Page 3 of The Bratva’s Innocent Sold Bride (Fokin Bratva #9)

I was buzzing all afternoon and went shopping for a few new work outfits.

Not that it would matter what I was wearing, crammed into a cubicle with fifty other people, all with their noses glued to a screen and not caring at all what the newbie was wearing.

But I was determined to stick to a budget and only use my own paycheck once they started, so I had to get it out of my system.

At home later that day, Jackson took my bags, and I knew that everything would be unpacked and laid out neatly on my bed. They were just simple pants and blouses, but they’d be treated like the finest evening wear.

It would be months before I saved up enough to move out on my own and really start a life of independence, unless I wanted to sell some jewelry, but that would be cheating.

I wanted to be like my father, building everything from the ground up, with no outside help, not even a loan, until his first business had been running for over a year.

Obviously, I couldn’t start out with nothing, but determination boiled in me to rise up without the benefit of my name or a hefty boost.

My own publishing firm in a year or two—what were they thinking? It was like my parents didn’t know me at all. Or, more likely, they were just worried about me. Dad had to see how upset I was that the job market for fresh graduates was rough, and in his own way, tried to help.

I wandered into the kitchen to see if it wasn’t too late to add a few of Dad’s favorite dishes, and Malina jumped to acquiesce, even though I swore that she should only do it if it was no problem. Malina had been our cook for as long as I could remember, and she adored my father.

She instantly wanted to know what was wrong, tutting around and pulling things out of the fridge and pantry. I had to admit something was bothering him, but also that I didn’t have a clue.

“He would never burden you, or any of us,” she said, pressing her hand against her heart.

“I’m not a kid anymore, Malina,” I said, sticking out my lip like a kid. We both laughed.

“Not to your papa. You’ll always be that squally baby he kept in a bassinet in his office while he was working.”

I knew the story. I was colicky forever, and my mother had an important nine to and had to sleep.

Dad was always up in the middle of the night anyway, creating something new in his home office.

He’d drag me in there with a humidifier pumping out steamy air and work right through all the noise, patting my back or walking around with me when I got really upset.

I don’t remember any of it, and he got his first big break when I was three, and then he was always running around, never home. Making us as rich as we are today, so I would never have to worry about anything.

Except I was pretty worried by the time he came home.

It was clear his mood had grown worse. He barreled down the hall toward his office, tossing his keys on the side table in the entry hall so forcefully they slid out of the silver bowl and skidded across the inlaid wood.

I got there in time to see Jackson rubbing his thumb across a scratch.

We gave each other a look, and I shrugged before following Dad to see if he wanted to have drinks.

I wasn’t beyond a little liquid courage, and he needed something to calm him down before he popped a vein.

He was talking on the phone in a low hiss, but immediately ended the call when he saw me enter his office.

The room was huge, converted from what was once two bedrooms to make a sanctuary of monitors, keyboards, piles of small tools, and stacks of notepads spilling off the long tables on one side.

On the other side, it was decked out like a library in a black and white movie, all fine leather furniture, stacks of books, and a rolling brass bar with crystal decanters of spirits.

He held video calls facing the antique shelves, and no one ever imagined the mess that was ten feet in front of him.

He forced a smile at me as he was stuffing his phone into his pocket. Was his hand shaking? I tried to get him to sit down, offering a shot of brandy or his favorite white wine before dinner.

“Just let me finish some things up,” he said, glancing at his watch.

“Malina made your favorites today,” I said, as if it were a coincidence.

He sighed, looking green at the mention of food of any kind.

Was he actually sick, and his assistant didn’t even know about it to tell me?

He really wanted me out of his office, so I went, not wanting to make things worse if it was just some overseas thing he was trying to sort out.

As soon as I left, I heard him get back on the phone with someone, speaking in that same harried, anxious voice, but I couldn’t make out what he said.

There was no way I was going to spy on him outside his own door; that was what his assistant was for.

After I called her, I was still in the dark.

Dad didn’t have any doctor’s appointments in the last few months, and as far as she could see, his stress level was normal.

Which meant this was something that started today and he’d kept clear of her, or he was doing a better job of hiding it from her than from me.

Either way, I didn’t want to make things worse until I could convince him to go to a doctor.

At dinner, he seemed more relaxed, but it was a front. I shoved aside all mention of the job and eased into some random health conversation.

He sighed, putting down his fork. “I’m not sick, CJ. Please don’t conspire with Rinda to get me to the doctor. You’d both have me hooked up to machines twenty-four-seven the way you worry.”

“Of course we worry,” I said. My heart twisted a little as I reached for his hand. “Look, I don’t want to take the job if it’s really upsetting you this much.”

