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“What kind, sir?”
Kaz glared at Ekaterina Rostov. “What do you like to read?”
The New York Times. The New York Review of Books…
“Ms. Rostov. What do you want from the newsstand?”
“Save your money. I don’t want anything.”
“Use your judgment, Susan. Half a dozen gossip magazines. Stuff about fashion,” Kaz said, never taking his gaze from his assignment. Because that was what she was. An overly- indulged assignment with enough attitude to launch a rocket, and why in hell had he been stupid enough to let Castelianos dump her on him? “Glossy crap. Just don’t get anything that uses words of more than two syllables. Got that?”
“Got it, sir. Uh, Mr. Savitch? The minister phoned again. He said—”
“I’m not interested in what he said. Get those magazines, please.”
Kaz disconnected. His PA did, too.
And if looks could kill, the one Ekaterina Rostov shot him would surely have done the job.
CHAPTER FOUR
Ten minutes later, Susan knocked at the door. She had half a dozen magazines clutched to her chest.
Kaz jerked his chin toward the low table in front of the black leather sofa that stood at the far end of his office
“Put them there.”
His PA nodded and did what he’d asked with only a quick look at the woman sitting stiffly in the corner of the sofa.
“What’s that?” Kaz said, glowering at a copy of the day’s New York Times.
“I know what you said, Mr. Savitch, but I thought, you know, a little variety…”
Her voice trailed away. Ekaterina Rostov looked at her.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “Thank you, Miss…?”
“It’s Susan.”
“Thank you, Susan. For the Times, especially. That was very thoughtful.”
Kaz pretended he was reading a report, but he watched the little performance. A performance was surely what it was, and a good one. The pleasant voice. The polite words. The smile. It all seemed genuine enough that his PA flashed him a look that could only be called disapproving as she left his office.
Kaz frowned, went back to reading the reports…
No. Not really.
Having someone in the room while he worked was a distraction. Having a female someone, a gorgeous someone, even if she was a pain-in-the-ass someone…
He looked up.
Ekaterina Rostov had taken off her coat and placed it neatly beside her. She wore a simple gray dress. Long sleeves, rounded neckline, the skirt just skimming her knees as she sat stiffly upright, feet planted side by side.
She was reading.
Wearing glasses, and reading.
Glasses?
