Page 76 of Nothing More

Greg was smiling with his mouth and frowning with his eyebrows. He offered a hand, aggressively, shoved it between them. “It’s Tom, right? Raven’s assistant?”

Reluctantly, Toly took his hand. “Yeah.”

“One of several assistants,” Raven said. Toly wondered if Greg could detect the note of panic in his voice. “They rotate. Tom had a family emergency today.”

Stop talking,he wanted to tell her. The longer, and more complicated a cover story became, the harder it was to stick to.

Greg’s face morphed to polite concern. “Aw, that’s too bad,” he said to Toly. “Did you get it all handled? I mean” – he gestured with one foam cup – “you’re back, and all.”

“Yeah. It’s handled.” Toly looked away from him – toward Raven, whose gaze spoke of an internal crisis. He didn’t like to hold eye contact with strangers (rivals, his jealousy chimed in, unhelpfully); didn’t like to let anyone get a good look at his face; didn’t want to be remembered. He put his shoulder to the man, and tried, with a hard glance, to convey to Raven that it was time for him to depart. He wanted her to send Greg packing – but she couldn’t, given he’d been the one to bring her. He also couldn’t turn and stalk away rudely, given the need to preserve the fiction that he worked for her. No assistant worth paying would walk away from his boss without so much as a “see ya.”

Her throat worked as she swallowed, her eyes still big, her face still flushed. At another time, he would have loved seeing her so flustered, knowing he was the cause of it. He wasn’t the sort of man who needed his ego fed, but the compliment was electrifying all the same.

She opened her mouth to speak–

But Greg said, “Your accent.”

Cold fingers walked down Toly’s spine. He sipped his hot chocolate – it was truly terrible, and souring his stomach, at this point – and held his ground, refusing to meet the man’s gaze.

“You’re Russian, right?” Greg wanted to know.

There were cover stories, and there were stupid, needless lies. “Da.”

“I thought so.” Greg sounded pleased to have been correct. “I did some work in St. Petersburg a while back. Beautiful city. We got to tour the Winter Palace. The fountains are just stunning. I’d seen them in documentaries before, but it’s a completely different experience in person.”

“Hm,” Toly hummed. He needed to get away, back of his neck crawling with uneasiness.

“Have you been? To St. Petersburg, I mean.”

“I have,” Raven chimed in, visibly recovered. “In winter, no less. I froze my bum off, but the photoshoot was inspired. Ice skating themed, you know.”

“I bet it was beautiful. And you?”

Toly could feel the man’s gaze on the side of his face, the laser-focus of his attention. Why? Why was he so curious? What did he want?

Toly said, “No. I haven’t seen it.”

“That’s a shame. You’re from Moscow, then?”

Alarm bells jangling in the back of his head, Toly kept his voice flat and totally disinterested. “Volgograd,” he lied. “It’s a big country; there’s more than two cities.”

Greg chuckled hollowly, without humor.

Unable to help it any longer, buzzing beneath his scrutiny, Toly snuck a look at his face, and his blood ran cold. Greg’s teeth were bared in the semblance of a smile, but his eyes had grown dark, his gaze fixed and threatening, brows drawn sharply together.

Toly wasn’t afraid of him…but he had a healthy dose of respect for the trouble that sort of look could mean for a man running from ruthless enemies. Moneyed, suspicious, if Greg found out who Toly was, and where he was from, it would only take a few phone calls to sic the Obshchak on him.

Composure fully regained, now, Raven said, “Tom’s brother is a model. He’ll be walking for us in Fashion Week in the spring. Tom’s learning the ropes from me so he can take over as his brother’s manager before then. Yuri’s with a ghastly old battleax at the moment, isn’t he?” She didn’t wait for Toly to answer. “Better to keep it all in the family, I say.”

“Right,” Toly said. He motioned over his shoulder. “I should–”

“Oh, yes, of course, don’t let us keep you,” Raven said. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t hesitate to call if you think of any more questions before then.” The last was said with emphasis, her brows lifting, her meaning clear:I expect to hear from you tonight.

Up until an hour or so ago, he’d maintained the fiction that he wouldn’t go by her place tonight. Now, heart hammering, he turned, and walked away, both of them knowing he’d be out on her balcony when the others went to bed.

Seventeen

There was cold glass beneath her palms again, the sliding door to the balcony, this time, instead of the mirror. Their reflections were dim, ghostly pale limbs limned in the golden glow of a single lamp on the bedside table. She’d gotten him out of his clothes right away, no teasing; had tasted the inked skin of his chest, traced the onion domes of the basilica with the tip of her tongue, until he grunted low in his throat and took an impatient grip on her hair.