"You really are something else," Ostin said, exhaling heavily, and fixed his stare on the table. "How was it even possible not to know what the whole company is talking about. Even the laziest ones are aware."
The tone made it sound like something irreversible had happened.
"You know I don't really talk to anyone," I said. Without excuses. Just a statement of fact.
He ran a hand over his face.
"All right. Let's hope he cools down soon. For now, it's better not to touch him. And no jabs in his direction. At least for a few days."
"Okay," I replied. There was no point in arguing. He was still my boss. "I need official permission to access accounting. You gave verbal approval, but they don't know about it."
He dialed a number, said my name, and gave short instructions.
"You can go. They'll give you everything."
"Thank you."
I had already turned toward the exit when he stopped me.
"Mirey. I rarely see him like this. Don't test where the line is."
I nodded and left without adding anything.
To my surprise, Theron disappeared from sight. First for a few days. Then the second week began.
I didn't see or hear him at the company. If at first it looked like deliberate distance at Ostin's request, now it simply became routine.
There were no tasks from him.
The accounting department at the main office turned out to be unbearably dull and pedantic. They worked literally right under his nose. Too close to take risks. To hide something or allow mistakes here would have been fatally bold.
During his absence, I went to see Derek. Briefly told him what was going on. He only patted me on the shoulder, wished me luck, and apologized for that time he had sent me there.
Now we met at his place. I didn't want Theron, if he suddenly appeared, to see Derek in my living room.
There would be more questions. Derek is a handsome, solid man. Motives are read quickly.
I had already declined personal dinner invitations from Travis a couple of times.
I caught myself doing everything to avoid creating situations where I would have to explain anything to Theron. Who, incidentally, had disappeared himself.
Sometimes it looked ridiculous.
As if I were his wife. The kind who needs inner permission to see men.
Sitting at home over dinner, I sometimes caught myself tensing. Listening for whether he was coming or not.
Those reactions irritated me the most.
Maybe I should move. Although, if he wanted to, he would find out the new address without difficulty.
Or maybe he calmed down after finding out about the tie.
Did I hurt him with that?
If I reasoned logically, I found it hard to believe that he left the tie precisely as a sign of choice. And I didn't need that anyway. Everything would only become more complicated.
"Shit, I don't understand him at all," I said out loud, slamming shut yet another book about the romance of a rich mafioso and an ordinary girl from a coffee shop.
In those stories everything is simple. Clear. Almost sterile.
Why doesn't it work like that with Theron.
Although, to be honest, I'm not any better myself.
To hell with books and reflections. It's easier to go to sleep.
I had already gone to brush my teeth when there was a knock at the door.
At first I thought it was Derek. Maybe he had forgotten something.
But Theron was standing on the threshold. Or rather, leaning against the doorframe. Drunk.
Seriously.
I opened the door wider and silently stepped aside, letting him in.
He hadn't come just to show himself. There was no doubt about that.
He carelessly took off his shoes and walked into the bedroom.
Without permission, without questions, without waiting. As if it were his own home.
And I remained standing, watching. Almost like a wife who had waited too long and was now simply registering the fact of his return.
He undressed down to his underwear and climbed under the blanket.
That was when I noticed blood on his hand.
I lifted the edge of the blanket and began to examine him. Hands. Shoulders. Body.
His knuckles were smashed. Bloody. The wounds had already been treated, but the blood was seeping through again. The abrasions didn't look fresh.
He had fought someone. Or beaten someone.
I exhaled heavily, found the first-aid kit, and came back. He was already almost unconscious. Sleeping calmly, heavily. He smelled of alcohol and that cologne I couldn't stand.
And yet, through it all, a thin sweet note broke through.
I leaned closer. Near his neck the scent was more distinct.
Another woman's.
I almost started constructing versions. But stopped myself immediately. Pointless. A waste of time.
I treated the abrasions. The ones that were still bleeding, I covered with bandages. My movements were careful, mechanical.
Then I finally washed my face, brushed my teeth, and lay down beside him.
It took him a second. As soon as I pulled the blanket over myself, he wrapped his arms around my waist and placed his head on my stomach.
Damn.
I won't sleep well in this position again.
But apparently I had gotten used to him. I fell asleep almost immediately.
I woke up when Theron got up and went into the shower. Exactly at the same time as usual. As if by alarm clock. Although there was no alarm clock.
He returned from the bathroom different. Collected. Cold. With straight posture. My towel was tied around his waist. I propped myself up and watched him get dressed. He didn't pay any attention to me.
