The Russian's Acquistion
Stirred from apathy for the first time in weeks, he sought out her new contact details.
And quickly learned she’d disappeared.
* * *
Clair made a note in her calendar, then traced the capped end of the pen over her upper lip, pleased with the number of “yes” responses she’d had to her invitation.
The home usually had a decent turnout for volunteer drives. Clair was one of the diehards. She had expected a few of the people she’d seen during the annual clean to be willing to sit on her committee bridging the foundation funds to the most-needed programs in the home, but she was thrilled to hear all of them eagerly agree.
Things were finally coming together. The home had cleared out an old cloakroom to make an office for her. One of the cooks had offered Clair the use of her mother’s house while the woman visited relatives in Australia. Clair only had to feed the cat and pay the utilities. She wasn’t taking a wage from Brighter Days, but she’d interviewed for a clerk position with a notary in the village. It was only a temporary maternity cover, but it would keep her on her feet until she figured out her next step.
She was, if not happy, at least comfortable and rewarded while she nursed a rejected heart from Aleksy’s virtually wordless goodbye. He’d driven her into St. Petersburg himself and put her on a private jet back to London, where she’d been met by that dead fish, Lazlo.
She shouldn’t be so hard on the man. Lazlo was only doing his job, being attentive to the point of smothering her, ensuring that her boxes had been delivered to the flat in one of the most exclusive buildings in London. Aleksy’s? She hadn’t had the nerve to ask. She hadn’t lowered herself to take any of the three jobs he’d secured for her either. As for the credit cards that bore her name but wouldn’t send their bills to her, she’d cut them up the minute Lazlo left.
Clair knew it was pigheaded, but she hadn’t stayed one night in London. She’d put her things back in storage at her own expense and caught the train here. A clean break, she had decided, smirking a little over using the expression. Look at her, proficient in the vernacular of modern-day relationships after her first one.
Sighing, she flipped the page on her diary to check the time on tomorrow’s appointment with an art therapist before she closed the book. This was the part of the day she found hardest—going back to a house that felt like a home and having only a cat for company. Perhaps she’d invite one of the staff and their family to eat with her. She did that now. Rather than forcing herself to tough out the lonely times, she was making real friendships and finding it a confidence booster. It turned out people liked her when she opened up and let them get to know her. She wasn’t an awkward orphan any longer. She was an independent young woman like any other.
Fetching her jacket off the hook in the corner, she shrugged it on, flipping her hair out from under the collar with a vague thought to trim it soon. Outside, she noted a stylish car in the drive. Her heart skipped a beat, betraying how many fantasies she still harbored about a certain man, but it was probably just the school trustee who’d promised to pick up the scholarship information Clair had left for her.
Hearing a footstep and a creak of a floorboard behind her, Clair said, “Is that you, Geri? I was just about to hunt you down and ask if you’d like to come for din—” She turned to see a tall shadow filling the doorway. Déjà vu struck instantly.
She couldn’t move as she took in tall, dark, scarred, gorgeous Aleksy Dmitriev invading her life again.
“Who is Geri? Is he your colleague?” That voice. His rough-smooth accent and deep timbre vibrated through her, making her feel restless and anxious to take flight.
Clair surreptitiously braced a hand on the windowsill behind her. “Geraldine is one of the house parents. What are you doing here?”
“You dropped off the face of the earth, Clair.” He stepped into the tiny room and she took in all of him from his uncreased suit to his smoothly shaven jaw. He looked restored to his old self. Better. Like clay that was stronger for going through the fire. Clean, polished and strong. “What were you thinking, disappearing like that?”