Page 22 of The Brigadier
Chantel
Boogeymen.
I hated bad dreams, nightmares that refused to allow me to get more than a couple of hours’ worth of sleep. That had been my night before. Between the constant traffic noises and the squeaks that made me think someone had broken into the apartment, I was exhausted and pissed off. I’d even left a message for Sonya at lunch, but she hadn’t called me back.
I tossed my purse onto my little desk, huffing because of the last couple of days. On top of the shitty night I’d had, a storm was rolling in, the wind already whipping us. I hadn’t brought an umbrella. If it rained before work was over, I’d be soaking wet by the time I made it back to my shithole. I meant my apartment.
“You need to stay away from him,” a tiny voice said just over my shoulder.
I tipped my head. Misty seemed like a nice girl, a little timid and mousy but nice. “Did something happen?”
She glanced toward the corridor where Mr. Davenport’s office was located. “He asked where you were just after you left for lunch.”
“Great. Is he always this way?”
“Why do you think I dress like this?” she asked in a way she obviously didn’t want anyone else to hear. “He doesn’t even know I exist. You’re beautiful, way too much so.”
Shit. “Why do you work here? Why does any woman work here?”
Misty shrugged. “It’s a good launching ground. I have resumes out and I’ve gotten a few bites. I can almost double my salary if I’m cautious.”
Well, good for her.
I was ready to issue a barrage of questions when it seemed the air all around us became icy. Women scattered, hiding in front of their computers and remaining quiet.
“Shit. Gotta run,” Misty mumbled.
What the hell was wrong with everyone? I turned slightly. Seeing Mr. Davenport brought a round of bile into my throat.
“Ms. Myers. My office. Now.” He spun on his four-thousand-dollar loafers and took long strides back to his office.
“Shit.”
“Poor girl.”
“Thank God I’m not you.”
I wasn’t entirely certain where the comments were coming from but it didn’t matter. The bastard wasn’t going to ruffle my feathers. Nope. I took the same long strides, almost pounding on the man’s door when I reached his office.
“Come in.” His voice was a little gruffer as I walked in. He was studying a file, not bothering to look up at me. “Close the door.”
I did but remained several feet away from his desk. He was trying his best to make me feel uncomfortable by making me wait.
Five minutes.
Ten.
I was this close to walking out when he finally lifted his head, studying me in an entirely different way. He tossed the file and moved around his desk. There was something about the look onhis face that irritated the hell out of me. I refused to move even as he walked closer.
“I don’t take kindly to anyone lying about their identity.”
And there it was. How in God’s name had he figured it out? Other than the connections I’d heard about. “What are you talking about?”
The man grinned and as soon as he lifted his arm as if to touch me, I snapped my fingers around his wrist. It was one of those gestures where I knew I’d likely just signed my termination, but I didn’t give a shit. This went far behind sexual harassment and I wasn’t about to take it.
“Your father is Vissarian Kuzmin, a notorious crime boss out of LA.”
Goddamn, his eyes were twinkling as if he’d won a kewpie doll at a state fair.