‘I’m not offering you a promotion—I am telling you that I need a PA, and you either step into the role or I will have to consider my options.’

‘You’ll fire me?’

She felt the knight sweep towards her. Click, click, click. He knocked away her pawn, and of course it was checkmate, but instead of saying nothing, instead of pleading her case, Lavinia refused to give him the satisfaction. Rather, she blinded him with a smile and accepted defeat with grace. ‘I’d love to accept the role.’

‘Good. Move your things out to the main office,’ Zakahr said, ‘then go through your diary and cancel your social life.’ He was completely immutable. ‘For now your time is mine.’

About the Author

CAROL MARINELLI recently filled in a form where she was asked for her job title and was thrilled, after all these years, to be able to put down her answer as ‘writer’. Then it asked what Carol did for relaxation, and after chewing her pen for a moment Carol put down the truth—‘writing’. The third question asked, ‘What are your hobbies?’ Well, not wanting to look obsessed or, worse still, boring, she crossed the fingers on her free hand and answered ‘swimming and tennis’. But, given that the chlorine in the pool does terrible things to her highlights, and the closest she’s got to a tennis racket in the last couple of years is watching the Australian Open, I’m sure you can guess the real answer!

Carol also writes for Mills & Boon ® Medical ™ Romance!

THE DEVIL WEARS

KOLOVSKY

CAROL MARINELLI

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

ZAKAHR could have walked, but he chose not to.

The offices of the House of Kolovsky were, after all, just a short stroll from the luxury hotel that was for the next few weeks Zakahr Belenki’s home.

Or, to avoid the press, he could have taken a helicopter for the short hop across the Melbourne skyline.

Except he had long dreamt of this moment.

This moment of the future was one that had sustained Zakahr through a hellish youth—and now, finally, the future was today.

His driver, on Zakahr’s instruction, took the long route from the hotel, the blacked-out windows of the sleek limousine causing heads to turn as it made its way through the smart streets lined with galleries and boutiques. As instructed, the driver slowed down at the original House of Kolovsky boutique. The cerulean blue building with the Kolovsky gold logo was familiar, and its wares were desired worldwide. The window display was, as always, elegantly simple—swathes of heavy silk, and one large opal that shimmered in the morning light. Aesthetically it was beautiful, but as always, wherever this sight greeted him on his travels, Zakahr tasted bile.

‘Drive on.’

His driver obliged. A few moments later they pulled up outside the offices of the House of Kolovsky, and the moment was Zakahr’s.

Cameras were aimed for their shot, and for once he didn’t mind. Impossibly wealthy, and with brooding good-looks, he had dated many of Europe’s most beautiful and famous women. His heartbreak reputation had been exposed and examined often in the glossies. Though Zakahr usually abhorred the invasion of his privacy, here, on the other side of the world, and especially this morning, it did not faze him, and a wry smile was contained as he thought of the Kolovskys watching the news as they ate breakfast.

He hoped they choked.

Questions were hurled, cameras flashed, and microphones were pushed towards him.

Was the House of Kolovsky being taken over by this European magnate? Or was he here covering while Aleksi Kolovsky honeymooned?

Had he enjoyed the wedding?

Was he a relation?

Where was Nina, the matriarch?

What was his interest in Kolovsky?

That was a question with merit. After all, this fashion industry icon was but loose change to a portfolio like Belenki’s.

Zakahr made no comment, and neither would he later.

The facts would soon speak for themselves.

The sun beat on the back of his head. His grey bloodshot eyes were hidden behind dark glasses, his lips were pressed together, his expression unreadable, but he was an imposing sight.

A head above everyone, he was broad-shouldered too. His skin was pale, beautifully clean-shaven, and his black hair was short and neat, but despite the immaculate suit, the glint of an expensive watch and the well-heeled shoes, there was an air of the untamed to him—a restlessness beneath the sleek exterior that had the journalists holding back just a touch, with an unusual hesitancy to push for answers. Because no one wanted to be singled out by this man. No one wanted that unleashed power aimed solely at them.

He strode through the street and then up the steps, scattering the press, pushing the golden revolving doors. Zakahr was in.

Perhaps he ought to stand and relish this moment, because finally all this was his. Except there was a hollow feeling inside Zakahr. He relished challenges—had come ready to fight—yet when his identity had been revealed the House of Kolovsky had been handed to him on a plate, and it was now for Zakahr to decide what to do with it.

He sensed the unease of everyone around him.

It did not move him.

‘Mr Belenki.’

The greeting followed him. The lift doors were waiting open and he stepped inside. The lift glided up.

He sensed trepidation here too, as he walked out on to the floor that contained his office. As surely as if it had been pumped through the air-conditioning he could feel it—in the thick carpets, the walls, behind every door as he walked down the corridor. And they had every right to be nervous. Zakahr Belenki had been called in, and in the business world that heralded change.

No one outside family knew who he really was.

Zakahr headed to his office. He had been here several times now. Just never as Chief.

He opened the heavy wooden doors, ready to claim his birthright, but his moment was broken as he stepped into darkness. Zakahr frowned as he turned on the lights, and then his jaw clenched in anger—there were no staff to greet him, the blinds were not drawn, the computers were off.

