“Ivan, I need a favor.” I didn’t often call my father’s old contacts, but occasionally I found myself in need of help just outside of the law. “I need a background check on a new employee.”
There was a pause, and then, “Is this not something your own HR department could handle?”
“Not this time.” I didn’t want the standard background check of Ms. Rivers. I wanted to know everything I could about her. Every dirty secret she held. If I was going to try and seduce her, and that was sure as fuck going to happen, I needed to know who I was dealing with first. “I need something a little more … thorough than what my HR department is capable of.”
Or would approve of.
Ivan chuckled darkly. “Very well. What is her name?”
“How do you know it’s a woman?”
“There are two reasons you would ask me this favor. The first is that you are wishing to kill a man. The second is that you are wishing to fuck a woman. You are no killer, Dmitry, so it must be a woman.”
I arched a brow. “Very astute of you, my friend.”
“Her name, then.”
“Winter Rivers. I’ll email you more of her details.”
“I will have the information collected by the end of the week.”
“Thank you, Ivan. That will be fine.”
I hung up the call and leaned back in my chair, my thoughts consumed by silky blond hair and the warm, tantalizing scent of Winter’s perfume. No woman had caught my interest so quickly or thoroughly before. I was eager to find out what was so special about her.
Then, I’d fuck her until I’d had my fill, and move on from her just like I had countless times before.
4
Winter
“So, explain to me again. Exactly how hot was this guy?”
I didn’t look up from the digital doctor’s bill on my laptop screen as I answered, “Stupid hot. Like, I’m still not sure he was even real, he was so fucking attractive. But he was kind of scary, too.”
My roommate and best friend of the last few years came around to sit on the opposite end of the couch, a glass of cheap wine in her hand. Khloe’s curly black hair was pulled back into a high bun, and she was wearing her glasses over her bright green eyes.
“Like, tyrannical asshole scary, or I’m gonna peel your skin and wear it scary?” she demanded.
I peeked up at her, flashing a half-grin. “More like, if you disobey me, I’ll make your ass red, scary.”
Khloe’s eyes went wide. “Damn. That’s the best kind of scary. Does he have any more openings?”
I took a sip of my own wine before saying, “As I was leaving his office, he told me if I questioned him again, there’d be consequences. What do you think he meant by that?”
“Fuck, girl, that sounds like some Fifty Shades shit.”
I nearly snorted aloud. Leave it to Khloe to instantly go there. When we met three years ago at a Halloween party, she was dressed as the movie—with several gray paint cards from Home Depot attached to her skimpy black bodysuit.
“No.” I shook my head. “No, that can’t be it. He’s a professional, and he didn’t even seem to like me that much.”
“But he hired you without really interviewing you,” she said, some of her wine sloshing out of her glass and onto our threadbare carpet when she jabbed a green-painted fingernail at me. “Seems to me he might interested in your for more than your impressive resume.”
Thinking back to my meeting with Mr. Maslow, I just couldn’t see it. He had been nothing but professional with me, up until that last statement before I left. And there was a 99.9 percent chance that was innocent of any ulterior motive. He’d said he was a hard man to work for. He was likely just a hard ass when it came to showing up on time and following his instructions. A control freak rather than a sex freak.
But don’t those always seem to go hand-in-hand?
I forced the thought from my head, feeling like a certified dumbass for even thinking it. “I can’t see it. Why would he risk the lawsuit?”