’s her name?”

  “Sascha.”

  “That’s a boy’s name,” came the suspicious retort.

  Andrei snorted. “Only in Russian. She’s American.”

  More Russian curses. “An American? God, you never could do anything the easy way.”

  He chuckled. “The Cold War happened a long time ago.”

  “As we’ve already stated, I didn’t raise a fool in you.” It went unspoken that he hadn’t done such a great job with Andrei’s father. “You know very well that things are dicey between our nations.”

  “Yes, well, when we’re in bed, we don’t tend to talk about politics.”

  Vasily’s laugh was bawdy, as he’d known it would be. It was probably weird to talk about such things with one’s grandfather, and he knew Sascha would probably be mortified, but most topics were an open book with Vasily.

  When a man dealt in blood, sex, and money, crass talk was a language that usually greased wheels.

  “You’re your grandfather’s blood, that’s for certain.” Andrei heard the old bastard rubbing his hands together. “Come on then, tell me what she’s like.”

  “You’d probably think she’s gorgeous,” he said wryly, as he swept in and out of traffic in a way that would likely earn him a speeding ticket later on. “Sh
e looks like Ava Gardner and Rita Hayworth had a baby.”

  Vasily smacked his lips. “You’ve good taste, son.”

  “I know. Plus, she’s smart, and she makes the best coffee.”

  “She’s making sure you eat?”

  Andrei rolled his eyes. “Not you as well. Henpecking me isn’t Bratva style.”

  “I missed out on my natural calling. Grandfather hen is something I can do without my men questioning my sanity.”

  Andrei scoffed at that, but conceded, “Yes. She makes sure I eat.”

  “Then I like her already. When will I meet her?”

  He winced. “I don’t know.”

  “You ashamed of me?” The question was said with a mixture of emotions that had Andrei rolling his eyes. Vasily was too arrogant to believe that, but at the same time, if the old bastard had any vulnerability, Andrei knew it was him.

  “Of course not. But, she’s in a situation.”

  “What kind of situation?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Since when was I too feeble minded to handle complicated? I’ll have you know I can still keep up with your math talk. Who was it who helped explain most of it to you?”

  He wasn’t wrong there. If Andrei was a whiz with figures, it was something he’d inherited from Vasily whose talent on that score was truly wasted.

  “She was in an accident recently,” he said slowly, wondering how to piece all the parts together into some semblance of sense, and wanting his grandfather’s input on this shitty situation. “A car ran into her.”

  Vasily murmured, “On purpose?”

  “Yes. But it was an accident.”

  “Accidentally on purpose?” Vasily snorted. “Impossible.”

  “A kid ran into the road, she ran after him to save him from being hit by a car. She took the brunt of the crash.

  “A couple of hours later, the driver of the car, who’d been cleared of suspicion, walks into the police station and confesses to having targeted Sascha. Had she not crashed into him, he’d been paid to run her down in the street.”

  “Paid by whom?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”

  “So, the girl has a past.”

  “No, that’s the strangest thing. She doesn’t. At least, not on paper. But that’s not all. A few days after the crash, we were due to attend a gala. You remember I told you about the economics seminar where I’d been chosen to give the keynote speech?”