Page 1 of The Bratva’s Innocent Sold Bride (Fokin Bratva #9)

It’s happening. It took three weeks of grueling interviews and skill tests, but I just got the message welcoming me aboard.

I was so excited, I let out a loud whoop in the internet café, but at that hour it was only other unemployed, gamers making their own noise, and a few people who were just there for the surprisingly good coffee and fresh cinnamon buns.

Unemployed no more. Finally, a job. It wasn’t like I had been out of school for very long, but since I had been grinding for top grades at Stanford for four years so I could graduate in the highest tier, two months with nothing but time on my hands felt like forever.

The expanse of free time didn’t suit me, and when I wasn’t polishing my resumé or groveling with my old professors for leads, I tried spending time at one of my family’s charities.

It wasn’t that I hated it, but I sure didn’t love it.

Helping kids who were new to the country learn to speak and read English was a worthy cause, but I rarely saw the classrooms.

No, because of who I was, I got stuck with fundraising endeavors.

Luncheons, garden parties, galas. Those things are fine if you’re a guest, but being on a committee with a bunch of competitive society ladies who’d clawed their way into their lofty positions wasn’t fun.

They resented me for a million reasons, but it mostly came down to the fact that my father started the charity.

No one could say anything either, because I did my best to help out, and hadn’t asked to suddenly be the head of the committee.

I did, however, ask to be an employee at my father’s company.

And no one could say a darn thing about it, because I went in using my mother’s maiden name and my real first name, which nobody outside my family calls me.

I jumped through every hoop to get one of the lowest echelon jobs—so low level I probably could have used my real name and no one in the interview chain would have recognized me.

So now, Celine Brighton would be starting at Taurus Ingenuity in a week, instead of CJ Taurus, heiress to the whole kit and caboodle.

Just like I got into Stanford, I landed my first tech-related job all on my own. It was lousy pay, and I was sure to be bored senseless, but I’d take a walk through hell before I cashed in on my name. Not that my father would allow it anyway.

That was the one tiny little blot marring my perfect happiness.

Anxiety roiled in my stomach when I thought about breaking the news to my father.

He’d been rooting for me to get a job, but he was always adamant that I stay far from the company he'd started in his own college years, which was now worth hundreds of millions. We might have even tipped over into billionaire status, but I didn’t pay too much attention. It was his money, not mine.

He was generous to a fault and denied me nothing, except a job at Taurus Ingenuity.

He didn’t even want me to get my degree in computer science, urging me instead to pursue a career in publishing, like my mother.

She would have been delighted to take me under her wing at the small firm she ran in London, but as much as I loved to read, I had no interest in how the books got made.

I was my father’s daughter, obsessed with technology, and for some reason, he just wasn’t having it.

He’d never once been able to give me a reason other than he despised nepotism and would have taken that same walk through hell with me before letting anyone accuse him of installing me in a cushy position that I didn’t earn.

But the position was anything but cushy, and I got it without ever mentioning his name, so I hoped he would adjust and would be proud.

He had to know something was up because I asked him to lunch at his favorite restaurant.

At least, I thought it was still his favorite.

He rarely had time to eat out with me during the day, but I wanted my announcement to take place in public and not at home. Just in case.

I parked my car on the street instead of letting the building’s valet take it, just to give me an extra moment to gather myself.

I ran a brush through my hair and put it back in its ponytail, the only possible way to style it since it was so ruthlessly straight.

I had on the same outfit I wore to the final interview and hoped that the forest green pantsuit would bring me good luck.

I could have worn my old Princess Jasmine costume, and he wouldn’t have noticed, but looking like I was in charge helped me feel like I was.

When I walked into the cozy bistro, he was already seated, but the hostess assured me he had only arrived a minute or so before me.

No one wanted to keep Gordon Taurus waiting, not even his only daughter.

I should have been hurrying to his table, but I dragged my feet as I watched him with his nose glued to his tablet, a scowl on his face.

He’d just turned fifty-two, but his hair was solid white, a thick snow drift on top of his head.

He was fit, but only because his assistant, doctor, and I nagged him about his health.

If he had his way, he’d stay chained to his computers all day, which was why I got him a treadmill desk last Christmas.

He was a bit distant when I was growing up, but that was to be expected with his powerful position in the world.

After the divorce, when I was thirteen, he became the doting dad I was now somewhat frightened to sit down with.

The future I’d been dreaming about since I started college was riding on this.

“Excuse me, Mr. Taurus,” I said in a perfect impression of his assistant’s nasally voice.

His head jerked up, then he blinked when he saw me, and the flash of alarm melted into relief.

“Celine Jane,” he said in a clipped voice. Oops. He was stressed about something, and my little joke fell flat. “You’re too good at that. I thought for sure some emergency came up and I’d have to miss our lunch.”

“Would Rinda actually run down here to get you?” I asked.

The restaurant was only two blocks from his office, which, come to think of it, was probably why it was his favorite. The man was chained to his company. Not a prisoner, though. He wouldn’t have had it any other way.

He waved off my question, never taking me into his confidence about anything work-related. Or anything, really. He didn’t like to worry me. We ordered, and when our mint iced teas arrived, he settled his palms on either side of his bread plate and gave me a look.

There was going to be an announcement, and I could already tell I wasn’t going to like it. I had to move fast.

“I know your job search hasn’t been going well,” he said, holding up his hand in case I interrupted. “It’s not your fault. No one’s getting hired anywhere. Which is why I talked to your mother.”

“You talked to Mom?” I was aghast. Even after nine years of living on separate continents, they still only communicated through lawyers.

“She’s got a flat lined up for you and—”

“Wait, what? Why?”

