Page 11

The last light of day bled through the windows, glazing my office in a hue of deep purple and smoldering oranges. The glow stretched across the stacks of paperwork as I flipped through the latest shipment logs.

The numbers were off. Again.

I pinched the bridge of my nose, exhaling slowly. “Ruslan, tell me why the St. Petersburg shipment is short by five crates.”

The five men standing across my desk shuffled their feet and looked everywhere else but me when one of them opened his mouth to speak.

Ruslan shifted on his feet. “We had some…complications at the port, Boss. Customs was on high alert. Had to divert two crates to a safe house. The others are held up with a contact.”

My jaw tightened. I glanced up from the ledger. “And the contact?”

“Reliable. He’ll move them by tomorrow night.”

“Make sure he does.” I flicked my pen against the desk, narrowing my eyes at each of them. “And the product that already landed. Where is it now?”

“In our warehouses. Inventory checks out. No discrepancies on our end.”

Good. The warehouse on the west side needed tighter security— two shipments had been delayed, and I wasn’t about to let that become a habit.

I turned my attention to the next set of documents: cryptic business contracts, coded in a way only we understood. Weapons shipments, distribution routes, payment schedules. Every detail had to be airtight.

But my mind drifted from paperwork and business to a fiery fox in a little black dress. A dress I’d had a manic urge to rip off the moment we were alone.

Last night had been a battle. Hazel’s expression haunted me to my dreams, and even now, it slammed into me like a fist to the ribs.

It wasn’t the first time I dealt with an angry woman. Hell, Alina was angry about something almost all the time. But the picture of blazing hazel eyes and her locked jaw just…stuck. And knowing I was the reason for her anger rubbed on me the wrong way.

I gritted my teeth, recalling the words the wind carried in her voice.

Next time, don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.

My hands went down on the table, and from the corner of my eye, I caught one of my men jump.

“Where’s Damir?” I asked none of them in particular.

“Boss, you asked him to go figure out what delayed the Swiss-Moscow transfer.”

“Hm.” That, I did. Barely an hour ago, after I almost blew his head off for allowing a man to sleep on duty, which led to some of our crates being stolen. “Whenever he returns, tell him I want him to double security at the docks. If Customs is tightening their grip, someone’s been talking.”

I signed off on a payment order and looked up. “And if I find out who, they won’t be talking again,” I said.

Ruslan gave a sharp nod. “Understood.”

I leaned back in my chair, my fingers drumming against the mahogany surface.

“One more thing, Ruslan,” I said as the men reached for the door. “Have the Bucharest buyer wire the funds by midnight. If he delays again, we’ll collect in person.”

Ruslan nodded. “Got it, Boss.”

Alone, I exhaled slowly, rubbing my temple.

Fuck!

Her fucking glare still lingered in my head, and it was more distracting than any business problem I had faced tonight.

She had stood there, shoulders squared, chin lifted, and asked if I was crazy. She’d stood there and expressed more disappointment in my actions than anyone else ever dared to do.

The way she’d looked at me unsettled something deep in my chest. Most people bowed their heads when I spoke. They agreed, obeyed, and stepped aside. But not her.

Not fucking Hazel Sinclair.

And it bothered me.

She fucking bothered me. My therapist. How ironic!

I had expected hesitation before she lashed out. Or fear, maybe. A careful choice of words. But she had met my authority head-on and refused to back down.

Her voice came again, ringing more loudly this time, warning me to never stick my nose in her business.

I felt my face grow hot. My jaw clamped, and my hands trembled in agitation. In a flash, I was on my feet.

I grabbed my car keys off the desk, my chair scraping against the floor as I stood. This wasn’t going away. Not by sitting here, stewing in it. The sooner I dealt with it, the better.

Within moments, I was out of my office, the door shutting behind me with a little more force than necessary.