Page 47

MIA

The second we step into StarTech’s R you should see it! Such a beauty. Smaller than a fingernail.”

“Oh,” I blink, trying to process the mile-a-minute speed of Tikhon’s speech. Warmth spreads in my stomach at the idea of having been useful—to him, to the company, to Yulian. “That’s amazing. I’m glad I could?—”

“So far, ingestion hasn’t proved to be a problem,” he continues, completely unaware I’ve spoken at all, “except for Dave. But you know Dave, always choking on his food?—”

“Tikhon,” Yulian cuts in impatiently. “Not now.”

“Yessir! Sorry, sir!”

“And stop poisoning your coworkers. You’re one HR complaint away from me having to transfer you to Siberia.”

That seems to actually terrify him. “Not Siberia! They’re still looking for me there!”

“Then I guess you’ll have to leave the break room fridge alone.”

His shoulders slump. “I should’ve taken the job with Neura. They’d have let me put chips wherever I liked.”

“Go on, then.” Yulian says it with the confidence of someone who knows it’s never gonna happen. “See what they offer.”

“No way. Last time, the HR gal threw up when she saw my BGC. Besides, they wanted me to work for six figures. What am I gonna do, starve?”

“Then go dig up whatever you stuffed in Dave’s pierogi.” Tikhon starts to trudge away, but Yulian puts a hand on his shoulder, spinning him back where he was. “But first, you’re going to give someone a tour.”

Then he points to Eli, whose face is currently plastered against a glass pane.

“Oh!” Tikhon beams. “What have we here? A young fan, perhaps?”

Eli unsticks himself from the case. “Hi,” he mumbles shyly, half-hiding behind me.

“Eli,” Yulian says, “this is Tikhon, my chief engineer. He’s the one who makes all the spy gadgets.”

“Spy—?” A glare from Yulian shuts Tikhon right up. “O-of course! The spy gadgets!”

Eli’s face instantly brightens. “Really?!”

“Really.” Tikhon crouches down, quick to play along. “Wanna see more of them?”

“Can I, Mommy?!”

“Knock yourself out,” I grin. “But behave, you hear me? Don’t give Tikhon any trouble, or I’ll know.”

“With the Mommy-Sense?”

“Precisely.”

He scurries off excitedly with Tikhon, who also looks like he’s having the time of his life. Where else is he going to find someone who’ll actually listen for five minutes in a row?

Knowing Eli, he’ll “ooh” and “aah” in all the right places, too. If anyone can match Tikhon’s crazy about nanotech, that’s the kid I’ve raised on pizza and James Bond.

“‘Mommy-Sense’?” Yulian asks as soon as they’re gone.

“It tingles when he’s naughty.”

He shakes his head, but I catch the hint of a smile there. Dimples don’t lie.

Yulian catches me staring. His smirk turns wolfish, hungry and knowing.

“So,” I say, eager to redirect this buzz in the air literally anywhere else, “is tech all you do here?”

“That’s a bold question to ask.”

He draws closer. His cologne fills my lungs, making it really hard to steer my thoughts away from where they’re headed. Every time that scent hits my nostrils, the memories come flooding back, reminding me of how close I’ve been to the source of it.

His skin, his body.

No clothes in between.

Get it together, Mia. You can’t jump him in a room full of nanotech. That’s got to be a health code violation.

“Well, you’re not any other CEO,” I say, staring with interest at the black-tiled floor. “I’m guessing there’s a rotating bookcase somewhere that leads to the bowels of the Earth?”

“Where I keep my torture dungeons?” That dimple deepens, amusement lighting up every corner of his face. It’s so subtle, most would miss it. But then again, “most” haven’t been on this man’s arm for enough dates to make it feel so damn real . “Flay my enemies alive for their secrets?”

“Something like that.”

He seems to consider something. Pauses just long enough to make me wonder if I’ve overstepped.

Then, as if winning a mental argument with himself, he gives a single nod and beckons me to follow.

We walk up to the far edge of the room. The glass cases with the prototypes grow bigger here, turning into floor-to-ceiling tubes.

“Maybe I was wrong about the dungeons,” I quip, more to calm down my nerves than anything else. “Maybe you’ve got a secret lab.”

