Chapter Five

Anton’s POV

“Don’t remember me,” I say, turning to walk away.

“Swan, wait! Let me explain,” he says, reaching for my hands.

I snatch them away, just like he did to me 10 years ago. “I forgot who you are, Anton. I’d expect you to do the same for me. I am not Swan, nor am I Odette. I am Miss Falcone—a simple employee of yours, unfortunately.”

She’s grown bolder—that’s all I could think as I watched her walk away from me. I knew showing up here in the continental U.S., at her workplace, was a mistake. But I just had to see her. Enough time has passed, and I miss her.

I have to admit, I was a little presumptuous to expect her to welcome my presence. But what do I know? I’m clueless when it comes to women, and it seems I’m even more clueless when it comes to her.

“Sir, we need to head out. We have a meeting at the new club in 30 minutes,” my assistant, Brenda, says, appearing out of nowhere.

“Tell Charles to meet us out front,” I say dismissively.

But something must be bothering her because, instead of doing as I say, she stands there, fidgeting with her tablet.

“Do you have something you’d like to share, Brenda?” I ask, my patience thinning.

“I know you’re saying you partnered with this firm because you like their vision, but there are better firms out there…”

“Are you saying you doubt my judgment, Ms. Lionel?” I cut her off, annoyed.

“No, no, no, sir!” she blurts hurriedly.

Already tired of the conversation, I start walking out.

“It’s just… I know you’re doing it for her. I recognize her from the multiple times she came to the London branch looking for you,” Brenda says, as though that’s supposed to change my decision.

“Let’s say you’re right. I don’t pay you to be my therapist, Miss Lionel. Matter of fact, I pay you to make my life easier by running errands and talking to people I don’t wish to speak to,” I say, pushing the elevator button and holding the door open for her. I may be her superior, but I’m still a gentleman.

“Thank you, sir. I know that’s what you pay me for, which is why I also know you’d kill me if I didn’t tell you: I just heard someone tell Claude that, uhm, Odette—that’s her name, right?—just had to leave for the hospital. Something about a ruptured appendix,” Brenda says as I freeze.

“What floor?” I ask.

“15th, sir,” she says, pushing the button.

As soon as we get there, Brenda points. “Six o’clock, sir. They’re still conversing.”

I walk briskly toward them and barge into their conversation. “What hospital?” I demand.

“Sorry, who are you?” asks the darker-skinned woman.

“Hospital. Name. I need one,” I say, turning to the other woman, whom I suspect is Claude. I should know her face by now, considering I plan to go into business with her.

“I’m sorry, he means to ask which hospital Ms. Odette is at,” Brenda interjects, her voice unnecessarily apologetic.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know the hospital. And even if I did, why would I inform you?” the darker-skinned woman says, glaring daggers at me.

“My apologies, sir, but what Ms. Amerie is trying to say is that we’ve not been informed of Ms. Odette’s precise location. However, we can assure you she is fine now,” Claude says.

Her response seems to irritate Amerie, who redirects her glare toward her boss.

Seeing that they’re both useless, I turn around and start walking out.

“I apologize on his behalf. Thanks so much; you’ve been helpful,” Brenda says, instead of following me.

As soon as we’re in the elevator, I turn to her. “Never apologize on my behalf. Is that clear?”

I don’t wait for her response. I’m too preoccupied as I dial an old friend’s number.

“Three calls in a year, Anton? What’s next, a proposal?” Maksim answers, his usual sarcasm evident.

“I need you to locate her for me, Maksim,” I say.

“No greetings or felicitations? Not even a happy birthday?” he says, being the pest he always is.

“Find her. And today’s not your birthday,” I snap, anxiety creeping in. What if something has happened to her? I have to make things right.

“I’ll get back to you later, ferret. And I’d like a Bugatti for my birthday,” Maksim says before cutting the call. He’s one of the few people alive who dares to hang up on me.

“Is Charles out front?” I ask Brenda.

“Yes, sir, he is.”

“Text him the club’s location. I don’t have the gall to deal with one more incompetent person today”.

The meeting with the club manager is as insufferable as it is pointless. Why did I let my assistant convince me to meet with him instead of her? I’m fairly certain this man is trying to convince me that it would be “lucrative” to push drugs in the club during parties.

“I have to be frank with you, Mr. …?”

“Kenan, sir. Mr. Kenan,” he stammers.

“Yes, Mr. Kenan. Frankly, I didn’t want to hire you, but unfortunately, I owe one too many favors, and here you are—with a job,” I say, glaring at Brenda, who shies away from my gaze.

“If—and I’m being quite frank with you—I see a single speck of coke, weed, ket, or, heaven forbid, rohypnol in my establishment, you will cease to exist. And not in a death kind of way,” I say, staring him down.

“I understand, sir. I do,” he says, gulping nervously.

“Will you be staying tonight to witness the club run?” he asks. It’s obvious he doesn’t want me there, which is precisely why I decide to stay.

“Well, now that you’ve suggested it, I feel I should. I guess you’re not so stupid after all,” I reply with a smirk.

“Ms. Lionel, get me an Old Fashioned, please, and meet me at the control center,” I say, heading off to the observation area.

The club is in full swing now, and I low-key regret my decision to stay. All I’ve seen are a couple of idiots trying to impress girls by buying overpriced bottles of trash. Judging by the fake Breitling or Rolex watches on their wrists, they can’t afford it anyway.

Just as I’m about to leave, a familiar figure catches my eye on the security monitor. At the same time, my phone starts ringing.

“Have you seen her yet?” Maksim’s irritating voice bleeds through my ears.

“Come on, I know you must have by now. She’s hard to miss.”

“How do you know where I am?” I ask, not really expecting an answer, just trying to distract myself from the guy currently dancing with her.

“Come now, Anton. I always know where everyone is. And I know for a fact she doesn’t seem to enjoy dancing with that dude. Maybe you should go and cut in, eh, ferret?” Maksim mocks.

I hang up as soon as I hear his insufferable laughter.

I stare at her on the monitor, dancing, and watch as she eventually leaves the club. I can’t help myself—I follow.

I storm out of the control room and head to the back exit where she’s going. She must either be drunk or have poor spatial awareness because I’ve been trailing her for three minutes, and she hasn’t noticed me.

She’s still shivering and is about to light her second cigarette when I shrug off my jacket and drape it over her shoulders.

“I thought I told you not to leave home without a jacket,” I say softly.

She turns to look at me, her expression a mix of surprise and annoyance, and I know I’m in for a long ride.