Perhaps the Kolovskys thought they were having the last laugh?

Aleksi had at the weekend married his PA, Kate, but he had assured Zakahr that the last few weeks had been spent training her replacement—except there was no one here.

He headed for a desk, picked up a phone, ready to ring and blast at Reception to get someone up here. But the door opened again, and Zakahr stood, silently fuming, as a stunning blonde came in, wafting fragrance, carrying a large takeaway coffee.

She walked past him to a small office off the main suite, put her drink on the desk, and gave him a quick ‘Sorry I’m late’ as she slipped off her jacket and turned the computer on. ‘I’m Lavinia,’ she added.

‘I know,’ Zakahr said, because he had seen her at his brother’s wedding on Saturday, and hers was a face men noticed and remembered. She had huge blue eyes and a tumble of blonde hair, achieving a look both glamorous and pretty—though Lavinia wasn’t looking anything like as amazing as she had at the wedding. There were dark smudges under her eyes, and an air of weariness about her that rather suggested she was more ready for bed than work.

‘Is this how you make a good first impression?’ Zakahr asked, used to groomed, beautiful staff members who faded into the background—not someone who burst into a room then pulled out a large magnifying mirror from her drawer and proceeded to put make-up on at her desk.

‘Give me two minutes,’ Lavinia said, unashamedly applying foundation and rather skillfully, Zakahr noticed, erasing all shadows from under her eyes, ‘and then I’ll make a good impression!’

He couldn’t believe her audacity. ‘Where is the PA? ’

‘She got married on Saturday,’ Lavinia said.

She was working on her eyes now, her brush loaded with grey. Given Zakahr had been at the wedding, she must have thought her response humorous, because she gave a little laugh at the end of her sentence. As she layered mascara, she told him the necessary truth.

‘The stand-in that Kate trained left in tears on Friday and said she was never coming back.’

She wasn’t about to sweeten things for him—the House of Kolovsky had been in chaos since the news had got out that Zakahr Belenki was taking over, and if this man really thought he was going to walk in and find order then he was about to find out otherwise.

Lavinia knew he was irritated at her putting on her make-up but what choice did she have? In less than an hour they would be leaving for the airport, and it was essential that she looked the part. But even if none of her previous bosses—Levander, Aleksi or Nina—would have had it any other way, Zakahr was beyond irritated by her actions.

‘Did Kate sit at her desk to do her face?’

‘Kate,’ Lavinia said, with just a hint of ring to her tone, ‘wasn’t exactly hired for her looks.’

He heard the edge to her voice, and suppressed a smirk at her clear annoyance. Kate was the absolute opposite of Lavinia, and it must surely eat away at this stunning specimen that an overweight, rather plain single mum had married the prize that was Aleksi Kolovsky!

‘There’s clearly more to Kate than looks,’ Zakahr quipped. And, because he just couldn’t resist, he added, ‘After all, she married the boss!’

He watched the blusher brush pause over her cheek for a second, then she carried on rouging her cheeks.

‘Where are your staff?’ Lavinia frowned, peering over his shoulder as if she expected someone to appear.

‘Unfortunately for me you are my staff.’

‘You didn’t bring anyone with you?’ The surprise was evident in her voice—she had read up on him, of course. Zakahr Belenki had interests all over Europe. His team swept in on ailing businesses that glinted with potential gold, injecting massive doses of cash to keep them afloat, moving in like a cuckoo, and taking prime place in the newly lucrative nest. And even though Kolovsky was far from ailing, even though Lavinia secretly knew he was here for rather more personal reasons, it was quite unthinkable that he was here alone. ‘You haven’t brought your team?’

Her question was a pertinent one. His own staff had been bemused that he would travel to Australia without them—to them he was assessing the viability of a company. Why wouldn’t he bring his team? But Zakahr was a leader. He never displayed weakness, and Kolovsky was his only one. He was not about to explain to his staff why this trip was personal. Still, Zakahr wasn’t about to discuss it with Lavinia either, so instead he told her to bring him coffee, then stalked into his office and slammed the door.

Loudly.

Lavinia had worked for both Levander and Aleksi Kolovsky prior to Zakahr, so a slamming door barely made her blink.

Sitting at her desk, all she wanted to do was close her eyes and sleep. It hadn’t made the best impression that she was late, but had Zakahr stopped to ask he might have found out the reason—it had truly been the weekend from hell. Propping up Nina at Aleksi’s wedding had been the easy part.

On Friday her little half-sister had been moved into foster care, and though Lavinia was beyond relieved that finally action had been taken—Lavinia had actually engineered it—it hadn’t been as swift as she had hoped. Instead of Rachael being moved into Lavinia’s care she had been placed in a foster home, and the authorities were now assessing the situation.

The true precariousness of Rachael’s future had hit hard, and Lavinia had spent three sleepless nights, worrying not just about the future but about how Rachael was coping at the foster home—how the little girl felt sleeping in a strange bed, in a strange home, with strange people.

Even if there was little Lavinia could actually do for Rachael at the moment, even if she could only console herself that at least the little girl was safe, the last place Lavinia wanted to be was here—and if it had been on any other day she would have rung in sick.

Except whom could she ring?

