Obsession: (Billionaire Venture Capitalist #5) A Billionaire Russian Mob Romance

by Ainsley St Claire

  “I understand,” Mason sympathizes, “but it makes it sound like you’re the villain.”

  He’s right, but I can’t face this right now. I just want to concentrate on my work. “I guess what you’re telling me is I need to speak with Marci, and we need to meet with Walker in the US attorney’s office.”

  “You’re working with Walker Clifton? I’m almost positive that CeCe grew up with him. I’ll give her a call right now.” He runs out of the kitchen, leaving us so suddenly that Emerson and I are dumbfounded.

  “I’ve never seen Mason like this before. He’s always the calm in the storm. Even when Dillon was going through everything and we were debating on removing him from the partnership, he never freaked out like this,” Emerson shares.

  “Do you think I should take a leave of absence?” I hold my breath, saying a silent prayer that she disagrees.

  She reaches for my arm in a semblance of assurance. “Absolutely not. You’re part of this family, and we protect our family.”

  “But what if I’m putting the rest of the ‘family’ at risk by staying?” I murmur, fighting back the tears.

  “I can’t believe that.” She shakes her head vigorously, adding, “I don’t believe that.”

  The burrito that tasted so good a few moments ago has already begun to sour my stomach.

  Returning to my desk, I look out across the office. There’s a hub of activity, with all of the cubicles full of people working hard for SHN. Several are busy with earbuds in their ears, heads bobbing to music; people are in conference rooms meeting; small groups of people mingle, laugh, and talk.

  What if my staying is a complete mistake? Maybe Walker’s right. Maybe I do need to consider witness protection and a whole different city.

  I sit down hard in my chair and reluctantly call Marci. “Have you seen the article about BrightStar in the Chronicle this morning? I didn’t have any knowledge about half of what was written.”

  “I have seen it, and I just got off the phone with Walker Clifton, who told me about it. He doesn’t know who the leak is, but he’s going to investigate. Thankfully for you, the article included facts that you couldn’t have known, and not everything had been reported to the US attorney’s office.”

  I comb my fingers through my hair. If this continues, I’m going to go bald. “Marci, what do you suggest I do?”

  “I think we should wait this out. Walker and I believe this is a plant job by Kuznetsov, all trying to discredit you and your testimony. Walker’s aware of what you’ve shared, which is backed up by emails and other conversations. He’s talking to six other partners, plus Ethan and what he’s sharing. Other people must know things. It’s inconceivable that members of the board would be blind to the investors’ identities. Dimitri Kuznetsov’s not a generic American name. Given his contributions to the company, it’s quite obvious to anyone that it bears a second look.”

  For the first time, my pulse slows, the sense of relief immediate. She’s right. “I can’t tell you how much that means. Thank you.”

  Our conversation lasts maybe another minute before we both hang up and agree to meet later this week when we have more data.

  Taking a deep breath, I realize it’s time to make the most difficult call of all. Dialing the phone, I hear, “Hey, sweetness. What’s up?”

  “I don’t suppose you’ve had the chance to read the San Francisco Chronicle today?”

  “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but in my experience, there’s not a lot of financial news in the Chronicle,” Todd chides.

  “No offense taken, but there was an article on BrightStar today, and it implicates me with findings and actions that I knew nothing about. I’ve spoken to Marci, Jim, and a few of the partners here. Everyone feels it’s under control right now and suggests we stay the course.”

  I hear what I’m confident is a pen tapping rapidly on his desk. He’s quiet for a few moments before asking, “Should I call Jim?”

  “You’re always welcome to call Jim.” I need to say this next part, but I really don’t want to. “My staying with you puts you danger. I worry something could happen to you—”

  “Is Jim telling you this? Cynthia, this is a nonstarter. You’re not going anywhere. I should talk to Jim and make sure he understands. You’re safer with me and Jim’s team and the FBI three floors down. Putting you in a safe house is not in your best interest, nor in mine. I can take care of myself, and I’ll take care of you.”

