Page 16 of Desperate Measures

Dad finally gave in and allowed me to have a condo in one of the buildings he owned near Volkov Towers where I would be working.

I mean, he’d still have security watching me, but if I told him about this, he would insist I forget about my career and come back home. But I couldn’t do that. I refused to be a useless decoration.

I wondered briefly what the stranger would say if she knew who I was. Would she want money? Some kind of reward. I even wondered if maybe I should offer, but clearly, she must have money.

The woman had to be somebody, I mean, she had a VIP room with top shelf champagne sitting in buckets just waiting for her.

But who was she? She called me Little Wolf.

Must have been a coincidence.

But how can I be sure?

“Thank you so much. I-I don’t know how I can repay you,” I whimpered as she draped her sheer cape over me, hiding my ruined dress.

“Don’t worry Michaela Volkov, I am sure we can work it out,” she said, and I froze.

This woman knew exactly who I was.

And now I was in her debt.

Chapter 5-Liam

The wedding day.

It was the week before Thanksgiving and New York City weather was similar to that of where I’d been the last month overseas in western China.

It was good to be back, but I had to admit this was something of a fucking surprise.

I followed Maggie out of the small office after I signed the license. She led the way to a larger room that was empty except for a desk where a handful of people stood right in front of it.

First, I found my sister’s bodyguards flanking the room, keeping guard at each exit and the one large window.

There was an older man, a judge I gathered from the placard on his desk leaning against his desk. He was chatting with two younger women, one of whom was my bride.

The other woman looked vaguely familiar. She was stern looking, dressed in green scrubs, with bark framed glasses perched on the bridge of her nose and her short hair pushed away from her face by a headband.

Right. She’s the friend Michaela hung around with in high school. Guess they’re still close.

Michaela was holding her hands clasped together in front of her, worrying her lower lip between her teeth as the other two carried whatever conversation was going on.

I took a moment to look her over, unobserved.

Fuck.

She was so pretty, lovely really, and I was a goddamn lecher.

Michaela was nine years younger than me and infinitely more in terms of innocence.

Her posture was graceful.

Her figure, womanly.

Her skin, clear and smooth.

She looks so fucking soft.

But she was young and sweet. Much too sweet for me.