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He seems to realize the same thing, because he smacks his lips again. “Your father and Maksim seemed to believe that you weren’t the marrying type. That’s all I mean.”
The casual way he mentions Maksim is another thing that’s always rankled. Apparently, he missed the memo: Maksim’s name is only to be mentioned when absolutely necessary. Throwing it around in casual conversation feels blasphemous.
“Whether they believed it or not is immaterial. I’m getting married, and I intend to include my wife in my legal documents.”
“Which are you thinking, specifically?”
“Bank accounts, life insurance policies, and my will.”
“I see.” He nods, making note of it all on the yellow legal pad he brought with him. “And may I ask when you met the lucky bride-to-be?”
“Recently.”
“Ah…”
I frown. “Is there a problem?”
He hesitates, picking at his lip before answering. “Forgive me, Don Orlov. It’s my job to ask the difficult questions.”
“It’s your job to do what I order you to do,” I tell him. “But let’s be generous and go with your definition for now. Ask what you want to ask.”
Yan’s tightly pulled forehead stretches a little tighter. “Can you be certain of the character of your fiancée?”
“Do you take me for a fool, Yan?”
His perfectly orchestrated smile doesn’t falter. “No one could ever accuse you of being a fool, Don Orlov. I just want to make sure that the woman you are going to include in your will won’t take advantage of your great generosity.”
“You’re asking me if my future wife may be a gold-digger?”
He shrugs. “Gold-diggers come in all different forms, Don Orlov. Some may even have golden halos hanging over their pretty little heads. It doesn’t necessarily mean they’re angels.”
I glance at the envelope that Konstantin handed me only an hour ago, then back at the idiot seated across from me. “Make the changes, Yan. And be grateful that I don’t rip you limb from limb for insulting my bride.”
“As you wish, sir,” he says with a sweeping bow of his head.
He gets to his feet and heads to the door. Before he ducks out, he turns and gives me a smile that exposes his dazzling white veneers.
“And may I just say: congratulations, Don Orlov. What wonderful news this is.”
20
MISHA
The banging at my door is insistent and testing my already thin patience. It doesn’t help that I know there is only one person in this house foolish enough not only to bother me when my office door is closed, but to do so with quick, repeated knocks.
Irritated, I press the button underneath my desk. It releases the magnetic lock that allows the wooden door to slide free.
Paige squeezes through when it’s only a quarter open, a huge cardboard box wedged between her shaking arms and her heaving chest.
“What the hell is this?” She drops the box unceremoniously at her feet. It lands with a dull thud that doesn’t match the fervor she’s worked herself into.
I don’t so much as glance at the contents of the box. “Is this a trick question?”
Her eyes are bright with righteous indignation, but her choice of armor is questionable. She’s wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt that’s three times too big for her. When it comes to putting me in a better mood, she’s hidden all of her most convincing assets.
“You had my things brought here,” she says, pointing out the obvious.
“I did say I would.”