  I start to cry into the phone. “I’m not sure how I could ever go on if anything ever happened to you.”

  Todd’s voice softens. “I promise, nothing’s going to happen to you or to me. We’ve got this buttoned up. What would you like for dinner tonight? I was thinking either Italian or Greek. Do you have a preference?”

  I’m grateful for the change in subject. “There’s a place that Greer’s fiancé loves. The owners are from a town close to where he grew up in Tuscany. I’ve only had a few things from there once, but it was outstanding. They don’t deliver though. If I can talk Jim into allowing us to go out, does that sound interesting to you?”

  “I can understand why eating out sounds like a good idea, but I think we should eat at my place. We can have a delivery place pick up a to-go order.”

  “If we can’t have it delivered, we can have Greek from that place across the street from our building. Maybe lemon potatoes and chicken kabobs?”

  “Let’s try the Italian place. If Andy thinks they’re good, they must be. What’s the name of the place? I’ll order.”

  “I’ll have to get it from Greer. I’m happy to order. What time do you think you’ll be home?”

  “Let’s aim for dinner at seven. Does that work for you?”

  “That works for me, thank you. I really appreciate all of your support.”

  “Anything for you, babe.”

  I text Greer.

  Me: Hey. What’s the name of that place you and Andy love so much? The Italian one in your neighborhood?

  She immediately responds.

  Greer: It’s hard to remember. It’s called the Italian Restaurant.

  Me: Are you kidding?

  Greer: Nope. If you tell them you’re my friends, maybe they’ll send you a surprise.

  Me: Looking forward to seeing you Tuesday. Thanks.

  I speak with a gentleman named Felipe. He was excited that I’m friends with Greer and promised to send something special. As we were speaking, I remembered to order dinner for the agents downstairs. I have no idea what we’ll be eating tonight, so I hope Todd doesn’t ask.

  I spend the remainder of the day trying to concentrate on my work and not on my life. Jim’s team meets me shortly after six to drive me home. I’m bone-tired yet again.

  When I walk into the apartment, I smell roses as I wander into the kitchen, where a dozen vases each with different-colored roses decorate the counters. “Where did these come from?”

  Todd puts his arms around me and brings me in for a tight embrace. “Sounded like you were having a bad day, and I thought these might improve it.”

  Standing on my tiptoes and stretching myself as tall as I can be, I put my arms behind his neck, pulling him closer to me. This guy is hotter than I thought before, if that’s even possible.

  My kiss is aggressive, and he doesn’t waste time lingering, pushing his tongue past my lips and devouring my mouth. I need him like I need air to breathe.

  When we break apart, I look at those chocolate-brown eyes causing my heart to melt a little bit, my pulse quickening. “My day’s perfect thanks to you. This is incredibly sweet. I promise to show my appreciation fully.”

  Chapter TWENTY-FIVE

  Cynthia

  Before we can get too involved in some hot and naughty action, we’re notified by the doorman that our meal has arrived. The smell only makes me hungrier as we unpack the seafood pasta over homemade noodles in a spicy red sauce, fresh bread, and a dessert. The container says it’s Pesche di Prato. They look like halved peaches
at first glance, but they’re rounded brioches soaked in some sort of Italian liqueur and filled with custard, then covered with sugar, resembling the shape and skin of natural peaches.

  We separate out the food for the agents downstairs, and while Todd delivers it, I set our table. He arrives just as I pour glasses of wine from the bottle they sent over, which is from Andy’s vineyard in Napa. I’m beyond impressed with this spread.

  Todd and I are so occupied by our sinful pasta, we don’t talk for a while, just keep slurping it up.

  When we’ve finished, Todd tells me, “Once this thing rolls over, we need to have a real date at this place and enjoy the ambience.”

  I nod enthusiastically. “I agree. This was fantastic. I can definitely see why Greer and Andy love it so much.” I rub my belly and groan. “I ate too much.”