For a second a thought flashed through my mind: maybe last night he had simply mistaken the door.
"Coffee?" I asked calmly. There was still something nocturnal in his eyes, but he hid it well.
"Yes," he answered in the same tone, continuing to dress.
I got up, made coffee and a couple of sandwiches. I heard him already talking to someone on the phone. Then he came out to the kitchen.
I was sitting in my usual chair, chewing. He sat opposite me and took a sip.
"I heard Travis was looking to meet with you," he said. His voice and gaze were cold. The way people look when they believe you are guilty.
"Yes. He invited me to a personal dinner. I declined," I looked straight at him.
Was that why he came. After a week of silence.
"I'm completely removing you from that project. The contract is signed, the rest will be handled by others. I don't want you crossing paths with him," he said evenly, finishing his coffee.
"Yes, yes, Mr. Dictator," I smirked and reached for a second sandwich.
His control irritated me at times. He already felt at home here, and now he was also issuing orders.
I was ready to go with the flow, but to obey orders — no. Especially when it concerned my personal life.
"I'm serious," the mug hit the table louder than necessary.
"I work for you. But you will not control my personal life. Save your instructions for your fiancée. Talk to her like that," I said and pushed the plate away. My appetite was gone.
I stood up and went toward the bathroom.
He stopped me by grabbing my hand. Sharply, but not roughly.
"I already said it. Your life is mine. Or did you forget?" He pulled me toward him.
I resisted.
"I never promised to be your obedient dog. Make Sunny one. It suits her status better," I yanked my hand free. He didn't hold me.
"Don't cross the line," he almost growled.
"What, you don't like it when someone touches your princess?" I couldn't stop anymore. I knew it was dangerous. But I said it.
Rage flared in his eyes. His hands twitched. For a second I thought he would hit me. He restrained himself.
Silently he tightened his tie, put on his jacket, and left without saying a word.
Now it was obvious: Sunny was the line. The one he would never allow me to cross.
I turned the shower colder to knock the anger and irritation caused by Theron out of my system.
It worked.
Cooling down was something I knew how to do.
Dressed and with my bag packed, I was going downstairs already collected. Emotions under control. As usual.
Outside it was immediately clear — winter had come into its own. I wrapped my scarf tighter and didn't regret putting it on at the last moment.
Theron's driver was waiting for me by the entrance.
"Please," he politely gestured toward one of Theron's cars parked nearby.
"Why?" I asked without haste.
Usually I was driven only for work matters. This looked strange.
"I'll take you to the office," he replied with noticeable awkwardness.
I looked around, but still followed him.
Not his style — sending a driver just like that. Unless the story with Dave was repeating itself. But he had been gone for a long time.
Was it starting again?
I got into the car and froze for a second.
Theron was sitting next to me. As if nothing had happened. Reading the news, paying no attention to me at all.
"Do I have some off-site work today?" I asked, still not fully understanding the situation, when the car started moving.
"No," his voice made it clear that he had already left the morning quarrel behind. "We're going to the office."
"Together?" The surprise still broke through.
He sighed tiredly and looked at me.
"Yes. Is there a problem?"
"No," I answered and began unbuttoning my coat. It was warm in the car.
He went back to his screen.
I took out my phone as well. We drove in silence, like strangers.
A loud headline appeared in the feed. A theory was being built that the death of the head of UNEST benefited only one person — Theron Vescari. It mentioned that the FBI had already conducted questioning. Officially, he was not involved. For now.
The note was unambiguous: the investigation continued, suspicions had not been lifted.
I glanced at him. He was intently reading some charts. Collected. Familiar. He was wearing the tie again.
Whether to read further, I never decided. The car was already entering the underground parking.
We got out together and headed toward the service elevator. He put his phone away but still didn't look at me. In the elevator, he pressed his floor and mine.
Maybe it was a way to apologize. Or simply convenience.
I got out and went to my office, hoping that all this nonsense would dissipate as soon as I sat down at my desk.
The documents once again turned out to be insanely boring. I managed to check everything before lunch and had already taken out a book when I was called to Theron.
What now. Hopefully just a task.
I came in and, as usual, stopped, waiting for permission to proceed. On the long table, closer to his workspace, lay neat stacks of documents.
"I gathered the activity for the year, as you asked," he said and nodded toward the papers.
I stepped closer and reached to take them, but he immediately stopped me.