“Sounds interesting. What would I make there?”

“Beats me.” I shrug. “Replicants. Androids. Pokémon.”

With a final curve of his lips, he pushes on a tile.

And the wall. Freaking. Moves.

I catch my jaw before it can shatter on the floor. My eyeballs, too, lest they roll under the conveyor belts.

Because there’s conveyor belts everywhere in here.

The low whirring of printing presses catches my attention. “I assume you’re not making Peppa Pig stickers here?”

“I’m sure that could be arranged.” He puts a hand on my shoulder, steering me in the right direction. “Look closer.”

I lean over the railing and squint. From this high up, it’s hard to see the details, but at the same time, you just can’t miss it. Can’t mistake what they’re printing for anything else.

“Money,” I whisper.

“Bingo.” His palm moves to my back, rubbing circles into it. Soothing, maybe, or keeping me from bolting out the door with all his secrets. “Want a private tour?”

I shouldn’t. This is why spousal privilege was made, and guess what? Fake fiancées don’t have it. I should squeeze my eyes shut, plead the Fifth, clutch the concept of plausible deniability with both hands.

Instead, I freaking nod .

What the hell is wrong with me?

I don’t get to explore that thought further, though. Soon, Yulian is guiding me down a steel staircase, each of my steps echoing like a gunshot. My pulse keeps thundering in my throat, louder with every heartbeat.

Am I afraid? Excited? A kinky mix of both I should probably bring up with a therapist?

I have no idea. All I know is that this— whatever it is—is Yulian, too.

And I want to know every part of him.

We get down to the conveyor belts. My eyes bulge when I realize just how many currencies are being slapped on what has got to be the most expensive stationery paper in existence: euros, pounds, francs, yen. Freaking rubles, too.

“No dollars?”

“I don’t shit where I eat.”

“Smart.” I shrug. “OSHA-compliant, too.”

He gives me a disbelieving laugh. “I’m showing you my secret dungeon. The least you could do is act cowed.”

“Oh, I’m cowed, believe me,” I reply, with a tone that isn’t cowed at all. “Full cow. One-hundred percent premium beef.”

“A nurse and a comedian. Talk about a triple threat.”

“What’s the third?”

Suddenly, Yulian’s palm crawls down to my ass. He squeezes. “Right here,” he drawls.

I bite my lip bloody not to moan. The way those hands are kneading me— God, where’s a bed when you need one? Or even a flat, non-moving surface without stacks of illegally forged foreign banknotes on it?

I’m about to settle for the floor when I realize we aren’t alone. “ Dobryy vecher, pakhan. ”

Yulian answers with a nod. Not for the first time, I wonder if it’s not too late to download Duolingo.

A few more men greet us as we pass, but not as many as I’d expected in a place this big.

Yulian seems to read my mind. “We’re striving for full automation. Fewer accidents that way.”

“Are we talking smudged edges or limbs crushed under the presses?”

“Both.”

The way he says it makes a chill run down my spine. So business-like. So… cold.

And yet, at the same time, I realize that can’t be all there is. Because who would care enough about maimed Bratva grunts to actually tweak things to prevent it? Why invest in state-of-the-art machinery like this instead of cutting corners unless you actually gave a shit?

Unless you actually cared?

“Is this why you’re running StarTech?” It’s a hunch, a wild guess, nothing more. “Because you’re concerned with… safety?”

He doesn’t meet my gaze. “Every Bratva needs a good cover.”

“Not this good. Not with a CEO dropping by every day to check on his prototypes.”

“If the CEO isn’t involved with his company, the company won’t stay profitable for long.”

“Would it matter?” I point with my thumb towards the piles of fake money. “It’s not like you need it to be.”

His throat works. I can tell I’ve hit the nail on the head, but also that he wishes I hadn’t. That whatever secret I’ve stumbled upon isn’t one he intended to share. Not tonight. Perhaps not ever.

Eventually, he exhales. “You’re a nosy little thing, you know that?”

“Got it on a bumper sticker.”

“Of course you do.” His lip twitches, but only for a moment. “I lost people.”

It’s just three words, but they hit like bullets. “Soldiers?”