Page 86 of Cruel Demands

I look at him. He decides against it.

Good.

Taylor stares at me for another second, her green eyes narrowed. Then she hands her coffee to Viktoriya and walks past me toward the doors without another word.

I follow.

The anger does not lessen.

It should. Dima did nothing wrong. Taylor did nothing wrong. I know exactly where Dima’s interest lies, and it is not with her. None of it matters.

I can still see his hand at her waist.

The file told me where Taylor lives. How much money she has. Which classes she takes. Which people she trusts. It told me who she eats lunch with and which men appear beside her in photographs.

It cannot tell me what makes her laugh like that.

It cannot tell me why praise makes her eyes brighten before she remembers to hide it.

It cannot tell me why the thought of someone else learning those things makes rage move beneath my skin like heat.

Those answers are not in Arkady’s report. They are waiting for me in my office.

Taylor is already halfway to the elevators.

I follow her.

19

TAYLOR

When I enter Mikhail’s office, he’s waiting in a chair beside the door, his head in his hands and his sleeves rolled to his forearms. The veins in his arms bulge, and my body reacts sharply, one clean, hot response still rolling beneath the smarting humiliation of him yelling at me in front of my coworkers.

“Hey, I’d appreciate it if you’d use a tone that’s a little more respectful next time,” I say, swallowing and trying to sound forceful.

He looks up, and I’m taken aback by the smoldering in his brown eyes. His jaw is set firmly. “Lock the door.”

I’m so surprised that I do it without question, and something flashes across his face. Satisfaction.

Mikhail straightens his tie and looks over my body. Slowly. “Taylor, you told me that you wanted to be taken seriously here.” He leans back in the chair, his hands resting on his knees.

I squirm in confusion, tugging my skirt farther down. “I do. I don’t understand. Am I in trouble? Did I do something wrong?”

He rises to his feet and takes careful steps toward me. He gives the impression of being calm, but his breaths are anything but. His chest is heaving, and his fists clench and unclench at his sides. He stops in front of me, close enough that I take a step back until my shoulders knock against the door. “If you want people to take you seriously,” he growls, “why am I always seeing you with men around this office? Have you considered that it might be counterproductive?”

I blink at him. “Men?” His jaw tightens. “Do you mean Dima?”

“He should not have been touching you.”

“He stopped me from falling.”

“He had his hands on your waist.”

“Oh my God.” I stare at him for a second, then something clicks into place. “Was Nikolai not supposed to touch me either?” His expression changes. Barely. But I see it. “The man from the bar,” I continue. “The one who mysteriously never called me.”

“Nikolai has nothing to do with this.”

“That sounds like a yes.”