A look of pain crossed his somber eyes. “It’s not that. Though I don’t like it. It doesn’t matter that it’s a starter position and no one knows who you are. They’ll find out. It might even look worse than you tricked—”

“I didn’t trick anyone! I aced every test and the interviewers loved me.” I understood how vehement he was against any accusations of nepotism, but this was too much.

He smiled. “Not so worried, I’ll have a heart attack now?”

“Well, I can’t believe you’d even think I would trick anyone or cheat. If I wanted a fast track, I’d be on a plane to London right now, wouldn’t I?”

“You know, I was thinking about a vacation. I am more stressed than usual. How about we both go to London for a little while? Leave tonight.”

This bizarre change of subject and the fact that he was admitting to any sort of weakness were alarming. And suspicious as hell. He was trying to bribe me away from the job.

“I have a lot of papers to go over before my start date,” I said. “Go on without me, maybe go to the National Gallery with Mom, now that you’re besties.”

“We really should both go,” he said, voice bordering on urgent.

We had a little back and forth, him cajoling, me standing firm. He still never came out and said I was fired and didn’t have a job to go to, so I finally caved and outright asked.

“Are you going to send word from the top that Celine Brighton is no longer on the payroll?”

He shook his head. “That would certainly tip someone off, wouldn’t it? I’d get some lower-level manager to give you the axe.”

I swallowed hard, trying to decide if I should give up with dignity or keep fighting when he was so clearly going through something. Before I could decide, he patted my hand.

“Keep the job,” he said. “I’m proud of your hard work. But if anyone finds out who you really are, you’re out. Got it?”

The chair nearly toppled, so I was quick to jump out of it and give him a hug.

He looked like he’d gone nine rounds with a heavyweight and was pulling his phone out as I left the dining room.

Poor Malina’s delicious meal was largely untouched since we’d both been so preoccupied with our own problems.

“Dad, please get a checkup if you think you need one,” I said, holding onto the doorway and watching as his hands trembled while he tapped out a text message.

He rolled his eyes at me. “Go, let me work.”

He’d refuse to believe he needed one, but now that Rinda was tipped off, she’d make him an appointment, and he’d go to it to avoid his steely assistant’s bad temper. Or maybe he really did just need a vacation.

As I made my way up to my room to sort through my new clothes and start reading the Taurus Ingenuity employee manuals, the doorbell rang. At this time of evening, Jackson would be enjoying his own dinner, so I called out that I’d get it and skipped happily to the door.

“Wait,” my father bellowed from behind me.

It was too late, I already swung the big front door open, and my mouth just about dropped as smoothly as the well-oiled hinges.

Who was this hunk of man? Normally, Dad’s associates were all pale, skinny, and slightly stooped from all the time hunched over a screen.

This man was tan, built like an MMA fighter—yes, I sometimes watched; it was a guilty pleasure—and had the bluest eyes I had ever seen.

My mind was already cataloging all the other blue things in the world his eyes put to shame when he stepped through the doorway, crowding in on me.

I looked up and up since he was at least eight inches taller than me, maybe a foot. I was trapped in his eyes, which were a bit fierce as he took me in. His dark brows were drawn together as he kept coming into the house, making me back up or collide with his very firm body.

“Get your boss,” he said, his deep voice clipped, with a hint of a Russian accent.

He was gorgeous, but completely obnoxious. “Do you mean my father?” I said.

His look of anger quickly evaporated, and he looked me over again, a slow smile of appreciation making my palms sticky. I had to repress the urge to straighten my top after his gaze lingered on my chest before those blue eyes met mine again.

“Oh, you’re the charming daughter that Gordon’s so proud of?”

Now that he knew I wasn’t the hired help, he was prepared to try to win me over. Sorry, but it took more than a face that could be on billboards or a body that I could climb like a mountain. Still, I forced a charming smile for Dad’s benefit.

“CJ!” My father rushed in from the dining room, stopping dead when he saw who the uninvited guest was. “Go to your room at once.”

The dark stranger snickered, and my cheeks burst into flame. Like I was six years old. Dad’s voice brooked no argument, though, and I turned away as he told the man he supposed they should talk.

“I think so,” he answered gruffly, the accent stronger and somewhat intimidating.

It gave me the shivers, and when I reached the end of the hall, I turned back to watch them walking toward my father’s office.

Should I be worried? Something about that man rang all sorts of alarm bells, but we had security at the gate who would have been here by now if he wasn’t welcome.

Just because the man shook me up with his proprietary gaze, like he was cataloging all my parts, didn’t mean he was dangerous.

Except, there was no way that man wasn’t dangerous.

But who would want to hurt my father? He kept to himself and worked tirelessly to improve his company. He was a bastion of society. And we had security ready at the push of a button.

There was no forgetting those blue eyes, but I made myself try. I had much more important things to do now that I got to keep my job.