Page 12 of One Dark Kiss (Grimm Bargains #2)

TWELVE

Rosalie

M y breath catches and I stand as Alexei walks inside, followed by my secretary, my paralegal, and a couple of junior attorneys.

Sir, you cannot just barge in here, Eloise sputters.

It s okay. I have to admit, she s looking at him with more curiosity than anger, as are the other three.

Mr. Sokolov is a client, and he s welcome anytime.

Everybody return to work. I infuse my voice with as much authority as I can manage, considering I m now blushing head to toe, at least I assume I am from how heated my skin gets.

Ella stands and partially puts her tiny body between me and Alexei, as if instinctively knowing to do so. I introduce them.

He smiles, all deadly charm, looking dangerous in his leather jacket. Miss Rendale, he says, it s nice to meet you. Rumor has it you were once the heir to TimeGem Moments.

I m still the heir. She briskly shakes his hand.

TimeGem Moments is currently ranked fourth out of the big social media companies, and it allows users to share memories in real-time.

It s pretty fascinating, really, and if Ella ever manages to wrestle the company away from her stepmother and stepsisters, she ll take the entire platform to mighty heights.

She looks back at me. I m busy tonight, but should we hit a couple of clubs tomorrow?

Sounds good, I say. It s been too long. We ll see if we can get Alana out without a million bodyguards.

Ha. Good luck with that, but we ll still try. Ella turns around and hugs me before heading toward the door. Call me if you need me.

Thanks. I don t blame her for fleeing.

She s great at computers, but not so wonderful with people. She gives Alexei what could only be considered a warning glare before turning and stomping out of my office.

I cross my arms. I don t believe we have an appointment.

His smile barely moves the hard planes of his face. Like you said, I m welcome anytime. He glances around my office. We should start preparing my case.

I ve already created a trial binder. Even in the generic but bad boy clothing, he somehow appears wealthy.

As if he s just dressing down for the day.

I have to admit, he s mouthwateringly sexy.

Follow me. I reach for my now cooled-off latte and walk toward him, my knees trembling.

I have a war room set up in the smaller conference room down the way.

He moves to the side and allows me to pass.

The heat from his body washes over me, and I shiver, masking the obvious tell by taking a drink of the coffee.

He follows me silently down the hallway, and I turn into the smallest conference room where my paralegal organized stacks of files with trial transcripts, depositions, evidence files, and pictures already taped to a board.

What s your plan? He shuts the door, enclosing us.

Heat swells from him and instantly charges the room.

First, we need to get a couple of issues straight. One, you re moving out of my place. Two, you re never to touch me again. Got it? I move to cross around the table.

He grasps the side of my waist with one hand, lifts, and easily plants me on the table. No.

My jaw drops open, and I set the coffee roughly down. How did he do that with one hand? My breath catches and not in the way I want. So I clear my throat. I m not giving you a choice.

He moves in, his hips spreading my thighs, and leans over me until I fall back onto my elbows. What in the world is he doing? We re at my office and anybody could walk by the conference room windows.

His eyes glitter. You might want to rethink your approach. If bringing you to orgasm is the only way to gain your cooperation, I ll get to it right now.

I stare up at his onyx eyes, feeling devoured. The man makes up his own rules and society s be damned. My lungs stutter, and even with my body lighting on fire, a new fear fuels through me.

A light flickers in those eyes. Just for a fleeting second. You want a choice in this? he rumbles.

I gape at that statement. I-I do have a choice in this. What an asshole.

You really don t, but I ll let you get there yourself. He steps back and gently tugs my skirt back down almost to my knees. Nothing goes farther between us until you ask for it. He moves away, and an irritating coolness washes over me.

I push myself off the table and shove hair out of my face.

It s time to regain control of this situation.

I want to go over your version of what happened the night of David Fairfax s murder.

My nipples sharpening, I stride around the table and roll out one of the plush brown leather chairs.

Then we need an alternate theory of who killed David.

I have a lot of alternate theories. Alexei pulls out a chair across from me.

Good. So he s going to be somewhat agreeable.

Also, I clear my throat, since we now understand the agreement between us, and I ll never make a move, you need to find a different place to stay.