  “Me too.”

  Todd wanders over to the television and turns on ESPN SportsCenter. He pats the couch next to him, and I curl up against his side. I’m not interested in the least about sports tonight, but he smells too good to not be near him.

  I have a vague recollection of him covering me with a blanket before I crash.

  An alarm’s sounding somewhere nearby. I sit up, and it’s pitch-black. I can’t see anything, can’t hear anything over the deafening sound. I put together that it’s the house alarm at the same time the front door crashes open, people running into the apartment.

  I’m disoriented and can’t place where I am at first, or what’s happening. Looking around, I realize I’m on the couch in Todd’s living room with a blanket pooled at my waist. It’s chaos with people yelling around me, but with all the loud noise, I can’t make out exactly what they’re saying.

  I hear Todd shouting over the sound as his shadow approaches me. “She was on the couch. Cynthia?”

  The lights are switched on, and I’m temporarily blinded. All I see are the backs of four men surrounding me with guns drawn. My heart’s doing triple time.

  Todd races to my side. “Are you okay?”

  I nod slowly, trying to clear the fog and understand the chaos around me. “I think so. What’s going on?”

  One of the FBI agent yells, “Back door!” as he stares at the alarm panel.

  Two of the agents remain with me as two others run to the back door. It gives me a minute to clear the cobwebs from my brain.

  Todd’s wearing only a pair of boxer shorts. Under normal circumstances, I’d be drooling over his disheveled hair, washboard abs, and sexy chest hair, but I want his arms to hold me and for him to tell me everything’s going to be okay. My heart’s racing at all the commotion. I don’t think I’ve ever been so terrified, and I still don’t know what’s going on.

  The alarm is finally silenced. I’m confident the entire building is awake at this point; we’ll be lucky if it isn’t the entire block.

  “What the fuck is going on?” Todd fumes at the lead FBI agent.

  “The connection between the door and the door frame at the patio door had been jostled out of range of a camera, which set off the alarm. We don’t have vision into the apartment for privacy, so when it sounded, we came running.”

  Todd rubs my back to soothe me. “Are you okay?”

  I don’t know what to think. “No… yes… I think… I think I’m fine.”

  They move through the entire apartment and out the patio door, using hand signals and pointing their guns, yelling, “Clear!” as they exit each room. No one is talking to me yet, and Todd continues rubbing my back as he keeps quietly repeating, “It’s going to be okay.”

  I can’t take much more, whispering in his ear, “I have to go to the bathroom.” I bury my head in his chest to hide the tears.

  Once things calm down a moment, he instructs the agents to escort me to the guest bathroom. Once inside and alone, I chance a look at my reflection. My eyes are bloodshot with blue circles underneath, and my hair is matted. I look the worst I’ve ever seen.

  I can still make out all the action and activity going on beyond the door. My head’s throbbing like it’s keeping time to a dance beat. Finally I can’t take it anymore and the tears begin again—not cute little one silently running down my face but full-on waterworks, further making a mess of my mascara from the night before.

  There’s a soft knock on the door, and Todd’s voice asks, “Love, can I come in?” I haven’t found the nerve to answer him before he walks in and sees me. “Please don’t cry. I know this is worrisome, but we’re going to be fine. We’ll get through this together.”

  I bury my head in his chest once more as the tears continue.

  He wraps his arms around me just as there’s another commotion outside, someone yelling through the door, “Another alarm has sounded. Don’t move!”

  We wait and we wait, our patience soon running out. Todd takes a seat on the toilet lid, and I’m on the edge of the bathtub. I’m beginning to feel claustrophobic.

  There’s more commotion, and another alarm starts blaring. Sirens sound nearby and are getting closer.

  Our neighbors must love us.

  Todd yanks open the door. “Jesus Christ, they’re going to wake up the whole fucking city. Is this necessary?” he asks the two guys standing outside the bathroom door. Our last line of defense.

