Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83221 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83221 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
I walk into the lobby of the Romanov business center like I own the place. Like I belong. Anyone can pretend for a little while, right?
When I reach for the door, it whispers open of its own accord. The entrance exudes opulence and sophistication, topped off with a very clear theme of exclusivity. The spacious, welcoming area boasts sleek leather chairs and minimalist decor, speckled marble floors of black and gray, adorned with a splash of contemporary artwork in bold red and black. It’s compelling but a bit unnerving.
A brushed metal desk stands in front of me, featuring an arrangement of fresh flowers. It’s so cold in here, the flowers are a nice touch.
I walk forward with my head held high, my gaze taking everything in and cataloging it. The chic seating area to the left, the plush armchairs and sofa to the right. High ceilings with recessed lighting, and discreetly hidden in a darkened alcove is a state-of-the-art security panel that looks complicated enough to launch a spaceship.
I borrowed one of Tatiana's dresses for today. She's thinner than I am, so it's a little risqué, clinging to my curvier body. I declined the heels because I know myself well enough to know that I would keel over and mortify myself if I tried to walk in them. So instead I opted for a pair of sensible but elegant flats.
“May I help you?”
The receptionist is a young, gorgeous woman, of course, with porcelain skin and delicate features, luscious blonde waves cascading down her back.
I mentally grimace. Sorry I fucked up your computer.
I don't miss the fact that there are six armed guards nearby.
"Yes," I say, keeping my tone even, almost bored. "I’m here for my eleven o’clock meeting with Mr. Romanov.”
She eyes me curiously, her head tipped to the side. “Are you sure about that?” I wonder idly if those lashes are falsies, they’re so pretty.
“Of course,” I insist, my tone hardening. “Is there a problem?”
I’ll make it up to you, I promise. A few keystrokes and her bank account will be mysteriously fatter.
Doing what I do means I blur the lines of morality sometimes. Other times, I have to erase them completely. Still, I’m shaking and want to run. I breathe deeply and will my nerves to remain calm.
“Let me see,” she murmurs to herself. When she stares at the screen, unblinking, I know exactly what she’s seeing — nothing. Her calendar wiped clean and an obnoxious error code.
Pink splotches of color stain her cheeks. My belly dips with guilt. “Just a minute, please.”
She stands and walks to another room and knocks politely on its door. I take a deep breath and will myself not to glance at the guards all looking directly at me.
Here we go. Enter, the Romanovs.
When the door opens, the gentleman on the other side looks exactly the way Tatiana described these guys — huge, gorgeous, muscular, with perfectly symmetrical features and stunningly rugged looks.
This is a Romanov…just not the one I’m looking for. This one looks younger with his scar across his eyebrow. He has a chiseled jawline etched in neatly trimmed stubble, striking blue eyes, and a close-cropped haircut. A black dress shirt stretches across taut muscles and is tucked into charcoal gray dress pants. He wears no tie, an effortless nod toward business casual. He’s ruggedly handsome and dangerous as fuck.
“Yes?" He eyes me suspiciously while she fills him in.
"I’m so sorry to bother you, sir," she says in a low voice. "I can't access our database of appointments and records. It’s gone completely blank. This woman says that she's here to see Mr. Romanov, but I have no record to compare or…” she gives me a quick glance and then looks back to him, “…memory of booking the appointment.”
The man scowls at me. I shiver and promise her she can buy herself whatever it is her little heart desires tonight. Just help a girl out, please, I silently beg.
"Who are you?" he bites out without any semblance of professionalism. I’m reminded of a pit bull.
Fortunately for me, constructing a false identity was also very easy. “Linda Rogue. Mr. Romanov brought me in here as a cybersecurity consultant."
His eyebrows raise. "I'm the cybersecurity consultant."
Shit shit shit.
I took a gamble and I lost. Time to pivot.
"So nice to meet you,” I say warmly. "My hope is to show Mr. Romanov the latest digital defenses that we have against cybersecurity issues. I'm not here to take your job, of course, but to offer my expertise and services to strengthen your empire. Our goal is to make your security impenetrable." I give him a delicate smile and hope tossing the word “empire” in there stroked his ego just enough.
The way his ice blue eyes narrow on me makes my belly dip. Maybe this was a bad idea.