The oh-so-efficient temporary PA Kate had trained had thrown in the towel on the eve of the wedding, Aleksi was on his honeymoon, the other Kolovsky brothers had long since washed their hands of the place, and Nina—poor Nina—on finding out the news as to just who Zakahr Belenki was, was now in a private psychiatric hospital.

With the authorities examining Lavinia’s suitability to parent, more than ever she needed a stable job, and with that thought in mind, instead of not showing up, Lavinia had showered and pulled on the clothes she had set out the previous night—a dark cami and a gorgeous, if rather short in the skirt, black suit. She had put on her favourite black suede high-heeled shoes, which always kicked off an outfit, and had somehow arrived a mere five minutes late—or, as she would point out later, fifty-five minutes early. Most office jobs started at nine!

Not that Zakahr Belenki had thanked her for her effort!

Lavinia poked her tongue out at his closed door.

He was more arrogant than his brothers combined—and that was saying something. She knew who he was! Knew, despite his name, that he was actually a Kolovsky—that he was Nina and Ivan’s secret son.

Not that he could find out that she knew.

Happy with her face, Lavinia opened up her computer, ran her eyes over the schedule for the day. Even if she and Kate, the old PA and now Aleksi’s bride, had clashed at times, how she wished she were here to sort this out.

Lavinia wore the title of Assistant PA, but was aware she had been hired more as an attractive accessory—a bright and breezy attractive accessory—which was an essential role within Kolovsky. Now, though, the team Ivan had built had, since his death, been slowly dismantled, and that combined with the astonishing news that Zakahr hadn’t brought his impressive team left Lavinia with a heavy weight of responsibility.

She shouldn’t care, of course.

Lavinia was well aware that some of the minor directors would be only too happy to have their own PAs loaned out to Zakahr—who in this building didn’t want a direct route to the mysterious new boss?

Lavinia.

She didn’t want it, but she had it.

And, like it or not, till Zakahr understood its complicated workings, the smooth running of Kolovsky fell to Lavinia.

She was quite sure people would say she was being grandiose—as if the House of Kolovsky needed Lavinia to survive! Lavinia knew in her heart that it didn’t—but some things mattered, they really mattered, and without her inner knowledge certain things that mattered simply wouldn’t get done.

Lavinia rested her head on the desk and closed her eyes.

In a minute she would lift it.

In a minute she would force a dazzling smile, would inject some lightness into her face and make them both coffee. Hopefully she and Zakahr could start over again.

She just needed a minute …

‘Lavinia!’

This time she jumped!

As Zakahr had intended! Given that he had buzzed her, given that he had called her twice, given that she was asleep at her desk!

She jerked awake at the sound of his voice behind her, felt his brimming anger as strongly as the heavy scent of his cologne, and was tempted just to get her bag and head for home rather than follow his instruction.

‘Could you and your hangover please join me in my office?’

CHAPTER TWO

LAVINIA was beyond embarrassed.

She sat at her desk, scalding in her own skin for a full minute, before she could even think of going back out there.

Her first day with her new boss and he’d found her not daydreaming, not dozing, but fast asleep at her desk. Lavinia was used to bouncing back, and she normally did so with a bright smile, but she didn’t even try to summon one as she headed for the gallows.

‘I’m sorry, Zak…’ She walked into his office where he sat, but her voice trailed off when he gestured her to sit and she realised he was on the phone, talking in Russian. Whatever he was saying, Lavinia was quite sure that it wasn’t complimentary

His voice was rich and low. He did not shout—there was no need to. There was a ring of confidence and strong assertion behind each word, and she was quite sure this was a man who rarely had to repeat himself.

He was incredibly good-looking, but that was pretty much the norm around here—he was no better than his brothers.

Actually, he was, Lavinia conceded.

As if God had made him perfect and then, happy with the formula, had kept on going. There was a salient beauty to him—one that demanded closer inspection—and, just as she would examine the shots of a new Kolovsky model, Lavinia briefly scanned his features. There was rare perfect symmetry to his bone structure, and his high cheekbones and straight Roman nose were a photographer’s dream, or nightmare. For not for a second could Lavinia imagine him posing for the camera. There was nothing compliant about those grey eyes, no give in his demeanour. Normally she could sum a person up easily, but she was struggling to do so with Zakahr—especially now he had caught her looking.

His eyes held hers as he hung up the phone, and Lavinia felt a warmth spread over her cheeks as he refused to drop his gaze. Rarely—very rarely—it was Lavinia who looked away first, Lavinia who broke a silence that appeared to be only uncomfortable to her.

‘I’d like to apologise for before—I didn’t get any sleep last night, you see…’

‘Are you fit to work?’ Zakahr did not care for excuses, and he cut right in. ‘Yes or no?’

‘Yes.’ Lavinia bristled as he refused her attempt to explain.

He stood, leaving her sitting, and went to make the coffee—it was the only way he would ensure it got done. Zakahr was in fact the one battling a hangover. Aleksi’s wedding had been hell. He had done the right thing by the man who had tried to do the same for him, but as soon as he’d been able to Zakahr had got out of there and away from the woman he loathed.

He had done everything he could during the service not to look at Nina, the woman who was by biology only his mother, to just ignore her—not to care. Since finding out he was her son Nina had been admitted to a plush psychiatric hospital.