He didn’t look happy. “Well, you can’t work for an English firm and not live in England.

At least not right away. But Cora thinks if you take to it, she can finally open a branch here in the US with you at the helm.

Probably New York, but that’s not too far, and I’m there five or six times a year anyway. ”

He was babbling because he could see the betrayal written all over my face.

“You went behind my back to Mom?” Now it was my turn to hold up my hand, throwing caution to the wind. “I wouldn’t have a clue how to run a publishing company, and I don’t want to learn. Why did you spend all that money on my degree if you didn’t think I wanted to use it?”

He rolled his eyes as if four years at an Ivy League college were small potatoes, and it was for him. But the point still stood. I wasn’t about to flush all that hard work down the drain.

“The reason I wanted to have lunch with you is that I just found a job. It’s entry level but—”

“CJ, that’s great,” he said, sincerely relieved I didn’t have to move to London.

Even though we didn’t see each other too much other than the occasional dinner at home, he would miss me if I moved away, and that was probably why he looked so stressed when I first arrived.

He already looked more relaxed and waved over the server to order champagne to toast my accomplishment.

Of course, the little lunch bistro didn’t have any, so he started questioning the wine selection.

“It’s at Taurus Ingenuity,” I blurted as he was about to choose the Grenache.

“Never mind,” he abruptly told the server. Then he faced me in silence. Disapproving silence.

“No one knows we’re related. I used Mom’s last name. It’s literally the lowest job in the company. If anyone finds out, they’d hardly accuse you of giving me a leg up.”

He pressed his lips together to the point they disappeared.

Our food arrived, but I was too nervous to take a bite of the chicken breast resting on baby greens.

He cut into his rare steak, and red spilled across the porcelain plate.

As the silence wore on, it felt like my chances of keeping this job were draining away like the juices of the meat.

Ten years seemed to pass as he chewed and stared at me with disappointment in his shrewd hazel eyes, the same color as mine, although I could make mine look green with the right clothing.

Wrinkles I hadn’t noticed the last time we were this close together, furrowed between his brow and at the corners of his downturned mouth.

“How is taking the lowest-level job in my company better than running your own publishing firm in a matter of a year or so?” he asked. He sincerely looked confused, like he didn’t know me at all. It kind of hurt my feelings.

“Because I’m not, and never have been, interested in publishing. Or bookbinding, or printing, or writers, or whatever else Mom might do over there in London.”

He winced, probably thinking about his ex-wife doing writers.

Their divorce was a messy one, involving a military hero whose memoir she was publishing at the time.

The military hero ended up divorced as well, but it didn’t affect the sales of the book.

It was what got my dad sole custody, though, since he managed to keep a pristine reputation throughout the ordeal.

That reputation was extremely important to him.

I tried to think of a way to convey to him that I was on his side.

I wouldn’t have even applied at his company if I had the slightest nibble somewhere else, but he was right about the job market.

I hated the thought someone might think I didn’t get the job on my own merit, as much as he hated nepotism.

Before I could say anything else in favor of keeping the position, his phone buzzed violently, making him jump.

My dad wasn’t one to be jumpy, and the way he grabbed the phone and flipped it over to check it made me think his initial stress didn’t have anything to do with me at all. He went pale as he read the message and got up, waving for the server.

“I’m sorry, CJ, looks like there’s an emergency after all. I’ve got to run.”

As he took care of the bill, I tried to ask him what was wrong, but as usual, he refused to say a word about it, only telling me not to worry.

It could have been a million things, from a chip manufacturing snafu to a possible strike at one of his plants.

Something was definitely wrong, though, and I was left behind to eat dessert on my own as he all but flew out of the restaurant.

I wasn’t concerned that it had anything to do with his health, because I had a pact with Rinda that she wouldn’t let him keep something like that from me.

And Dad didn’t care about his health anyway, not to the point he’d be racing away because of it.

It was something to do with the company, because that was his whole life.

The charities did a lot of good, but as far as he was concerned, they were an annoying gala once or twice a year and a not-so-annoying tax break.

I longed to be part of the company now, not just because I was the daughter of the founder, but an employee too. I couldn’t wait to get to the next level and the next. Maybe one day I’d be solving the problems that had turned my dad’s hair pure white and deepened the wrinkles in his face.

As I ate the warm chocolate chip cookie with homemade vanilla bean ice cream, I called my mom. She was mildly disappointed I wasn’t coming to London, but didn’t understand why I was so hell bent on getting into her line of work after turning my nose up at it my whole life.

“I’m not turning my nose up,” I said, telling her I was honestly grateful she was willing to risk everything by letting me be in charge of something I knew nothing about.

She did her mom duty by telling me she was positive I would excel in anything I put my mind to, then promptly told me she had another call she had to take. I hadn’t talked to her in over a week, but there was nothing I could do; she’d already ended the call.

Both my parents were driven workaholics, something I couldn’t wait to be myself now that I was getting the chance.

I admired them, respected them, and really was grateful for everything they did for me.

I just wish I could keep either of their undivided attention, that something else wasn’t always more important.

Scooping up the last gooey bite of cookie and ice cream, the fleeting wish evaporated as I realized my dad never actually said he was firing me.

He didn’t exactly get the chance to, but that meant I had time to come up with more arguments in my favor.

He never said no to me when something was this significant.

All I had to do was make him see that this was the most important thing to me right now.

I texted him, saying I couldn’t wait to see him at dinner, and hoped everything was all right. I ended the message with a string of emojis that always made him laugh when I was a teenager.

He texted me back a thumbs up, and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Things couldn’t be so bad if he had found the time to answer me so soon. I’d get my chance to dazzle him at dinner so that there was no way he could snatch my dream out from under me.