I ve already given you the parameters. I m staying with you, and when you make the choice, there s no going back.

So take your time, he says mildly, cocking his head to look at the pictures Eloise taped to a board of him, Blythe Fairfax, David Fairfax, Garik Petrov, Hendrix Sokolov and Cal Sokolov.

Off to the side are taped pictures of the prosecuting attorney, the judge, and Miles Molasses from my firm.

I take a deep breath—one fight at a time. You mentioned that Miles Molasses from my firm was dirty?

Alexei s upper lip quirks. He must ve been because he sucked as a lawyer.

Miles had made mistakes in trial, but nothing horrible. Any other reason you made the accusation?

I said Miles worked with the prosecuting attorney and judge to get me convicted. I had a feeling at the time because he didn t do a very good job, but rumors abound in prison. When the judge and prosecuting attorney were taken down, those rumors flew wild. The three were friends.

I ll need to hire a private investigator to look into this.

Alexei settles back in his seat as if he owns the room. First thing we do is release my financial accounts.

I nod. I m having my paralegal draft up the paperwork right now. We have a good argument that you need the funds for a decent defense.

Apparently, the trust holds a morality clause, and so when Alexei had been convicted, Lillian had been able to freeze the funds. Now that he s been freed, I should be able to make those available to him.

I reach for a legal notepad. How much are we talking about?

He lifts one careless shoulder. It depends on how well the fund has done while I ve been in prison. I haven t received statements. But there were about two billion dollars in it before then.

I cough and look up, my eyes wide. Two billion?

He shrugs as if that kind of money is no big deal. Yes.

Man, we live a different life, I mutter, making notes on the notepad. All right, in your own words, tell me what happened from the night before to the morning that David Fairfax was killed.

Alexei, quite understandably, had not testified, nor had he said a word to the police, according to the police reports I have already read through.

His fingers drum quietly on the heavy mahogany conference table, and he looks up to stare at Blythe Fairfax s picture. I worked with Garik at the bar that night. We were drunk. We sang some tunes. Blythe met me there, we went back to her place, and I stayed the night.

I lean back in my chair, inexplicably and unreasonably jealous. How long did you date?

Date? He chuckles. We didn t exactly date.

I hold on to my patience with both hands. All right. How long did you have a sexual relationship with Mrs. Fairfax?

He sighed. I don t know, maybe three months. It wasn t serious.

Three months is a long time for you, as far as I can tell from my research, I say. The relationship must ve been somewhat serious.

He glances away from the picture and back at me, piercing me with those dark eyes. Maybe. I wasn t planning on marrying her or anything, but there was something more there than usual.

I ignore another unreasonable spurt of jealousy. What happened that night?

Like I said, we went back to her place, fucked all night, and I got up and left in the morning. His voice hardens.

Does he still care for her? How did you get home?

My bike. I followed her from the bar to her place.

I cock my head. You ride a motorcycle? Not only hadn t I read that fact in any of his files, I never noted it in media write-ups about him.

Yes. His jaw appears made from stone.

So the bike is a sensitive issue to him? Who is this man? Where was Mr. Fairfax while you were fucking his wife all night?

My crude repeat of his words has his lips curving again. Fairfax was out of town at a business meeting. Well, at least we thought, Alexei says evenly, looking like a lounging panther in a chair. One not quite tame.

I take a calming breath. Okay. What time did you leave that morning?

Around six. I headed to my place, showered and changed before going to work and charging the crystals at Hologram Hub.

How often do you need to charge those crystals, and how long did the process take that time?

He looks up and to the left, as if trying to remember.

The crystals require recharging every two weeks, absent a cyberattack or a system overload.

Then they require more attention, obviously.

That time? I stopped in my office, read through some financials, then went down and charged for about an hour.

So we re talking, what, maybe about eleven o clock is when you finished? I scribble the timeline into my notes.

Around that, he says.

I look up, curious. Alana has always remained tightlipped about the process, and Alexei seems more open to discussion. Does charging the stones drain you?

No. It s an exchange of energy, meaning I end up charged as well. I feel stronger the second I connect.

Fascinating. What happened after you charged the amethysts that day?

