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‘What’s this?’ he asked suspiciously.
‘That, darling brother, is a sign from your little sister that it’s time to grow up and learn to take care of yourself. Oh, and seeing as I cooked dinner, you can do the clearing up.’ This time it was Emily’s turn to flash a wink before heading out of the kitchen and up the stairs.
When she reached the landing, she took a deep breath.
That had been easier than she’d anticipated. There was definitely something to be said for not giving the other person time to answer back.
She heard the creak of her father’s door and turned to find him standing at the threshold in his pyjamas, his eyes watery.
‘There’s something I need to tell you,’ he said. And just like that, her slightly lighter mood plummeted.
* * *
Pascha sat in the back of his Lexus gazing absently out of the window.
It had all gone to hell.
Everything.
His driver turned the corner onto the road that housed his London office. A flash of curly black hair made him do a double-take.
Craning his neck for a better look, he soon realised the Monday morning street was so thick with bodies he must have imagined it.
He’d imagined he’d seen her a handful of times that day already. And a dozen the day before, when he hadn’t even left his house.
If he was to see her now, in the flesh, he didn’t know how he would react.
They pulled up outside his building and he got out, heading inside.
As usual, he was greeted by a bustle of activity. Normally he enjoyed the vibrancy and energy. Today he could do without it.
Today he wanted to be alone.
He didn’t know what had propelled him to leave St. Petersburg late on Friday evening and come to London. After his confrontation with Marat, he could have gone anywhere. Why here?
Ignoring all the welcoming although still nervous smiles, he went straight up to his office. As he punched in the code to his office floor, he remembered he still hadn’t changed it since Emily had sneaked in.
Cathy, the executive secretary he’d inherited when he’d bought Bamber Cosmetics, was there to greet him. His PA must have warned her to expect him.
‘Can I make you a coffee?’ she asked once the pleasantries were out of the way.
‘No. I don’t want any visitors or calls today either.’ He swept into his office, closing the door firmly behind him.
The morning dragged.
He’d spent the weekend in his London home doing nothing but going over the events of the preceding week in his mind, which had culminated in his disastrous encounter with Marat.
He rubbed at his eyes with his palms and got to his feet. He needed to find some energy. Regardless of what had happened with Marat, he still had a business to run. More coffee should do the trick.
In his private room he switched the coffee machine on and read an email from Zlatan.
He was about to pour his coffee out when movement on the monitor caught his attention.
He stared. And stared some more.
No. He wasn’t seeing things. There really was someone in his office. A pixie with a cascade of curly black hair.
Eyes fixed on the monitor, he took long, deep breaths and swallowed away the enormous lump that had formed in his throat.
Only when his composure was assured did he pour his coffee out and step through the door to her.
‘You seem to be making a habit of breaking into my office,’ he said, striding over to his desk.
Emily was sat on the visitor’s seat. As he passed her he caught a waft of her earthy honey scent. He tightened his grip on his cup, glad to place it on his desk as he took his seat.
Finally he could look at her properly.
What he saw made his heart wrench and his stomach dip.
She looked dreadful—really dreadful. Her skin was pale, her eyes red-raw, her hair even wilder than usual. She wore a deep-red jersey dress and thick black tights, her arms wrapped tightly around her waist as if for warmth or protection.
‘I’m sorry for having to break back in,’ she said, speaking tentatively.
‘Evidently not sorry enough or you wouldn’t have pulled the same stunt twice,’ he said icily.
She blanched. ‘I needed to see you. I didn’t want this conversation over the phone. Cathy let me know you’d come in. She said you weren’t accepting visitors so I waited until she went on her lunch break before sneaking in.’
‘You know Cathy?’
She nodded.
And, just like that, everything fell into place: Cathy was the mole. His own executive secretary had given Emily his schedule and the code for the floor.
And, as all the pieces of the jigsaw slotted together, Emily’s face crumpled as she realised what she’d given away.
‘Oh, please, please don’t punish her. Please. She did it for my family. She’s worked here as long as my dad has—years ago, she was his secretary. She was my mum’s best friend and used to babysit me and James. Please don’t sack her. It’s my fault. She didn’t want to tell me anything but I used emotional blackmail to get your movements and the code out of her.’
