Chapter Two
What an ass. An outrageous, too-beautiful-for-his-own-good ass.
Lily took a deep breath and fought to remain unruffled. Sandwiched between six feet three inches of notorious muscle and her late husband’s leather desk chair was not at all how she’d imagined this day going.
She was already rubbed raw. Sorrow over Russell’s passing mixing with resentment over the mess he’d left to poke at her at every turn. Add on the ugly words Paul had just unloaded as well as her exhaustion over the last year of legal battles and you got a woman tottering on the edge. The last thing she needed was this run-in.
But a scandal would be even worse.
“If you want to discuss business, make an appointment with my secretary.”
“I tried.” The precise, low delivery of each faintly accented syllable echoed with a thousand years of disdain, pedigree, and power. “Apparently, there’s a no-appointment policy when it comes to me.”
“I can’t imagine why.”
“Do you want to trade sarcastic comments or negotiate?”
“Neither.” She fiddled with her wedding band. “I buried my husband a year ago today.” The words hurt even to say.
“And yesterday the judge settled the estate in your favor, making you the official head of Winslow Industries.” Kazankov stepped impossibly closer. “There are no days off at the top.”
“Apparently, there’s little empathy as well.”
He blinked slowly. Like he hadn’t expected her to be able to string together three words, much less utter a comeback.
Surprising him brought a flare of satisfaction. It was the first time she’d felt something besides grief or fear since Russell told her he was dying.
Unfortunately, the man everyone called the Iceman—and not because he’d grown up right outside of Siberia—recovered fast. “Would you rather I pretend I’m sorry he’s gone like those other fakers trampling your lawn? They’ll hit you up for what they want tomorrow, I promise. At least I’m doing you the courtesy of being honest from the start.”
“Oddly enough, it doesn’t feel like courtesy.” Though maybe, while she’d never admit it aloud, it was somewhat refreshing.
Stepping around him, she drew back the curtain to peek outside. A never-ending stream of glamorous black- and gray-clothed bodies surged across the yard, their faces somber, their voices hushed.
Despite his delivery, she didn’t doubt Kazankov’s words. Her husband had once been rich enough to acquire many acquaintances, but he hadn’t been liked. By his own admission, he’d been a terrible husband to his first two wives, and an even worse father, putting work and profit above everything else. He’d had his reason, but the excuses didn’t change the fact that he’d done a lot wrong in his life.
Including with her.
Until last year. When he’d tried to make things right.
She dropped the curtain and turned around—to find Kazankov looming behind.
He moved quietly for such a big man, the subtle, sexy scent of clove and cinnamon spice a dizzying contrast to his bull-in-a-china-shop demeanor.
She tipped her chin and gave him her coolest stare. “Care to take a step back?”
“Care to sell me the company? I know Winslow Industries is nearly bankrupt.”
“Thanks to you.”
“Perhaps.” His smirk was pure wolf. “But I’m not your only problem. You’ve also inherited a nervous board that doesn’t want you.”
“I have supporters.”
“Enough for a majority should the board call for a vote to oust you?”
She fumed in silence. No point acknowledging what he already knew.
“Exactly.” He punctuated his victory with a single nod. “And the next board meeting is coming up fast.”
“Does this rehashing of the obvious have a point?”
He laughed. Flat out laughed. His gaze sweeping the length of her, something raw and reckless flaring in his gaze. Something she had no business noticing.
“Those board members may not like me, but they despise you.” She didn’t bother to sugarcoat it. “You’ve made no secret of your efforts to squeeze the company into compliance by ruining it financially.”
“If the board doesn’t like what happened, it should have insisted Russell sell me Winslow Industries when I first asked.”
The depth of his mercilessness frightened her. “I know why you want the company. I know what you think. But you’re wrong. Russell didn’t acquire Winslow Industries by illegal means. I’ve seen the contract. The deeds. It was all done aboveboard.”
“And you believe that, why? Because your late husband told you so?”
“I believe it because it’s true.” Unlocking her jaw, she pictured the calm lake her etiquette tutor had told her to envision and modulated her voice back from shrill. “And let me tell you, Mr. Kazankov, now that I’ve had an up close and personal glimpse of your charm, I can see exactly why most on the board despise you.”
His smile was unexpected. “You keep surprising me.” Before she could think of what to say to that, he was talking again. “But the fact is money talks—far louder than old grudges. Which is why I’m more than willing to give you enough cash to do whatever makes you happy.” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “Because I’m definitely not opposed to giving you a happy ending.”
“Bless your heart, you don’t know how tempting that sounds…” Eyes wide, she let her voice trail off in wispy, bimbo fashion.
Why? Because sometimes she could be a vindictive bitch. And there was something about Alexi Kazankov that had her desperate to take him down a peg.
Sure, the man was mouthwatering—if you got off on that unapproachable, bad-boy, Eastern European kind of beauty and dark, savage looks.
And, yes, the stupid girl she’d once been would have been drawn to his dangerous mix of magnificence and arrogance, shivering with self-destructive longing at all those muscles and the smoldering way he was looking at her—as if already imagining her naked and panting beneath him and then out the door the next morning, entirely forgotten.
Thankfully, that girl was long gone. Replaced by a woman who was in firm control of herself and her goals.
There’d be no mistakes this time around, especially of the hot, dominant-male kind.
“Unfortunately,” she continued after what she hoped was sufficient for him to start thinking he’d won, “Winslow Industries is not for sale and neither am I.”
It had never been about the money for her. Never.
Her new adversary’s low growl, as if he sensed her deliberate toying, proved immensely satisfying.
She remembered reading his family descended from Russian royalty and he’d grown up in a palace. After seeing him up close, she didn’t doubt it. The man radiated such command Lily had to lock her knees to keep from genuflecting where she stood.
