Page 8 of Beguiled

You bet I was precise because he was. Stash Chertov, chief financial officer and part owner of the Chertov Corporation. While his surname was on the building and etched in the all-glass entrance doors, he was the cousin of the president of operations. Half cousins to be precise.

If there was such a thing.

Both friends and enemies had accredited a portion of the company’s successful expansion to the sultry Russian himself. What was I saying? There were several men of obvious Russian descent who appeared every so often. Maybe I was hungry for a larger piece of the pie. They could certainly afford it. While the incident at Christmas remained painful, at least I hadn’t crossed paths with the drunk jerk from that night.

The male owners of the company were similar in attire and demeanor, barely saying two words while gracing the team with their presence. Rumors were typical in any successful business, yet those involving the Chertov family were dark and sordid in nature. Whispered words regarded the family as being true Russia Bratva, only recently increasing their presence and powerful control over New York City and beyond.

There was a third man on the books, someone I’d met only twice. Kazimir and his family remained in Russia, holding down their corporate operations and some said a true kingdom.

Several of the stories were wild, tales of catching one or another bludgeoning a man to death, another being shot outside Broadway. While the Big Apple had both its share of vicious crimes and bystanders refusing to get involved no matter how heinous the situation, I highly doubted one of them could get away with murdering someone in cold blood in front of the bright lights of Broadway.

The allure of danger was a powerful aphrodisiac, half the women and a portion of the men in the company drooling over Stash andhis cousin Dimitri. There were a few staunch believers in never dipping a toe into the gray area, fearful our company would eventually be shut down by the FBI.

If the company was involved in dark economics, I’d discovered no evidence. Given I was heavily involved in every financial aspect, my spidey sense would have been raised at least once. However, I was no fool. I could smell work underground and was determined to find out what Stash and his family were involved in. I’d always had a strong sense of curiosity, something my mother had also warned me against.

With my boss’ door closed, meaning he’d arrived right on time, I was hopeful he was busy on a conference call, which were frequent and typical given the time difference with Moscow.

In a flurry, I yanked my glasses from my purse, shoving them onto my face. I’d never manage to see the financial numbers on the screen without them.

I didn’t miss a beat, opening my email and within five minutes, I’d answered all twelve emails with precise attention to detail, returned an RSVP for a luncheon I knew Mr. Chertov didn’t want to attend, and signed off on a large order of office supplies.

You bet I’d learned to be efficient as the man’s glorified secretary. At least he’d yet to have me grabbing his dry cleaning while on my forty-five-minute lunch break. With a roll of my eyes, I pulled out a piece of my favorite candy, popping it into my mouth.

When my personal cellphone rang, I groaned. Personals calls were permitted but frowned upon, like almost everything else personable, entertaining, or heartwarming. With the morning I’d already had, I was fearful the bad luck would continue. Ah,just my bestie calling, hopefully confirming lunch today. Not that breaking bread would be any big deal.

We were working girls, everything in New York expensive. We confined ourselves to either the company’s cafeteria or on nice days the lovely atrium on the fourteen floor to eat our white bread and mayonnaise sandwiches. I rolled my eyes before answering.

“Hey, hey,” Tawny cooed. “How’s it shakin’ this morning, babe?”

“Uh-oh. I know that tone.”

“What tone?”

I glanced over my shoulder to ensure his door hadn’t been opened. “The ‘I need a favor’ tone.”

“How do you do that?”

Chuckling, I closed the email screen, moving to the Excel document I’d been working on. At least I’d finished the report before leaving the office the day before. All I needed to do was to doublecheck entries. “I’m a soothsayer who can read minds as well as see into the future.”

“I wish that was true. Then you could tell me definitively if I need to dump Brian.”

“I don’t need my precognitive abilities to offer you advice. Dump his ass. Toss him to the curb.”

“Tell me how you really feel about him. Don’t worry. I have other irons in the fire.” Somehow, she didn’t sound overly convincing. I knew Tawny too well. Something was on her mind and given the last favor I’d performed was being her plus one at the Christmas party, I had every reason to be dubious.

“About time. So what’s the favor?” I pressed, my nerves still on edge. Stash wanted the report by nine sharp. That left me with eighteen minutes to doublecheck the formula.

“Oh, no. It’s a bit too complicated to go into over the phone. How about lunch today? My treat.”

I glared at my little bag of eatable goodies, which I’d forgotten to put into the fridge in the break room. Another tell that I shouldn’t have gotten out of bed this morning. Something about the way she mentioned having lunch caught me off guard. “That’s fine. Didn’t you get my email anyway?”

“Girl. I’ve been swamped since I walked in. I didn’t see anything, but you know me.”

“Yes, I do. Our favorite table in the atrium?”

“I’ll be there. And please say yes.”

“Not until you tell me what the favor is.” Her favors usually got me in trouble. Still laughing, I shoved my phone into my purse and returned to the spreadsheet.