“There’s a person planted somewhere at each of these media outlets keeping the fiction alive for a price.” He shrugged. That was the way this stuff worked.
He rubbed the side of his jaw. “Other people, defenseless people, will be hurt if I don’t deal with this. I can’t just deny it, and I can’t walk away from it.”
He was humoring her, he figured, by telling her information she must certainly be aware of, but, when he thought about it, it was just like them to pay someone off for a job without telling details. Why should they? And if the financial gain were great enough, she would have simply done it. Done what she was told and just taken the money. No questions asked.
They would never have felt compelled to explain the reasoning behind why they were targeting someone in a smear campaign. And he had no specific idea who had approached her. All she would need to know or care about was that she had money in her pocket.
His gaze traveled over the threadbare rug and shabby curtains. Not that it looked like she was spending it yet. The apartment was a shambles aside from the professional photos of her son that filled every available wall space and nook.
She crossed her arms under her chest throwing her rounded breasts into prominence. He could see the tracery of her lacey bra underneath the T-shirt. Blood rushed straight to his groin as if programmed. He
turned away in an effort to relax his wayward body and blank his mind to the vision of her in just that bra and the lacey thong he knew matched it.
He decided to elaborate a bit. As much as he hated to reveal the smallest bit of information about himself, he could see the wisdom in having her working with him, not against him. Maybe if he could get her out of that defensive posture and on his side…
“I, ah, support a number of charities that cater to orphans in Russia. It would be a coup for people who want to see me fail to make the public believe I fathered a child out of wedlock, a child I supposedly proceeded to ignore. Donations might drop off and worse.” He felt his jaw harden. “I will not let that happen. No matter what they told you or paid you. I will not let that happen.”
Sabrina stared into his eyes and he looked back at her, schooling his features into an impassive mask. “That’s all I will say about it. You have no job. If you choose to assist me, I will repay you handsomely though you hardly deserve that kind of consideration. If you refuse, I’ll see that you never work in New York again.”
He folded his arms across his chest. Checkmate. She had to decide in his favor, but he waited for her to admit it.
****
His eyes were as cold as the depths of the Hudson River in winter. This was the Vladimir Grigory whom business rivals feared and his own staff avoided crossing. There was no hint in his face of the Vlad who had been her lover for a day and a night less than twenty-four hours ago.
She had no choice, but damned if she would let him see the pain his words caused.
He hustled them out of the building and into the tiny sedan she had exited minutes before. He was on and off his cell phone the entire time. Sabrina set Alex next to her in the backseat buckled into a seatbelt. She didn’t have a toddler car seat, never had a use for one before. She had never gotten a driver’s license even. They traveled by subway or walked. Once she had secured him enough to prevent him from sliding out of the belt, she took a moment to relish the almost relaxed feeling of riding in a car, even a small one, with Alex as opposed to the stench and grime of the subway. It was a treat to be savored.
She had thrown a few of Alex’s best clothes in a backpack. Sad to say that practically his entire wardrobe plus some of her own things fit inside it. They owned nothing more than the bare minimum. Alex grew so quickly, it didn’t make sense to stock up his wardrobe even if she could have afforded it.
They drove past a group of vehicles near the entrance to the underground garage, and Sabrina instinctively ducked her head in the backseat. But it was okay. Perception was a funny thing. The paparazzi didn’t expect to see Vladimir Grigory driving a Prius.
At his Manhattan apartment building, an imposingly handsome new tower near the tip of Manhattan, the private elevator took them straight to the penthouse overlooking lower Hudson Bay. The rooms were surrounded on all sides by sun-dappled views of the water and Lady Liberty. The center of it all was the huge living area from which five different paths led to various rooms of the apartment: kitchen, office, bedrooms, and all with an unimpeded view of the harbor. Sabrina felt like she was at the prow of a ship.
“My housekeeper brought in some food and other supplies so you should find anything you or Alex might want in the kitchen or your rooms. Your bedrooms are at the far end of that hall.”
He waved his hand at the corridor encased in a thick linen wallpaper then disappeared down another long hall of the penthouse that had more square footage than most houses, giving every appearance that he was escaping a nightmare.
Trying not to make Alex pick up on her own discomfort at the opulence of their surroundings, Sabrina gave him a quick bath because it always soothed him. He ate a banana and then a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and washed it all down with milk. He fussed at the concept of a separate room so soon after spending two nights with just Mrs. Egan. She settled him in the ginormous bed in her room, and in minutes, he was asleep.
She took her own shower then and marveled that even from the bathroom there was a stunning water view out the window into the harbor. High above the noise and chaos of the city, she tried to enjoy the magnificent serenity of the water, the play of the sun on the swell of the river, but she was too keyed up. It was way too early for her to sleep, and she wouldn’t have been able to close her eyes anyway with the thoughts running through her mind.
Vlad was deadly serious in his belief that she had somehow been instrumental in putting out the media fiction that he had fathered Alex. And she had yet to figure out how to make him believe otherwise. Now she could either help him resolve the situation, or he would make sure that she never worked in New York again.
So, she had, in actuality, no choice. She couldn’t divulge the story of Alex’s parentage without revealing that he was not her son. If she did that, she would be pulled through the child welfare system where she was certain to be found lacking as Alex’s parental figure. She wouldn’t be able to provide the authorities with any information about Alex’s father. He would be placed шnto foster care. And since she would do absolutely anything to avoid that scenario, she was out of options.
****
“Yes, I’m hearing everything you’re saying, Yuri. How should I respond? What can I possibly say? This goes from bad to ridiculous.”
He paused. He paced. He ran his hand through his short black hair till it stood on end.
“No. She has no choice but to agree. Yes, send the paperwork.”
When he turned away from his stance by the window of his library, she was standing in the doorway. Freshly showered. He knew the look now. And so did his defiant body. The slightly pinkened cheeks and the damp hair that had escaped the loose braid and curled around her temples. The damp hair was a darker, burnished sable compared to the rest of the gleaming strands of copper.
He absorbed her, the jasmine scent that perfumed the air around them, the fresh faced, innocent look she presented in her loose jeans and T-shirt. For God’s sake, she even had bare feet. And unpainted toes. When was the last time he had been turned on by a woman who was barefoot?
What the hell was wrong with him?
She looked him in the eye, her chin tilted up in a challenge.
“So what do I have to do to help you fix this?”
He nodded, satisfied. She was going to cooperate. That was good at least. He rubbed his fingers along his temples trying to concentrate on the problem, not her.
“Okay, so you might as well sit down.” He gestured toward the leather chesterfield along the wall. She shook her head, kept her arms crossed under her chest and remained standing.
“We’re going to present to the world the façade of a reunited couple. I found out about the child and we reconciled. We keep it simple and we move forward.”
Sabrina nodded. “So we pretend to be a couple.” “Yes.” He inclined his head slowly.
“Okay.” Sabrina backed to the door again. “Tomorrow we begin,” he said.
“Begin?”
“It’s no good doing this if people can’t see it. It’s a public relations exercise. We have to be seen, photographed around New York together. Happy. Tomorrow is Saturday. We’ll go out. We will be a couple together. A reunited, happy family together. For the benefit of the media.”