Possessive Boss, page 2
But how would Lucy have known about Luka's plans? It's unlikely that the two of them even shared a glance before today. There was not even a hint of recognition on either of their faces.
Lucy recognized me.
And that had been my fault. I had bought her a drink after crashing into her at the club, spilling the contents of her Cosmopolitan all over her dress. It was the least I could do, but thinking back, maybe it wasn't entirely my doing.
Had I been set up?
"I'll find out how she got onto the property, sir. Just give me time."
Mikhail isn't the most patient of men, and to expect him to remain calm while there's a prisoner inside his home is unlikely.
But I won't let anything happen to his family or the women and children living under his roof.
He doesn't answer. Instead, he continues down the hallway and out of sight as he heads through the corridor.
I breathe a sigh of relief. I know better than getting on Mikhail's bad side, but bringing Lucy under his roof was a risk.
What was I supposed to do? Should I have left her outside, called for an ambulance, and had her taken away?
Then, I'd never know why she was here, sneaking inside, and what she was up to. At least this way, I will find out.
There's a slight rustling on the opposite side of the door.
Lucy should be asleep. I turn the handle to check on her, and a cold gust of wind jets through the room. The window to the back of the courtyard is wide open, and Lucy is perched on the ledge, attempting to escape.
THREE
Lucy
"What the hell are you doing?" Nikita's voice startles me, and I nearly fall over the edge of the open window. I have one leg out and one still in the mansion's bedroom.
I need to get out before it's too late.
My hands grip the bedsheets that are tied into a long makeshift rope that I'm attempting to use to climb down. They're fastened along the post of the headboard.
Nikita storms into the bedroom, and I swing my leg over the window ledge.
I don't plan on sticking around to find out what's going to happen. I yank the cloth sheets and grip them as I'm holding onto the sheets and nothing more while I hang over the edge of the window.
"Lucy, get the hell back inside."
Nikita is peering over the window at me and grabs my arm.
"Get off me!" I shriek.
My ruckus only brings on more commotion. A bright spotlight moves over the mansion until it lights up my escape.
So much for being quiet and sneaking away without being noticed. I glance over my shoulder, and there are two armed guards hurrying toward me.
Shit.
I glance up at Nikita; his grip is firm on my arm as I'm hanging by the knotted bedsheets. He yanks me up over the windowpane, dragging my ass back inside.
"Do you think that's the best way out of here?" Nikita scolds.
"I don't want to go to prison," I say. If he was serious about calling the cops for trespassing, I want out.
"Malish, there are far worse places than a prison cell," Nikita says.
"My name is Lucy," I reiterate and push past him after he helps me to my feet on solid ground. I hurry for the door. Maybe I can still make it out of here and go home for dinner, without ending up in handcuffs.
I'm fast, but Nikita is faster.
He traps me in the bedroom, beating me to the door, his back against the wood. Nikita is large against my petite frame. He towers above me, his arms folded against his chest. "And where do you think you're going?" he asks, staring down.
His gruffness sends a shiver down my spine. I don't dare admit there's an attraction. I'd intentionally gotten into his way, forcing him to stumble into me at the club. I'm not usually quite so bold, but what choice did I have?
"Home." I'm blatant and not the least bit apologetic. "Do you mind?" I gesture for him to move, but he doesn't budge from his position. His feet are practically molded to the ground.
He huffs under his breath but doesn't step aside. "If I let you walk out that door, at least two men will detain you."
"They're going to call the cops?" My stomach roils at the thought of being arrested. I've never been in the back of a squad car or imprisoned. That's not to say I haven't caused trouble and gotten myself in over my head, which is where I am now.
Trouble seems to find me.
I'd prefer that it didn't. I don't like constantly having to look over my shoulder. But I'm sure this mammoth of a man, staring down at me, glaring, doesn't know the least bit about sacrifice.
"Depends on what you tell me," Nikita says.
He reaches out and rests his strong, warm hands on my arms, backing me several feet until the backs of my legs hit the mattress.
"Sit," he orders.
I fall gracefully onto the bed in a heap, and my shoulders slump. "I'm sorry," I say, glancing down at my hands in my lap, fidgeting with my fingers.
"For what? Jumping the fence, or trying to leave?" Nikita's tongue is sharp.
I wince at his words as he stands above me, his shadow looming over me along with his presence. Would I make it to the door if I try to bolt past him?
Doubtful.
"You stole my keys. That's why we collided in the club," Nikita says, the realization dawning on him that there's more to the story than I've let on. Not that I've told him anything. I'm not stupid enough to reveal to him who hired me.
This wasn't my idea, robbing his home. Whoever he is, he's wealthy and has a high level of security around the premises.
I should have been caught sooner.
I don't answer, and he tilts his head, shaking it disapprovingly. He steps into my personal space, and I inhale a sharp breath, nervous. He could easily overpower me.
I throw my arms up, forcing him back, wanting space. I don't know what he intends, but being trapped in a room with him wasn't part of the plan.
"Get off me!"
"I haven't so much as touched you," he whispers.
