CHAPTER ONE
Benjamin
“It wasn’t me.”
If I had a quid for every time I heard that, I would…well, I’d only have thirty-five quid, but that’s not the bloody point. The point is that in my line of work, I hear it all the blasted time, and it’s become annoying as hell.
Sure, one could say I bring it upon myself, but honestly, to ferret out rats and moles is in my job description at PharmGen. It’s a far-sight better than what I used to do as one of the grandsons of the head of the Bratva.
Murder.
Espionage.
Global banking.
Social media trolling.
Yeah, I’ve gone all straight and narrow. With my employer’s blessing and dictate, I legally spy.
Admittedly, it’s not my favorite part of my job, but I console myself with the fact that the people I report on are disloyal, a character trait I loathe. They are the ones sending company secrets to our competitors, or looking for ways to cheat our employer out of millions.
“You’ve got the wrong guy, Romanov,” Clark insists.
Slowly, I shake my head. “Afraid I don’t.” I push the packet of emails across the desk. In this digital world, there is something so satisfying about touching the physical. “This was downloaded directly from your computer’s hard drive, then personally printed out by me.”
Clark’s face turns red and his eyes bulge so big that I mentally sort through his personnel file to assure myself he doesn’t have any preexisting heart conditions. “Bullshit,” he spits out. “Bloody fucking bullshit.”
Nope. No preexisting conditions.
“I haven’t done anything wrong,” he insists. “Check whatever you want, but my work here has been aboveboard. There’s no way my computer had anything on it.”
They always tell on themselves. My work here has been aboveboard… keyword: here. Leveling him with a look, I say, “You do realize that everything you do on your laptop here, and at home, is tracked?”
That takes some of the bluster out of him, but Clark can’t help himself. They never can.
He starts to argue again. “It’s not—”
“Mine,” I finish. “It wasn’t you. Yes, you’ve said that at least three times.”
“Well, it’s not me.”
That’s another quid. I fucking hate the repetitiveness of this. Almost makes me want to go back to my old life. At least there was variety. He’d never known if a friend was an enemy or if the bird taken home would shag him or shank him.
Those were the days.
“Read the packet, then we’ll talk.” He opens his mouth, but I quell him with a look. “The packet, Clark.”
Fingers shaking, he pulls it to him and begins to read. His face pales. “But I used the private browser,” he says more to himself than to me.
“We monitor keystrokes.”
That seems to take the fight out of him. “What happens now?”
“You quit.”
“But I’ll lose my retirement,” he protests.
“Better than being sued.”
He nods, then visibly swallows. “Anything else?”
“A check in the amount of last year’s salary will be deposited into your account by the close of business.”
He swipes his hand over his face. “My wife is going to kill me.”
“Again, better than the alternative.” I’m not threatening him with harm. I’m reminding him that PharmGen’s pockets are deep and to sue him wouldn’t cause anyone to lose sleep.
“You’re a bloody prat, Romanov. Nothing but an errand boy for David.” Clark stands, plowing his hand through his white-blonde hair and making it stand on end. He looks like a mad scientist, which isn’t far from the truth. He was the lead lab specialist.
Looks like Dr. Bhamra is getting a promotion tomorrow.
“Actually, I’m doing my job, which is something you don’t have anymore.” I motion to the door. “On your way now.”
He starts for the door, and I alert security. He’s their problem now. “One day, you’ll be on the receiving end.”
I roll my eyes at his threat. I’ve heard worse, promised worse, and delivered worse. “Looking forward to it.”
“Bloody mental,” he mutters as he leaves.
I grab my jacket and head down the stairs, needing the calming atmosphere of a lively pub. While employees at PharmGen are firmly an international mix, the Crown and Pegasus is most decidedly English fare.
Pushing open the door, I walk into the semi-crowded lobby, scanning my ID card and tipping my chin to the security guards before risking a peek to the right.
There she sits—one of the most beautiful women in existence. Due to PharmGen’s dating policy, she’s also one of the most forbidden. Right up there with married women and mistresses of dangerous men.
Naturally, I want her more than life itself.
Morgan Tanner smiles, lighting up the entire foyer, as she answers the phone.
In her smart yellow sweater and navy pencil skirt, she is the stuff office fantasies are made of. Honestly, I wonder if the secretarial side of the company was made to watch Mad Men in order to emulate the style. Have to say that I wholeheartedly approve.
“Welcome to PharmGen. This is Morgan. How can I help you?” Her slow southern drawl reminds me of my second home in Asheville, North Carolina. Through a series of very fortunate events, my brother and I were able to leave the Bratva relatively unscathed. While he’s had the love of a good woman for the past decade to help him transition into a new life, I’ve only had this company.
Women aren’t hard to come by in London, or any of my other favorite holiday spots, but they are not Morgan Tanner. For over a year, I’ve endured her nearness, endured the light scent of her perfume whenever I had the pleasure to be in an elevator with her.
Basically, I’ve been torturing myself, much like my brother did before he finally allowed Everly to be a part of his life. Only that had almost gotten her killed.
While I know my past is firmly in the past, I can’t seem to shake it, can’t seem to shake the feeling I’m being watched. And judged. Found lacking.
Fuck them.
My decision was made a long time ago. In the light is where I belong, not back in the shadows and living a half-life.
“Mr. Romanov.”
I turn, my body going hard the closer Morgan gets. She waves, her breasts bouncing as she practically jogs in her sexy heels over to me, her purse swinging wildly on her arm as she goes. A most impressive feat considering the slickness of the marble floors.
“Ms. Tanner. How can I help you?” I ask, keeping my tone light. Smooth.
“I was hoping you could have drinks with me at the Crown and Pegasus. After work, that is. I’m off the clock now.”
I nearly swallow my tongue. “Drinks?”
She blushes, her blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “Yes. Drinks. Liquid stuff you consume.”
“Like a date?” I can’t help but ask.
She nods, her blonde hair sliding forward. It’s cut along her chin, giving me plenty of access to her graceful neck… if I were of a mind to kiss her there.
Most assuredly, I want to kiss her there.
“I don’t think—”
“Mr. Pinter’s assistant sent out an email blast last night. Company policy has changed. Basically, as long as you’re not directly my boss, then fraternization is okay.”
I’d love to fraternize the hell out of her. This is too good to be true, has to be… or a great cosmic joke.
“You can check first if you want.” At my hesitation, which is solely due to my stupefaction, her eyes widen, and her hand briefly covers her mouth. “Oh, I get it. Never mind. Sorry.” She attempts to spin around, but her heels slip on the floor, and she starts to wobble. I grab her before she can fall. The palm of my hand connects with the warm, silky skin of her arm.
A jolt of lust hits me so hard I’m shocked I’m not the one with wobbly legs.
“I’m actually pleased you’ve invited me to drinks,” I manage to say, but I don’t let go. This is the first time I’ve ever touched her, and I want to savor it.
“You are?” she asks.
“Quite.”
She bites on her bottom lip for a moment, then she gives me one of her glorious smiles. “Okay, then.”
“Shall we be off?” Finally, I let go of her arm and offer my elbow. I can be a proper gentleman when the occasion calls for it.
“Absolutely.” She slips her arm around mine, and we walk outside.