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The men exchange a glance and the thin man closes his laptop. “That’ll be all, Miss Quinn. Thank you for your time.”
From the moment I walked into this room, all I’ve wanted is to get out. Even though these men aren’t police or airport security, this has felt like an interrogation.
Now, I want to open his laptop and beg him to take more notes.
Wait, I can do better. Give me another chance!
“Is that all you want to know?” I ask.
He arches a brow. “Is there more you haven’t told us?”
I swallow down my lies and shake my head. “No. Nothing else.”
“Then you’re dismissed.”
I stand up on shaky legs, but Timofey doesn’t move. Is he staying here? Should I go into the hallway alone? I’m about to find a discreet way to ask when I see the bearded man roll his eyes and scoff.
It’s a subtle move. He didn’t think I would see. But I did…and now I can’t walk away.
“Actually, I do have something else to say,” I blurt. There is no clear path forward. No plan. But I’m talking now and it’s too late to turn back.
The men focus on me. I even chance a look at Timofey. His brow is furrowed. He shakes his head, silently telling me to be quiet.
But I can’t.
“Timofey did the right thing,” I announce. “Because he’s loyal. Timofey is the most loyal person I’ve ever known. And he’s honorable. He sensed that someone he cared about was in danger, and he acted. He did what he needed to do to defend me.”
I see Benjamin’s pink, chubby face in my mind. The way he fit so perfectly against Timofey’s chest. I see his tiny fingers curled around Timofey’s larger one.
And my heart breaks.
Kreshnik is lucky Timofey didn’t catch up to him in that airport. Otherwise, he’d be dead right now, and I wouldn’t be sorry at all.
The men are watching me, waiting. But I don’t want to be talking to them. There is only one person in this room I want to talk to. So I look to him.
I meet Timofey’s vibrant blue eyes. “Timofey Viktorov is a good man. No matter how anyone wants to paint him, I know in my heart that he is the best of us.”
Timofey’s face doesn’t change. He meets my eyes, an intensity passing between us that I can’t decipher or explain. It’s broken only by the clearing of a throat.
The thin man in the suit nods. “Okay. Well, um…thanks for that, Miss Quinn. You’ve been quite helpful. You can—”
“Sit with me.” Timofey pulls out one of the rolling chairs next to him and directs me into it.
The bearded man looks annoyed again, fighting another eye roll. But I don’t care this time. I said what I needed to say. I did what I came here to do.
I settle next to him and Timofey turns to face the table. There are ten men sitting silently, hands folded in front of them, eyes searching for whoever will be the first to speak. I’m not surprised when it’s the man with the beard.
“Timofey, we all sympathize with your situation,” he says. “I had to push a drunk man off of my wife at a tiki bar on our anniversary last year. We’ve all been there. The difference is, the rest of us aren’t the face of a corporation. Our actions don’t control whether our stock prices rise or fall.”
“Which means you don’t have a single fucking clue the stress I’m under and you can’t ‘sympathize with my situation,’” Timofey sneers. “You don’t know what I deal with.”
The bearded man’s face turns red, and the thin man leans forward to cut through the tension. “You’re right, Mr. Viktorov. None of us understand exactly what it is you endure as the CEO of this company. But we understand our own positions well. We know what things feel like when the company is operating smoothly.”
“You mean you all get to lounge around in your offices, do nothing, and get sucked off by your assistants.” Timofey nods to a red-haired man at the end of the table. “Isn’t that right, Craig?”
Craig’s face blushes the same shade of red as his hair. He ducks his head and stares down at his shoes.
The thin man clears his throat and continues. “We know what it feels like when the company is operating at peak efficiency, Mr. Viktorov, and it hasn’t felt like that since your encounter with the doctor a few months ago.”