Karma, Zakahr thought darkly.

There was a saying he had learnt as a child—as the call, so the echo. How good he should feel that it was Nina institutionalised now, and that it was he running his parents’ empire. It should have been a feeling to savour—only yesterday had found him sitting in an anonymous taxi, staring at the hospital, trying to brace himself to go in.

There was so much to say, so much she deserved to hear in a long-awaited confrontation—except, hearing how ill she was, at the final hurdle Zakahr had balked with rare charity, unable to add to her pain.

He had ordered a taxi to the casino, consoled himself that if he chose, soon there would be no House of Kolovsky, soon he could walk away with the name erased and pretend it had never existed—as his parents had done to him. Zakahr had tried to lose himself in noise and stunning women, yet despite his intentions nothing had appealed, and he had spent the night back at the hotel, dousing the bitter churn of emotion in his stomach with hundred-year-old brandy.

And now he was making his assistant coffee!

Seething, he handed her a cup. She tasted it and then screwed up her face and moaned about too much sugar.

He should, Zakahr realised, fire her on the spot.

Just tell her to get out.

Except despite her total lack of professionalism, despite her possibly being the worst Assistant PA in memory, for a little while at least he needed her. Begrudgingly. Extremely begrudgingly. Aleksi had given him a password—one that supposedly accessed all areas—but he had to get in to the system first!

‘What is the password?’ Zakahr asked. ‘For the computer?’

‘H-o-K.’ Lavinia said, and when that didn’t work for him she elaborated. ‘The o is lower case.’

He shot her a look. ‘I want to address everyone together this morning,’ Zakahr said. ‘Then I want you to arrange fifteen-minute blocks for everyone from cleaner to top designer. After lunch I want the first one at my desk—you co-ordinate it. I want their history file in front of me…’

‘You can’t.’ She watched his lips purse a touch—presumably can’t was a word rarely said to Zakahr—but he really couldn’t. ‘We have dignitaries arriving. King Abdullah’s daughter—she’s coming for a fitting.’

‘And?’ Zakahr shrugged.

‘Once a month or so we have an esteemed bridal guest—a Kolovsky always greets her at the airport and brings her back here…’

‘Here?’ Zakahr frowned—because surely they would head straight for a hotel?

‘Here,’ Lavinia confirmed. ‘Because this is the moment she’s been dreaming of.’ He was far too male to understand. ‘Anyway, she’s hardly been cooped up in Economy. She will have been in their own jet. But someone high up has to greet them—it’s what happens, what’s expected.’

‘The designer can go,’ Zakahr dismissed, but when Lavinia still stood there he offered rare compromise. ‘You go—if you have to.’

Lavinia ignored this. ‘And then, as their host, you will invite her to dinner later in the week, and if their stay has been satisfactory you and your guest will be invited by her family to dinner…’ She frowned for a minute. ‘I think it’s that way around—yes, in a few days she’ll ask you to dinner to thank Kolovsky for its hospitality. She’s here for a couple of weeks, as the wedding is only a couple of months off.’ She saw him frown. ‘There are normally a number of trips—Jasmine’s doing it all in one.’

‘The designers can take care of that side of things.’

‘The designers are busy designing.’ Lavinia rolled her eyes with impatience. ‘The design team will be working day and night on the first designs…’

‘I have more important things to do than meet some spoiled princess at the airport.’

‘Fine.’ Lavinia shrugged. ‘Then so do I.’ She turned to go, then changed her mind. ‘These things matter, Zakahr.’ He was working on the computer and didn’t look up, and though in truth it wasn’t Lavinia’s problem, on her previous bosses’ behalf it incensed her. ‘This is the biggest day of the Princess’s life we’ve been entrusted with. It’s her wedding!’ Lavinia said.

But that word clearly didn’t move him, and if he didn’t care then neither should she—except Lavinia did.

‘I’ve got a lot going on in my life right now, Zakahr. And, just for the record, I didn’t race to get here because the new head of Kolovsky was taking office, I didn’t sit putting on my make-up to impress you—I’m here and ready because I knew that the Princess had to be met. I’m not at my best with our international guests—Kate hated sending me. I forget things, I talk too much, or I show the soles of my feet and such. But I turned up today to try to do what is expected, because that’s what Kolovsky is about—beautiful gowns, beautiful women, and at the top of the food chain those blasted wedding gowns.’

He just sat there. Zakahr did not need to be told how things were done by some Assistant PA who fell asleep at her desk. Except he knew he just had been. She was a strange mix, Zakahr decided. Disorganised, yet conscientious. There was also a brazenness to her—a boldness in her slender stature as she awaited his response, hand on hip, toes resisting tapping. Still he said nothing.

‘Fine,’ she shrilled to the cold silence. ‘I’ll go myself.’

But first she had to make a phone call …

Back at her desk, Lavinia checked the Princess’s flight details, and that the cars were all ready, and waited anxiously for the clock to edge to nine before picking up the phone and dialling.

Ms Hewitt, Rachael’s case worker, sounded more angry than exasperated. ‘I spoke with you on Friday. You cannot ring in for daily checks—you are not her next of kin.’