He was everything she wasn’t. But that wouldn’t keep her from trying to teach him a valuable lesson.
“I don’t intend to turn tail and run. Despite your hope I’m too stupid to know otherwise, I’m well aware the company still holds numerous investments that, if managed well, can accrue the kind of profit required to stay afloat. That, right there, is the only happy ending I need.”
His low chuckle only enraged her more.
“Laugh it up,” she continued, “but I wonder if you’ll find it so amusing to know the first thing I did this morning in my new capacity as head was fire all three resort managers at our key holdings? I know they’ve been in your pocket and deliberately running things into the ground. Not anymore.”
“Impressive. But not nearly soon enough.”
She spoke through gritted teeth. “I also leveraged a small personal investment against the company’s current debt, allowing us to remain solvent through the month.”
His smile grew. “Someone’s been studying their business manuals.”
“I’ve done a lot more than that.” Her voice had gone low and mean, like the junkyard dogs that used to guard her uncle Travis’s trailer.
She started back toward Russell’s—whoops—her desk.
The Iceman blocked her path. “If I listened to everyone who’s told me no, I wouldn’t be the head of Kazankov Industries.”
“If I said yes to everyone who’s tried to convince me a good reaming was for my own pleasure, I’d have a far different job than the one I do now.”
One brown eyebrow went up. “Blunt straight talk? From that mouth? I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“I get the impression you have no idea who you’re dealing with.” He’d clearly done some research. But not enough. The worst of her secrets were locked up tight. She’d traded away her youth to ensure it.
“Maybe I don’t know you…yet,” he acknowledged. Too easily. As if his kind of arrogance wasn’t the least bit phased by such a small miscalculation. “But you shouldn’t underestimate me, either. If you want money left for manicures, fancy trips, and designer gowns, your smartest course of action is to sell me the company today. My next offer won’t be as generous.”
She brandished her fingers in his face. “I do my own nails, thanks.”
To her surprise, he seized her hand, the rough brush of his fingertips scorching her skin.
Before she could jerk her hand away, he turned it over, his thumb tracking slowly across her palm.
She told herself the sudden breathlessness was because she was furious.
“Old calluses.” His glittering blue gaze locked with hers. “I do know who I’m dealing with, Lily Bennett. A girl who grew up in a trailer park. No parents. No money. No security. No chance for pretty things.” His thumb scraped across her skin as if slicing right to the heart of her. “Until you met a much older man and suddenly found yourself on easy street.”
Unwelcome heat was replaced by ice-cold rage.
“I know what a bastard Russell could be,” he continued. “How easily he lied and manipulated. How effortlessly he could trample someone like you. But you’re free now. You don’t have to remain under his thumb. You can relish the youth and beauty you still have left. Party. Indulge. Travel. Truly live. It doesn’t have to be a dirty old man rutting between those gorgeous thighs next time around.”
“Get out.” Polite etiquette be damned, she used every ounce of fury to shake off his grip and storm to the door.
Her six-year marriage to Russell had been unconventional. Full of rough patches, inequalities, frustrations, and challenges. But, by the end, they’d had each other’s backs.
She turned the lock with a ferocious twist, wishing it were Kazankov’s neck. “I will see you in hell before I let you take over Russell’s company.”
“You’re making a mistake.” Her rival hadn’t moved.
“Feels right to me.” She offered up a big ole fake smile, a Southern specialty. The last thing she wanted was for him to see how much he’d made her bleed.
Russell’s death hadn’t broken her. Paul’s insults had barely stung. But this—this casual presumption by a business associate that she was nothing more than a pathetic victim who’d whore herself out in exchange for money—shot straight to the heart of old wounds.
She’d taken classes to get rid of the worst of her accent, done away with the big hair and bright-pink nails, and hit the books. Learned every facet of the business shadowing her husband. It didn’t matter. People still smelled the stink of an unwanted trailer baby deemed worthless until she sprouted tits and ass.
But she hadn’t been that kind of trash for a long time—and she never would again.
“Good-bye, Mr. Kazankov. It definitely hasn’t been a pleasure.” She shoved the door open, her forceful push sending the heavy wood bouncing into the wall. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jim jump to attention. At least he hadn’t deserted her entirely.
“This is far from settled.” Eyes narrowing, her new least-favorite-person-in-the-world sauntered forward, his strong jaw clenched tight. “I’ve tried to be nice about this, but I will have that company.”
This was his nice?
“You won’t last a week,” he continued. “Not with the way the deck is stacked against you.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“Don’t expect me to go easier on you because you’re a woman.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. I certainly don’t intend to go easier on you because you’re a presumptuous, arrogant Neanderthal. As a matter of fact, I’m considering it my main duty to make sure you never get your hands on my company.”
His smile was full of teeth. “Oh, sweet, sweet mishka. You’ll be making a deal with me within the week. I can taste victory already.”
Before she could formulate a response, he was gone.
In the resulting silence, Jim peeled himself off the wall, his worried gaze locked on her.
Arm muscles trembling, the need to slam the door clawing at her, she forced a cool smile in his direction and then quietly, calmly, slid it closed.
She was a woman in control of herself and her goals. She did not act impulsively anymore. She did not do anything rash—at least not in front of anyone else.
With a flick of her wrist, she locked the door. And then, away from prying eyes, whirled around.
Whisked off her elegant pump.
Hurled it with all her strength across the room.
It hit the wall with a satisfying, reckless crash. An ugly-ass, over-priced picture her decorator had said to buy tilted wildly on its hook.
Day one and being the head of Winslow Industries absolutely sucked.
But she wasn’t down for the count yet, and her new, best enemy and all-around asshole, Alexi Kazankov, was going to be very sorry he’d called her mishka—whatever the hell that meant—and even sorrier he’d made her throw that shoe.