"No. You'll check them here," he smirked. "This is personal. No one except Ostin should know that you're doing this."
"Okay," I replied and looked around. "Can I sit here? Or…"
I asked because the distance was too small, and I worked faster alone.
"Am I bothering you?" he smirked again. The morning tension seemed to be gone. "Sit down."
"Can I take notes?" I asked.
"Yes. But they'll stay with me," he was still smiling.
If that's how the boss wants it — fine.
I sat down and began going through the documents. Within a few minutes I was completely immersed in work.
His family and clan were indeed large. A middle sister. A younger brother. Mother and father. Grandfather still alive, eighty years old.
Then uncles, aunts, cousins, second cousins. Too many names. And almost every one of them was, in one way or another, woven into the business and affairs.
The scale was felt immediately.
I checked every building, every sale. Wrote down coincidences, repeating details, any deviations. At first glance everything looked clean — both the transactions themselves and the buyers.
But if Theron had doubts, then something had to be there.
I wrote down all the sales that seemed strange and decided to ask.
When I turned around, he was standing directly over me and looking at the list.
"What did you write down?" he asked and leaned closer, scanning the notes.
"I have a question. Are there buildings or premises here that were previously used in illegal activities?"
He read carefully. His jaw tightened.
"Yes," he answered after a pause. Thought.
"Tell me what's bothering you," I finally asked.
"Seriously? You're going to pity me?" he smirked, looking at me.
"I'm talking about the sales. You didn't ask me to check for nothing. Something alarmed you. If you tell me, I might find more. I need a vector," I explained.
"If I give you a vector, you'll start adjusting everything to it," he said. "I want you to find it yourself. Without direction."
He moved too close. For a second it seemed to me that he would kiss me, but he immediately stepped back.
"It's late. You'll continue tomorrow. Let's go home."
Home? I looked at him questioningly.
He nodded toward the chair. My things were already lying there, packed. It was dark outside.
"What time is it?" Only now did I realize that evening had long since come.
"Almost nine," he said and handed me my coat. "You didn't even have lunch, did you?"
"I didn't have time," I answered, putting it on.
He carefully draped the scarf around me and handed me my bag. He himself was standing in a strict suit — not the one he had worn in the morning. I hadn't even noticed when he changed.
I had been too immersed in work to notice anything else.
We were descending in the elevator, and I was replaying his words. He was right. If he set the direction, I would start fitting the facts to it. And I needed to see what was actually there. If there was anything at all.
On the way home Theron was talking on the phone, resolving some issues. I didn't listen. I just sat and tried to disconnect. Not to think. It worked poorly.
Too little activity — emptiness.
Then too much at once, without pauses.
No balance.
We came home, and everything followed the familiar scenario.
He went to the shower. I set the table. Dinner. Then I went to the shower. He sat in front of the TV, simultaneously resolving something on the phone. After that I sat with a book. Nothing unusual.
Before bed I treated his hands, put bandages on. We barely talked. And about what.
About his princess?
About the fact that he comes and goes when he wants. Disappears when he considers it necessary.
Conversations made no sense. Every time he started speaking, the dictator switched on, and we argued.
But like this — silently, side by side — everything looked right. As if this was how it was supposed to be.
He slept the same way, wrapping his arms around me, using me as a pillow. My body seemed to have truly gotten used to him. I fell asleep about ten minutes after we lay down.
In the morning I woke up to his raised voice. He was in the living room, arguing with someone on the phone. I went out to check if everything was all right. When I approached, he had already ended the call and was standing there, lost in thought. He didn't look at me.
I don't interfere in his affairs until he speaks himself.
But apparently I hadn't fully woken up yet. Or habit kicked in.
"Any problems?" I asked, rubbing my eyes.
I looked at his tense body, just shorts, in the middle of my usual living room, and sincerely didn't understand. He has billions. More than that. And yet he comes to sleep at my place. What was wrong with him.
"Sorry…" he hesitated. "I just… Don't worry about it. Go back to bed. I won't shout anymore."
He smiled and gently turned me toward the bedroom, walked me to the bed.
"I've already slept enough. I just thought something happened," I turned and looked at him.
The smile didn't change.
"Work. Nothing special. You understand, in my job there are plenty of problems," he said, seating me back down, almost forcing me to lie down.
"Can I help with something?" it slipped out of me. More out of politeness than consciously.
He froze. Thought.
"Hm…" he drawled. "Well then, let's see if you can help me."