‘I’m trying to be, though.’ Lavinia resisted the urge to say something smart, knowing that she needed these people to be on her side. ‘I just want to know that she’s okay, and to find out when I can see her.’

‘Rachael’s father is visiting her on Wednesday evening, and again on Sunday. Really, it’s very unsettling for Rachael to have so many visitors.’

‘She’s my half-sister,’ Lavinia bristled. ‘How can it be unsettling for her to see me?’

‘I’ll speak with her carers and see if we can arrange something.’

‘And that’s it?’ Lavinia asked. ‘Can I at least have a phone number so that I can ring her?’

‘We’ll contact you if we need to.’ Ms Hewitt would not be swayed. ‘I’ll see if I can arrange a visit.’

Lavinia somehow managed to thank her, then replaced the phone and buried her head in her hands. She hated the lack of speed—couldn’t stand what was happening to Rachael—and knew that Kevin, Rachael’s father, was still probably dredging up every piece of dirt he could on Lavinia. He’d done everything he could to shut her out of the little girl’s life. Maybe it was better that she was at work, because otherwise she’d be standing outside the kindergarten, waiting for Rachael to arrive, and that wouldn’t go down well. Lavinia knew she had to stay calm. Had to accept that nothing was going to happen fast—and that she had to prove she was the responsible one.

‘Sorry to inconvenience you with work.’

Lavinia looked up to the owner of the voice that dripped sarcasm. He was holding out her jacket, and she didn’t even attempt to explain herself. She knew how bad this looked. Instead she just took her jacket and clipped ahead, trying to switch her mind to the job, to being the happy, outgoing person she was at work, whatever the problems in her private life.

They used the rear entrance. A huge limo swallowed them up, with another following to accommodate the royal entourage, and they headed for the airport as Lavinia filled him in as best she could on Princess Jasmine’s details. Even Zakahr’s eyes widened when she told him what this gown and the dresses for the bridesmaids would be costing King Abdullah.

No wonder Kolovsky, despite everything, was still riding high.

For Zakahr, it was in fact a relief to get out of the office—to get away from the scent of Kolovsky, the surroundings—and for the first time since he had taken over he felt the creep of doubt. He had given himself a month to come to a decision. He was starting to wonder if he could stand to be there for even a week.

For years he had watched the House of Kolovsky from a distance, researching them thoroughly. Levander, Ivan’s illegitimate son, had been brought over from Russia as a teenager and given the golden key to Kolovsky. There was no mention of Riminic, Nina and Ivan’s firstborn.

Riminic Ivan Kolovsky they had named their baby, as was the Russian way—Riminic, son of Ivan—then at two days old they had taken him to Detsky Dom. Some orphanages were good, but Nina and Ivan had not chosen well. The Kolovsky name meant only hate to Zakahr.

At thirteen he had left the orphanage and had done what he had to to survive on the streets. At seventeen he had been given a chance—shelter, access to a computer, to a different path. Discarding his birth name, he had followed that path with a vision—and that vision included revenge.

As rumours had escalated that Levander had been raised in Detsky Dom, of course the House of Kolovsky had rapidly developed a social conscience, raising great sums for orphanages and street children.

Zakahr had been doing it since his first pay cheque.

And so he had made contact—attending a charity ball Nina had organised as guest speaker, telling the glamorous audience the true hell of his upbringing and his life on the streets. Nina had been sipping on champagne as she had unwittingly met her son.

‘It’s not just a gown.’

Lavinia dragged him from his thoughts. She was still in full flood, Zakahr realised. She’d probably been talking for five minutes and he hadn’t heard a word!

‘It’s the experience, it’s working out the exact colour scheme, it’s watching how she walks, her figure, her personality—that’s why she has to come to us. For the next few days the Princess will be the sole focus of our designers. Every detail has to be sorted out while she’s here. The team will be in regular contact afterwards, of course—and then a week before the wedding our team will fly to her and take care of everything. Hair, make-up—the works. All the Princess will have to do is smile on the day.’

‘And how many weddings?’ Zakahr asked. ‘How often do we have to do this?’

‘Once, sometimes twice a month,’ Lavinia said, and then, when she saw his face tighten, it was Lavinia who couldn’t resist. ‘And what with it coming in to spring in Europe we’re exceptionally busy now. You’ll be doing this a lot.’

‘Great,’ he muttered. Talking weddings was so not Zakahr.

They sat in silence, and the car was so lovely and warm, and she was just so, so tired, that Lavinia leant back in the sumptuous leather. She wasn’t at her desk now, so she did what she would have done had it been any of her old bosses there, and closed her eyes.

Even if she wasn’t quite what Zakahr was used to, he begrudgingly admired her complete lack of pretence. Rather more privately, after another sleepless night, he felt like doing the same, but instead he took the opportunity for closer inspection.

She really was astonishingly pretty—or was attractive the word? Zakahr couldn’t decide. Her jacket was hanging up, her arms lay long and loose by her sides, she had wriggled out of her stilettos, and sat with her knees together and her slender calves splayed like a young colt. Though there was so much on his mind, Zakahr wanted a moment’s distraction—and she was rather intriguing. He actually wanted to know more about her.

