Page 22 of Babies for the Boss
She is extraordinary in ways I did not anticipate and cannot fully account for. It’s not only her patience with my men, or the dry precision of her wit, or the way she runs the office with a quiet competence that makes everything around her function better.
It’s the way she is undiminished by the harshness of the world she has walked into, unbothered by the weight of my silences, unafraid of me in the way that most people, sensibly, are afraid of me. She looks at me like I’m interesting rather than a man to run from. I find this unreasonably compelling.
I have found it unreasonably compelling for longer than I’ve been willing to admit.
Molly trusts me, which is the part I can’t look away from. In my office, in the low light, when I test the edges of what she will give me, she gives willingly, even eagerly. There’s something in that that reaches past every wall I have built and does damage I can’t yet fully assess.
She is not passive in those moments. She’s present and sharp and entirely herself, even then, and the trust is not blind but chosen, eyes wide open. I find that the chosen kind is considerably more dangerous to receive than the kind people extend out of fear or obligation.
She sniffles once. “Did I fall asleep?”
“You did.”
“Oh, sorry,” she says as she starts to get up.
But I pull her back down to me on the couch. “It’s fine. Rest.”
She half smiles, then relaxes into my arms once again. It’s seconds before I hear her quiet snores.
I will not lose her. That’s not a feeling. It’s a decision made with the same cold clarity with which I make all decisions that matter. And decisions require action.
I will do what it takes to protect what is mine.
Igor comes to me on a Thursday morning with the measured tread that means he has something I won’t want to hear delivered in a way he hopes will soften it. He settles into the chair across my desk, folds his hands, and tells me that Fedor has been making inquiries.
About my operation, my structure, the people closest to me. Mapping the terrain, the way Fedor always does before he moves. Igor’s information is solid. It is always solid. I thank him, and he leaves, and I sit for a moment with the stillness that comes before a decision I have already made.
I call Vet.
Her full name is Svetlana Bodrov, but no one has called her that in years. She is exceptionally good at keeping people alive when other people are trying very hard to do the opposite, and she’s even more gifted at the opposite. She worked overseas for me for years, operating in environments where being overlooked was the primary survival skill, and she was never overlooked by anyone who mattered and consistently overlooked by everyone else. It is a rare talent.
She is brunette, brown-eyed, and has the kind of face people look past in a crowd, one that doesn’t snag in memory. She is also precise, disciplined, and entirely without sentimentality, which are qualities I value in the people I trust with things that matter.
Molly matters.
Vet answers on the second ring, which she always does. “Pavel. Long time, no hear.”
She’s using her American accent. This is good. It means she might be in the US already.
“I have an assignment for you. Close protection, indefinite duration. The principal does not know she’s to be protected.”
“How close am I to be?”
“Daily contact. You will be inside the perimeter, not watching it from outside. Her assistant during the day, her stalker at night.”
Another pause. “Is the principal aware of any threat?”
“No, and she won’t be if you do your job.”
“The subterfuge costs extra.”
I nearly laugh. It’s unlike Vet to make a joke. “Double your rate, Vet. I don’t care.”
“I can be in Manhattan within the day.”
“I’ll send you the addresses and other details. And Vet?”
“Yes?”