Then I received a text from Blythe saying she was at Pilates and asking if I wanted to meet her at her place for lunch.

The way he said the word caught my ears.

Lunch, I say sarcastically.

His grin shows sharpened teeth. We would have eaten at some point.

This guy really is an asshole. I fight the urge to pinch the bridge of my nose because a headache is definitely coming my way. So what then?

Since this was a customary practice of ours, I jumped on my bike, and I headed to Blythe s.

Was she at home when you arrived?

He steeples his fingers beneath his chin, giving him a contemplative look that somehow appears dangerous. As if he s plotting. You know she wasn t, if you ve already read the files.

Then how did you get in?

I knew the gate code, he replies smoothly. I opened it and drove up to the front. I also knew the front door code, and I walked inside.

So they were closer than he d insinuated. Then what did you do?

He shrugs. I called out for Blythe, realized she wasn t home yet, and so I went to the kitchen to get myself a drink.

I pause, waiting. Years ago, I learned a good interviewing technique is to just pause and let people talk. Alexei stares at me, not saying a word. Perhaps he knows the same technique.

Continue, I prod curtly.

Then I found Fairfax stabbed to death on the kitchen floor.

Alexei looks away as if remembering. There was blood everywhere.

So I took a step back, planning to leave, and the housekeeper walked in through the garage door, her arms full of groceries.

She screamed, dropped the groceries, and ran back outside before I could stop her.

I gulp. What would you have done if you could have stopped her?

It doesn t matter. The front door opened, and Blythe came in, running toward the kitchen after having heard the screams.

How do you know she wasn t there before you? I ask quickly.

He shrugs. Her car wasn t in the drive when I arrived but was when the police escorted me so nicely out.

Do you think she could have killed her husband and then cleaned it up?

I don t know, he admits. It wouldn t surprise me. She inherited his entire estate upon his death. If I recall, it was fairly lucrative.

Yeah, like millions. I shake my head. So the housekeeper called the police and what did you and Blythe do?

Blythe paled and almost passed out, so I took her into the other room and sat her down. Got us both a bourbon and we drank them quickly as we waited for the police.

I reach for a file folder and flip it open. Your fingerprints were found all over the counter and on the fridge.

No shit. I was there a lot.

I turn a page. The murder weapon was a knife from their utensil drawer. It was found thrown in the pond out back.

He snorts. I didn t touch that knife that day, and I sure as hell didn t throw it in the pond out back.

It has your fingerprints on it, I say, reading through.

Rosalie, he says softly.

I look up at him.

Do you really think I was stupid enough to leave my prints on a murder weapon and then throw it in a pond located on the estate of the deceased?

I truly don t, but maybe there hadn t been time between the housekeeper calling the police and their arrival. I read through more notes. Blythe said you left her while she was drinking her bourbon.

He runs a rough hand through his hair. I went to check on the housekeeper because she was shrieking at the top of her lungs, still in the garage.

The woman had actually grabbed a mop to start cleaning up.

I stopped her, I sat her down on the steps in the garage, and then I returned to check on Blythe and wait for the police.

I read through the notes again. The investigating officer had been a Detective Battlement, and he had precise, neat penmanship. So there was time for you to take a knife and throw it in the pond.

Sure, Alexei agrees, but like I said, I wouldn t do that. That was stupid.

Maybe you panicked.

His chin drops slightly, and he stares at me. Unlikely.

Alexei Sokolov does not seem like a man who would panic, even back then.

If you didn t kill him, who did?

That s the question, isn t it, Peaflower? I have a feeling we re going to need to figure that out if we re going to get anywhere with this.

The man has a point. I reach for another file folder. Let s discuss the judge and the prosecuting attorney. Who could have bribed them? I need to figure out exactly what they did to ensure Alexei s conviction, and then I should investigate my colleague, Miles. What do you think?

Alexei shrugs. That s a long list. That would include everybody from my family to anybody I pissed off, to the rival social media company owners. We better unfreeze those funds fast.

I nod. We re going to need more than one private investigator.

He smiles. All right. This has been productive. How about you and I go grab lunch now?

There s no doubt in my mind he does not mean lunch .