Devil's Lair (Molotov Obsession #1) - Anna Zaires Page 0,64
one in Ukraine?”
“Chernobyl? No, they’re nothing like that. For one thing, each reactor is only about the size of a car, so even if there was an accident, the amount of radiation released would be much less. More importantly, our engineers have added so many redundancies that an accident is next to impossible. Our moto is Safety First—unlike our rivals.’” His voice hardens on the last part.
“There are other companies doing the same thing?” I ask, fascinated by this glimpse into a world I know nothing about.
His eyes glint darkly. “One. They’re bidding against us for a huge contract with the Tajik government. Whoever wins it will dominate this nascent industry in Central Asia—which is why my brother asked me to get involved.”
“Oh?”
“The head of the Tajikistan Energy Commission was a classmate of mine at boarding school, and my brother’s hoping I’ll have better luck making our case to him.” A wry smile touches his lips. “As you’ve probably guessed, personal connections are very important in business.”
I widen my eyes exaggeratedly. “No! Really?”
He laughs. “I know. Hard to imagine, right? I have a lunch meeting with him on Monday, and then I’ll hopefully be able to fly back.”
“So you’ll be back by Tuesday?” I’m already counting down the days until my first paycheck, and now I’ll have another reason to wish I could put the next fifty hours on fast-forward.
“I should be, yes.” He pauses, then says softly, “I miss you, zaychik.”
My breath stops, literally, even as my heart hammers faster and my skin tingles with a flush. Regardless of what I thought I saw in his eyes last night—what I hoped he might feel—I never dreamed that I’d hear him say that to me tonight so casually… so openly.
Like a boyfriend.
He’s looking at me, patiently waiting for my response, so as soon as my breathing resumes, I force myself to speak. “I… I miss you too. And Slava. He misses you. We both miss you. He really does.” I know I’m not making any sense, but I can’t help it. I’ve never had trouble expressing my feelings with the guys I’ve dated, but I’ve never dated anyone like Nikolai before—not that we’re dating. Or are we? Maybe he just misses me in the friend sense? Or son’s tutor sense?
God, I have no idea what’s happening.
The corners of his sensuous lips twitch with suppressed amusement, and I once again have the unnerving suspicion that he’s looking straight into my brain and seeing the confusion there. “Tell me more, zaychik,” he murmurs, leaning closer to the camera. “What has my son been up to today?”
Slava, that’s it. I grab on to the topic like a drowning man latching on to a buoy, and launch into a detailed description of everything Slava and I have done and learned. Nikolai listens raptly, his gaze filled with that special softness he reserves for his son. However, when I get to the book Slava and I read last—the story about the ducklings—and I laughingly mention Slava’s apparent dislike for Grandpa Duck, all traces of softness disappear from Nikolai’s expression, his eyes taking on a hard, sharp gleam.
“Did he say anything?” he demands. “Explain it in any way?”
“No, I… I didn’t ask.” I draw back at the look on his face, an expression so dark and cold it sends a chill through my body. This is a side of Nikolai I’ve never seen, and suddenly, my earlier concerns about mafia don’t seem quite as foolish.
I can picture this man ordering a hit—even pulling the trigger himself.
In the next moment, however, his features smooth out, the chilling look disappearing as he asks me to continue, and I’m again left wondering if my unruly imagination played a trick on me. Maybe I read too much into that brief change of expression… or maybe I just got a peek into some Molotov family drama. It could simply be that Nikolai doesn’t get along with Slava’s grandfather—assuming there is one on his mother’s side.
There’s still a lot I don’t know about this family.
Deciding to remedy that, I finish my report on Slava’s progress by going over what I taught him at dinner, and then I carefully—very carefully, lest I step on any landmines—ask Nikolai to tell me about his brothers.
Thankfully, my request doesn’t upset him. “I’m the second oldest,” he tells me. “Valery is four years my junior, and Konstantin—the genius of the family—is two years older than me. He runs all of our tech ventures, while Valery oversees the