My heart strums, and my breathing quickens. His proximity is highly arousing, and while I should be afraid, my body responds in kind. Last night with him, the air was charged. Electricity burned between us, but I didn't let him touch me.
Sitting on a barstool, I have orders to watch for Nikita Krylova. I've been shown his picture; I only hope it's recent. He's memorable in his photograph, and while I sit and sip a ginger ale, I keep an eye on the door.
I blow an hour at the bar and glance at my watch.
The place is filling up with more patrons, and I've been instructed to wait for Nikita. He's one of the managers of the establishment.
He will show up.
At least that was what I'd been told, but I think he has better things to do tonight. I nibble on a few cocktail peanuts. My stomach churns with a mixture of anxiety and hunger.
I'd have liked to grab a bite to eat before showing up tonight but being here isn't exactly my choice unless my choice is to live.
I'm in a world of trouble, and I'm about to bring Nikita into my chaos.
Sorry.
He struts in through the back entrance. The front door is too good for him.
The man shines, and while he doesn't have to give even a hint of a smile, he's already caught several ladies' gazes.
Two men are with him, all three of them wear striking suits. They're hot. Dangerous. And I have to steal the keys he's carrying.
This isn't going to be an easy job.
But it's either knock into him and swipe his keys, or go home with him and steal them after a night in the sack.
I prefer the first option. He's a stranger, and if he keeps any company like the men I'm forced to work for, I want no business with him ever again.
I carry my Cosmopolitan across the club and stop, my back to him. He looms over me, and I squeeze in amongst the throes of people dancing and chatting. It's busy enough that I look inconspicuous by myself.
The music blares overhead, and I'd swear it sounds like a live band with the intensity of the beat and the floor vibrating with each pulse.
I'm practically under Nikita's foot, and so when he turns to weave through the club, he's forced to knock into me. I make sure to spill my Cosmopolitan all over myself and douse his shirt.
"Shit! I'm sorry," he apologizes before even landing his eyes on me or seeing the damage. He grumbles and wipes at his shirt.
Most of the drink lands on my white dress, and when he realizes I'm not wearing a bra, he's gnawing on his bottom lip, staring at my breasts for far longer than he ought to be staring.
"Here." He shimmies out of his jacket and wraps it around my shoulders. The coat costs more than my entire wardrobe.
"That isn't necessary," I say until I glance down and pretend to act shocked by the realization that he can see through the dress.
"How about we get you taken care of?" he asks and escorts me through the crowd and up a back staircase. A metal sign hangs on the front that reads "No entry."
"Are you sure that we should be up here?" I ask as he unclips the metal chain and lets me pass.
"My office is just upstairs," he says.
I follow him up the staircase, and he leads me to his office. He retrieves his keys from his pocket and unlocks the door, opening it for me to enter.
He flips on the light, and there are one-way glass mirrors that give an ample view of the dance floor and guests down below.
"Do you own the place?" I ask. I wasn't given much information on Nikita, only what I needed to get the job done.
"I run the club, but I don't own it." He doesn't elaborate, and instead, he stalks across the room toward a set of double doors. He opens the door to reveal a closet, retrieves a crisp white dress shirt, and hands it to me.
"This isn't my size," I say. Does he think I'll wear his shirt and nothing else in the club?
"I should think not." He chuckles under his breath and shoves the white shirt into my hands. "Put it on. I can have your clothes cleaned and laundered before you go home."
"Where?" I glance around the room. There's no sign of a laundry room, and the office doesn’t appear as though anyone might be living here. While there is a sofa against the wall near the door, there doesn't seem to be any other living accommodations.
"There's a laundromat two doors down from here. I'll send one of my colleagues to take care of the dress."
I exhale a tiny breath. "That isn't necessary."
"But it is. I'm Nikita," he introduces, wanting to know my name.
"Lucy," I say and blush. I don't bother with a handshake, seeing as I'm gripping his fresh white shirt in my closed grip.
I shouldn't offer up my real name. It'd be better to pretend to be someone I'm not, but remembering a lie is a thousand times harder than speaking the truth. And so, I tell him exactly who I am because it doesn't matter. He won't know that I'm the one stealing his keys. By the end of tonight, he won't even suspect that I could have done anything to betray him.
"Do you have someplace that I can change?" I ask.
He opens a door near the closet and flips on the light. "There's a bathroom through here," he says.
I slip past him for the bathroom and shut the door. I'm crazy, changing out of my dress into just a button-down shirt. What happens if he doesn't bring me back my white dress?
Hopefully, he will, and the shirt is at least the length of my dress.
I shut the door behind myself, lock it, and stare at my reflection in the mirror. What the hell am I doing?
I remove the dress, let it hit the floor with a thud, and slide my arms into the shirt, buttoning up the shiny buttons one at a time. When I'm done and satisfied with how I look, I open the bathroom door and bend down to retrieve the stained and damp dress.
"Are you sure that it's not a problem?" I ask, holding the dress in one hand and my clutch in the other.
"Having your dress freshly laundered? No problem at all. Just wait here," he says and heads out of the office. When the door swings open, there's a blast of music that pounds into the office.
I'd almost forgotten how loud the music had been downstairs.