‘How long have you worked for Kolovsky?’

‘A couple of years,’ Lavinia said with her eyes still closed. ‘I did a bit of modelling for them, but I had an extra olive in my salad one day and Nina said I would be better suited in the office.’ She opened one eye. ‘I’m aesthetically pleasing, apparently, but I’m just not thin enough to model the gowns.’

She was tiny! Well, average height. But her waist could be spanned by his hand, her legs were long and slender, her clavicles two jagged lines. Zakahr, who trusted his personal shopper to sort out his own immaculate wardrobe, realised he knew very little about the industry he had taken on.

‘What did you do before that?’ Zakahr asked her once more closed eyes.

‘Modelling—though nothing as tasteful as Kolovsky. It wasn’t my proudest period.’

Zakahr didn’t say anything.

Lavinia just shrugged. ‘It paid the rent.’

It had more than paid the rent.

Hauled out of school by her raging mother one afternoon, the sixteen-year-old Lavinia had become the breadwinner. She had wanted to finish school, had been bright enough to go university—and though she hadn’t known what she wanted to be at the time, she had known what she didn’t want!

Lavinia had also been bright enough to quickly realise that her mother had no need to know just how many tips she was making.

For two years she had squirrelled away cash in her bedroom.

At eighteen she had opened a bank account and started studying part-time.

At twenty-two, six months after starting work at the House of Kolovsky, and with the requisite employment history, she had marched into her bank, taken her money and bought her very small home.

A home she now wanted to share with Rachael.

Just the thought of her sister alone, with a stranger getting her ready for kindergarten this morning, had Lavinia jolting awake. Her eyes opened in brief panic and she looked straight into the dark pools of Zakahr’s gaze—a dark, assessing gaze that did not cause awkwardness. He didn’t pretend he hadn’t been watching her sleep, he did not use words, and somehow his solid presence brought comfort.

‘Rest,’ Zakahr said finally.

Only now she couldn’t. Now she was terribly aware of him, felt a need to fill the silence. But he was staring out of the window, his expression unreadable, and Lavinia was filled with a sudden urge to tell him she knew who he was, to drop the pretence and find out the truth.

The drive took a good thirty minutes, and was one Zakahr had made a few times in the past months as he had slowly infiltrated Kolovsky. Each time he’d left Australia his heart had blackened a touch further at realising just how lavishly his family had lived all these years while leaving him to fend for himself.

‘It’s just coming up…’

Zakahr frowned as Lavinia interrupted his dark thoughts.

‘Where Aleksi’s accident happened…’

There wasn’t much to show for it—the tree that had crumpled his car simply wore a large pale scar—but it did move Zakahr.

A troubled Aleksi had been trying to halt Zakahr in leaving after his speech at the charity ball, unsure as to his own motives, not even realising that the businessman he was dealing with was actually his brother. Something had propelled him to race to the airport in the middle of the night with near fatal consequences. Though little moved Zakahr, Aleksi’s plight had. At seven years old Aleksi had uncovered the fact that he had not just one but two brothers in Russia, and he had confronted his father with the truth. Ivan had beaten him badly enough to ensure that it was forgotten. Only the truth had slowly been revealed.

Out of all of them, Aleksi was the only Kolovsky he had any time for.

‘Have you known him long?’ Lavinia fished, but Zakahr didn’t answer. ‘I was surprised Iosef wasn’t his best man…’ Lavinia tried harder ‘ … given they’re twins.’

He was, Lavinia decided, the most impossible man—completely at ease with silence, with not explaining himself. He didn’t even attempt an evasive answer—he just refused any sort of response.

‘Five minutes, Lavinia,’ Eddie the driver warned her and, sick of her new boss’s silence, Lavinia opened the partition and asked after Eddie’s daughter as she pulled out her make-up bag.

‘Six weeks to go!’ Eddie said.

‘Are you excited?’ Lavinia asked, and then glanced over to Zakahr. ‘Eddie’s about to become a grandfather.’

It could not interest Zakahr less, and his extremely brief nod should have made that clear, but Lavinia and Eddie carried on chatting.

‘I can’t stop my wife shopping—we’ve got a room full of pink!’

‘So it’s a girl!’

Lavinia seemed delighted, and Zakahr watched as she snapped into action—touching up her make-up and combing her long blonde hair.

She could feel him watching her, sensed his irritation, and her blue eyes jerked up from the mirror. ‘What?’

He shrugged and looked away before he answered. ‘I don’t like vanity.’

‘I’d suggest that you do!’

‘Pardon?’

‘You’ve dated enough vain women,’ Lavinia pointed out. ‘According to my impeccable sources.’

‘Five-dollar magazines?’ Zakahr was derisive, but still he was intrigued. Lavinia wasn’t remotely unnerved by him, and it was surprisingly refreshing. ‘Are you always this rude to your boss?’