  “Sir, please remain in the bathroom. We’ve had four alarms already. Someone’s trying to taunt us. You’re safe inside. Just please stay in the bathroom.”

  Todd attempts to pace, walking three feet one way to the door and three feet back. Making it even more frustrating, he has to climb over my knees each time he passes me.

  He looks at me, taking in my state of unease as I debate crawling into the tub. His mouth is etched in a straight line and his stance indicates he’s ready to pounce should someone breach security and come into the bathroom. “I’m sorry this is upsetting you. I should be doing more.”

  “I understand. If you’d prefer to find out if you can help, I’m fine to remain here by myself.”

  He lets out all the air from his chest and studies me carefully. “No, I want to be here with you.”

  To pass the time, I decide to ask him questions. “Tell me about the first concert you ever attended.”

  He smiles at me. “You mean the first one I paid to attend, or the first one I snuck into?”

  “Oh, I want to know both.” I clap in excitement and put on a fake smile.

  “The first concert I truly paid for that wasn’t a bar band was Mariah Carey in Las Vegas. But the first show I ever saw was the U2 Joshua Tree one. I snuck into Yankee Stadium and watched. Well, my uncle was a groundskeeper and got us in, so I guess it wasn’t all that sneaky. I saw almost all of my concerts that way when I was growing up.”

  “Mariah Carey is a little out of your norm. How did that come about?”

  “We were talking to her about investing with us, and I pulled the short straw and had to fly to Vegas and see her show.”

  I laugh knowing he must’ve seen that as pure torture.

  “You know, it wasn’t half bad. She’s an amazing performer, and shit, what a voice.”

  “I saw Prince once, and I thought the same thing. It wasn’t my music. Purple Rain was released the year I was born, but I saw him when I was sixteen at some event, and he was incredible.”

  “My turn to ask you a question. What was it about San Francisco that made you want to move here?”

  “That’s easy. Have you seen the view from your patio? That’s why. But also I wanted out of Dallas. My mom was president of the Junior League and a thousand other charities, and I had no desire to follow in her footsteps of marrying for money and not love. And I hate the southern way of smiling to your face while stabbing you in the back. There’s something to be said about great anonymity.” I watch his reaction, then ask, “Why did you move to San Francisco? CeCe?”

  He visibly blanches. “Well yes, but also no. Angus wanted to open an office, and he’d been grooming me to open it for some time. CeCe made it appealing because I’d know so
meone who could introduce me around—and she introduced me to you, so that alone was worth it.”

  The guard from outside knocks and then enters. “We’ve got the building secure, and the police and FBI are here to meet with you both.”

  Agent Baron is talking to a man in an ill-fitting suit with an unbuttoned trench coat. “Todd, Cynthia, I’d like you to meet Detective Lenning with the San Francisco Police Department.”

  He nods, and Todd nods back. I just sit and wait for what he wants to share or ask. “What were the two of you doing when the first alarm sounded?”

  Todd answers for both of us. “We were sleeping. Cynthia fell asleep on the couch, and I was in the bedroom.”

  He writes a few things on his notepad. “Did you see anyone outside?”

  I shake my head as Todd responds. “The first thing I saw was the security team and FBI in the living room yelling and surrounding my girlfriend.”

  I look at him, shock evident. We’ve never called ourselves anything beyond friends. Does this mean he thinks of me as a girlfriend?

  They continue to pepper us with questions, clearly oblivious to the tension that just filled the area.

  “Miss Hathaway, I understand that you have a security team because the FBI is investigating an issue with a prior employer and you’ve provided them with some information.”

  I nod, still unable to form words after Todd’s declaration.

  He looks at me and then at Todd, sizing us up. “Where were you when the alarm sounded?”

  We just answered this question. If I hadn’t been interviewed like this with the FBI, I might not have caught it.

  “Cynthia was here on the couch.” Todd points to the couch five feet away with the blanket hanging to the floor. “And I was in the bedroom.” He points down the hall twenty-five feet away.