I can't see the stairwell, but I watch from the one-way glass into the crowd. Nikita shuffles through the patrons and whispers something to another gentleman in a suit, presumably his colleague.
He wasn't part of this arrangement. I don't know his name or anything about him. He takes my dress, and it's difficult to see where he goes with the flashes of light and my attention on Nikita.
Nikita doesn't return right away. I'm not sure why he would, but I'm disappointed. Being alone in his office has its perks, but I doubt there's another set of keys. And what I'm after isn't in his office, it's at his home.
He shuffles behind the bar, and he's mixing drinks.
Is he helping the bartender because it's a busy night?
Another minute later, he's carrying two drinks with him through the crowd. Nikita heads back toward the staircase, and I spin around, folding my arms in front of myself like I hadn't been watching the exchange.
"He'll have it back shortly," Nikita says as he steps into the office. "In the meantime, how about a drink? To make up for the night." He hands me a Cosmopolitan.
I force a smile. "Thank you," I say. He has no idea my night involved trying to get close with him for that set of keys.
"Were you here with friends? Or a boyfriend? Should I let anyone know where you've gone?" Nikita asks.
His question sends a chill down my spine, but I'm not sure why. "Blind date," I say and shrug. "He didn't show."
"That's his loss."
I force a smile and gesture toward the couch. "Do you mind?" I may as well sit down and get comfortable. If I'm lucky to have won over Nikita's attention for a while, then I may as well make the most of it.
"Not at all." He forces a smile and nods for me to sit.
I collapse onto the couch and am relieved by how plush and cozy the sofa is compared to the one at my apartment. "I could sleep on here," I mutter, dipping my head back to realize that this is more comfortable than my mattress.
Nikita pulls his leather office chair around behind his desk and sits across from me, giving me plenty of space. He's not trying to make a move on me. Should I be offended that he doesn't seem interested? It's not like I'm giving him signals that I want him.
But it's nice to be noticed.
"I haven't seen you around here before," Nikita says.
"First time. It was my date's suggestion to come here."
"Well, it's his loss that he didn't show." He smirks, and his gaze sweeps over me.
I feel every bit naked under his stare. Shifting on the sofa, careful to keep him from getting an eyeful of my panties, I try to make myself presentable and comfortable.
"You don't have to babysit me. Feel free to go back and mingle." I have no clue what he does, but I don't want to keep him from his work. As it is, I'll see him later and can snatch his keys when he has my dress brought to me.
He chuckles under his breath. "Malish, my work is up here with you."
I don't know what he means. "Am I keeping you from working? I'm sorry," I say quickly to apologize. Although, it's not like I'm taking up residence at his desk.
"Do not apologize for something that is not your fault." He's firm, and his gaze is tight on me, unwavering. "How is it that a pretty girl like you doesn't have a boyfriend?"
The small office is warm, and my cheeks are hot at his directness. He's bold. I shouldn't be surprised, considering the reason that I'm here.
"I prefer not to be romantically entangled with a man."
"A woman?" He quirks a wry grin.
Why am I not surprised by his question? He's probably fantasizing about two grown women together. The smirk says more than his words. "No, I prefer men."
He scoots closer, the chair rolling forward a few inches. "That's good." His heated stare wanders down my body, taking in every inch of visible bare skin.
Nikita shifts in his seat. "I don't like commitments, either. Too many broken promises. People get hurt."
His tongue darts out and swipes his top lip.
"You sound like you're speaking from experience." I shift on the sofa and slide my legs up beside me, careful not to give him an eyeful. I barely know the man. I'm not letting him get a free show.
"You were here on a blind date but don't prefer to be romantically entangled," he chides, reminding me of my words. "How does that work?"
Is he serious? "What? Am I not allowed to date because I don't believe in the antiquated notions of marriage?"
His mouth is shut, his jaw tight.
I continue my rant. "Are you telling me that you never go out? Maybe you prefer to just sleep with all the ladies from the club, the ones you spill your drinks on."
He doesn't seem the least bit insulted by my remark. His eyes glisten under the overhead lights. "The Cosmopolitan wasn't my drink."
Does he think that he can win me over?
Conquer me?
I'm not a game. Following him up to his office wasn't so we could get a room and be alone. Coming upstairs wasn't the best decision, but I've done worse.
"I suppose it wasn't," I say, meeting his stare.
He leans back in his office chair and stretches his arms, putting his hands behind his head. "How'd you meet this blind date?"
What's with all the questions? Does he not believe that I could find myself a date?
"A friend set us up."
"Shitty friend," Nikita says. He doesn't continue his thought, and I don't let him.
"I wasn't asking your opinion."
His eyes shine, and while there isn't a smile on his lips, I suspect he's buzzing inside.
Does he like pissing me off?
"What kind of a friend lets you get stood up by some guy? It mustn't be that good of a friend. I'd never treat any of my friends like that."
"Well, good for you," I mutter and finish the cocktail he brought to his office. I need it to deal with the ogre sitting across from me.
He's not really an ogre. Sure, he's tall and built. But it's all muscle. What I'd give to see him undressed and under me on the sofa.
A girl can dream.