‘Was I rude?’ Lavinia thought about it for a moment. ‘Then, yes, I suppose I am. You wouldn’t last five minutes in this place otherwise.’ She was annoyed now—he just didn’t get it. ‘And it has nothing to do with my being vain—this isn’t me!’ Lavinia said. ‘This is me at work. Do you really think the Princess wants someone greeting her in jeans with oily hair?’ She was on a roll now! ‘And another thing—while by your calculations I was five minutes late, I was actually fifty-five minutes early. Most people start work at nine. And because work insists I look the part, when I got to work I ensured that I did,’ she concluded, snapping closed her lipgloss as the driver opened the car door. Then, having said her piece, she suddenly smiled and did what Lavinia did best—got on with the job. ‘Let’s go and meet the Princess!’

Zakahr had realised back at the office that it would be extremely offensive for him not to greet the royal guests, and he was more than a little grateful to his dizzy PA for her strong stance. Because it wasn’t just the Princess—the King himself was here. Zakahr quickly assessed that one bad word from this esteemed guest and even the great Kolovsky name would be dinted.

Zakahr swung into impressive action—greeting the guests formally in the VIP lounge, and immediately quashing any disappointment that neither Nina nor Aleksi was here to greet them.

Lavinia was very good at small talk, Zakahr noted, back in the limousine. She chatted away to the shy Princess and her mother, and very quickly put them at ease. And every layer of lipgloss, Zakahr conceded, was merited—because it was clear the royal family expected nothing less than pure glamour, and Kolovsky could deliver that in spades.

‘The team are so looking forward to finally meeting with you,’ said Lavinia now.

She was nothing like the pale, wan woman who had stepped into his office this morning. She was effusive, yet professional, and as they stepped out of the limo it was Lavinia who paved the way, speaking in low tones to Zakahr about what was taking place.

‘We take them through to the design team now.’

The King remained in the car, his aides in the vehicle behind, and they all waited till they had driven off before the colourful parade made its way to the centre of Kolovsky. Every door required more authorisation, but then they were in.

‘Thank you.’ Zakahr was not begrudging when praise was due, and as they left the Princess in the design team’s skilled hands he thanked Lavinia. ‘It would have been unthinkable of me not to greet the King!’

‘I know!’ She gave him a wide eyed look. ‘They don’t normally come—the men, I mean. Lucky!’

He didn’t know why, but she made his lips twitch almost into a smile. He contained himself as Lavinia showed him the wedding displays, all locked behind glass and beautifully lit. She headed straight for the centrepiece.

‘This,’ she said, ‘is the one they all want. The Kolovsky bridal gown.’ He stared at it for a moment. ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ Lavinia pushed.

‘It’s a dress,’ Zakahr said, and Lavinia laughed.

‘It’s the dress! It was supposed to be for the Kolovsky daughter, or one of their son’s brides—well, that’s what Nina and Ivan intended.’ She didn’t see his face stiffen. ‘It’s the dress of every woman’s dreams,’ Lavinia breathed, peering closely and steaming up the glass as she did so. ‘It actually is,’ she added. ‘I dreamt about this dress long before I ever saw it.’

Zakahr was not going to stand there and engage in idle chit-chat about a wedding dress, and without a word he walked off. But she caught up with him, trotting along to keep up with his long strides, and—annoyingly for Zakahr—carrying on with her incessant chatter.

‘I used to fall asleep dreaming about my wedding, and I swear that was the dress I was wearing—it really is the dress of dreams.’

‘You fell asleep dreaming of your wedding?’ They were in the lift now, and he couldn’t keep the derisive note from his voice.

‘I was eight or so!’ Lavinia shrugged, then coloured a touch as his eyes assessed her.

‘You don’t dream of it now?’ Zakahr checked, and he watched her ears pinken a fraction.

‘Sometimes I do.’ She shocked him with her honesty. ‘Then the alarm goes off and it’s back to the real world.’ She gave him a little wink as the lift door opened. ‘Or I hit the snooze button.’

Was she being deliberately provocative? Zakahr couldn’t be sure, and it irked him. There was an edge to Lavinia—an openness that was inviting, a smile that was beguiling—and yet there was a no-nonsense element to her too, almost a wall. The combined effect, he reluctantly admitted, was intriguing.

‘We have much work to do,’ Zakahr said as they reached the office suite. ‘We’ll start the one-on-one interviews tomorrow, but this afternoon I will address everyone—liaise with HR, but I want you to arrange it.’

‘It’s not possible,’ Lavinia told him. ‘People have meetings scheduled, and there are—’

‘Anyone not present has effectively handed in their notice.’ He cut her off mid-sentence. He would accept no excuses, and Lavinia’s lips pursed as he left her no room for manoeuvre. ‘Just do as I ask.’

‘The thing is—’

Zakahr halted her. ‘The thing is I am in charge now. Whatever your relationship with your previous boss— disregard it. When I say I want something done, it is not up for negotiation.

‘Which night do we dine with the King?’

‘Wednesday. But I don’t do dinner.’ Lavinia shook her head. ‘They only trust me with the occasional airport run.’

‘Well, for now you do the social side of things too,’ Zakahr said. ‘You have a promotion.’

‘I don’t want it,’ came her immediate response.

Lavinia loved her job—she’d vied for pole position with Kate at times—but she didn’t actually want to do Kate’s work. And it wasn’t just the fact that she wasn’t remotely qualified. There was Rachael, her studies, Nina—just so many demands on her time right now it really was an impossible task.

‘You will be remunerated.’

