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He picked up the phone on his desk, pressing a button. His head bodyguard Misha answered the call with a short ‘sir’.
“Have Gregor followed.”
Her eyes were on his in the following instant, the glow in them slowly dying back down to reveal that startling blue underneath.
“And send out a very quiet query with our contacts,” he added. “I want to know if anyone knows of Ms. Kumarinova visiting us and why.”
He hung up, leaning back on his chair, eyeing her as her gaze had grown mildly guarded. There was the first sliver of fear there. She clenched her jaws, hard. Something was on her mind, and she was keeping herself from letting it slip.
“What?” he prompted.
“I swear I don’t know what’s going on,” she said. “Other than what Gregor told you.”
“There might be more going on?”
“Isn’t there always a possibility a thing isn’t exactly how it seems?”
The retort was immediate. And true. He was beginning to relax into the fact that she was at his mercy and the improbability of her acting as a trojan horse for her father’s scheming. She didn’t seem the type who needed to snake her way into the dragon’s den. If she had anything to prove to her father, she would have walked through those doors without a second thought. She would never have allowed herself to be humiliated in this way.
He liked her. He couldn’t remember the last time he had taken such a quick liking to anyone. Her being a Kumarinova only made the whole thing more delectable. Who would have ever thought they’d have a member of their family with this much backbone? From what he knew of the son, the apple had fallen very far from the family tree. He’d gone off to college and begun working as a paramedic, or some such nonsense, and even with the joining of the Kumarins with the Aslanovs a few years back, it seemed Mikhail Kumarin still wasn’t eagerly shadowing his father to learn how things should be done.
So. Was she the one? Would she reign supreme someday? Smash through centuries of tradition and give them their first female ruling head? What stuff was she really made of?
He pressed another button on the phone, a small lamp lighting up. It went out as the door opened and Martha—the head housekeeper—entered, a quizzical expression on her face.
“Can you get something soothing for our guest’s discomfort, please,” he said, gesturing for Alina to show Martha her wrists.
She did, Martha tutting before granting her a warm smile. She left the room but returned before the quiet could grow oppressing. She handed a small tube of cream to Alina, who thanked her, watching her head for the door again.
“Oh,” he said, Martha pausing in the doorway. “Will you set another place for dinner, please?” Martha gave a nod. He looked at Alina, who turned back to him with the questioning look he’d expected. He shrugged. “Might as well make ourselves a bit more comfortable, hmh? I hope you like salmon.”
“It’s a bit late for dinner, don’t you think?”
“I always eat late,” he said, putting on a disarming smile.
It didn’t have the desired effect. She didn’t return it. Instead, she unscrewed the top of the tube, pressing cream into her hand, rubbing the red marks around her wrists before leaning forward to do the same to her ankles. He watched her, growing thoughtful.
It really was just as well that they made themselves more comfortable. Before he heard back from Misha about what the rumor mill was crunching out, there wasn’t much else to do.
He wondered what type of conversation they might have at the dinner table. He was curious to find out more about what made her tick, and he was far from done with grilling her about Gregor. A glass of wine and a nice plate of food always worked wonders to set a better mood than his office could ever hope to offer.
He rose to his feet, her eyes on his. Guarded again. She didn’t trust him either.
He couldn’t blame her.
“Shall we?” he asked.
Her gaze hardened for one brief second when he held a hand out to the door, waiting for her to take the lead.
“Please,” he insisted.
She rose slowly, glancing over her shoulder as she led the way. He reached passed her, holding it open for her. She didn’t look at him as she walked into the corridor but waited for him to tell her which way to go. He gestured right and she glanced at him again. What did she think he was going to do? Club her over the head?
Her shoulders relaxed slightly once they entered the large entrance hall and there were other people around, telling her she might be relenting somewhat.
He wondered what ghost stories she’d been told of his family.
Perhaps this was something he could remedy, let her understand that his father was no worse than hers. He’d have to tread very carefully, however, because he knew if the shoe was on the other foot and she in any way offered a critique of his family, he’d react strongly. It was a sore topic. For the both of them.