‘It’s not about money,’ Lavinia said. ‘I’m busy…’

‘Too busy to work?’ Zakahr frowned. ‘I’m not offering you a promotion—I am telling you that I need a PA, and you either step into the role or I will have to consider my options.’

‘You’ll fire me?’

‘If I don’t have a PA what is the point of employing her assistant?’

She felt the knight sweep towards her. Click-click: he knocked away her pawn, and of course it was checkmate. But instead of saying nothing, instead of pleading her case, Lavinia refused to give him the satisfaction. Rather, she blinded him with a smile and accepted defeat with grace. ‘Congratulations!’

‘Pardon?’

She loved that she’d confused him. ‘I’d love to accept the role, Zakahr.’

‘Good. Move your things out to the main office,’ Zakahr said. ‘Then go through your diary and cancel your social life.’ He was completely immutable. ‘For now your time is mine.’

CHAPTER THREE

LAVINIA had never worked harder in such a short space of time.

Firing off e-mails, replying to e-mails, then resorting to repeating—not quite verbatim—Zakahr’s warning, she sent a final e-mail with the word ‘COMPULSORY’ in capitals, and a little red exclamation mark beside it—though she did wrangle from an unwilling Zakahr exclusion for Jasmine’s design team. Then she cleared the main function room of a group of sulky models and designers who were trying to prepare for a photoshoot for the sulkiest of them all—Rula, a stunning redhead who was to be the new Face of Kolovsky. Finally checking the PA system, Lavinia had done in an hour what it would take most a full day to achieve.

Not that Zakahr thanked her as she raced back to her office to collect her bag. He merely glanced up as he came in.

‘Everything’s in place.’ Lavinia spritzed her wrists with perfume. ‘I’ll be back before two.’

‘Back from where?’

‘Lunch!’ From his expression she might just as well have sworn. ‘I’m surely entitled to a lunch-break?’ In support of her argument, Catering wheeled in a sumptuous trolley of delights for Zakahr, but it did not appease him.

‘We will work through lunch,’ Zakahr said. ‘Come and eat with me.’

‘I really can’t,’ Lavinia said. ‘I’ve got an appointment. A doctor’s appointment.’ She ran a hand over her stomach and Zakahr pressed his lips together.

She knew every trick, he realized. Knew with just that fleeting gesture no man would pry into women’s business—and Lavinia was certainly that: a woman.

‘Sorry!’ Lavinia added.

She didn’t hang around for his reaction. Instead she darted out to the lift, just a little bit breathless at her lie—because if Zakahr knew where she was going on her lunch-break he’d do more than sack her. It was, she knew, the ultimate treachery. He’d go ballistic if he knew where she was heading.

But she couldn’t not go.

‘Hi, Nina.’

Nina didn’t look up—she was talking to herself in Russian—but Lavinia hugged her. Trying to keep the shock from her voice, she chatted away—except Lavinia was shocked. In a couple of days the other woman had surely aged a decade.

Nina had somehow got through her son’s wedding. On day leave from the plush psychiatric hospital, and sedated from strawberry-blonde head to immaculately shod feet, she had worn a smile and a fantastic Kolovsky dress, and with Lavinia’s help had managed to get through the service. But clearly the public effort had depleted her.

Her hair hung in rats’ tails, her nail polish was chipped, and there was no trace of make-up. The silk she usually wore was replaced by a hospital gown, and all Lavinia knew was that Nina—the real Nina—would absolutely hate to be seen like this.

‘I’m going to do your hair, Nina,’ Lavinia said, rummaging in her locker and finding some hair straighteners. ‘And then I’m going to do your nails.’

Nina made no response. She just sat talking in Russian as Lavinia smoothed out her hair. Only when Lavinia sat and worked on her nails did Nina speak in English—the questions, the statements, always in the same vein. ‘He hates me. Everyone hates me.’

‘I don’t hate you, Nina,’ Lavinia responded, as she always had since the day the news had hit.

A terrible day that was etched for ever in her mind.

Aleksi had returned from his accident to find Nina had taken over, and a terrible struggle for power had ensued. Nina had taken advice from Zakahr, who from afar had fed her ideas that would make huge profits but, as Aleksi had pointed out, would also cause Kolovsky’s demise.

Then Zakahr had swept in, and for Aleksi realisation had hit: the man toying with Nina was actually his brother.

Lavinia could still recall the moment Nina had found out that Zakahr was her son. She had held Nina as she’d collapsed to the floor while Aleksi had told her in no uncertain terms of what Riminic, the child she had abandoned, had endured in the orphanage, and then in graphic detail what the runaway teenager had gone through to survive on the streets.

‘They will never forgive me.’ Around and around Nina went.

‘Your family just need some time to process things,’ Lavinia said patiently. ‘Annika has been in to see you, and Aleksi has rung from his honeymoon. I know Levander has been in touch from the UK, and Iosef has been in to see you.’

‘They are all disgusted with me.’

Lavinia let out a breath and focussed on painting a middle nail. Sometimes she truly didn’t know what to say. ‘They need time,’ she said.

‘I had no choice,’ Nina pleaded, but Lavinia would not be manipulated. She was used to her mother’s ways, and in a lot of things Nina behaved the same.

‘There are always choices,’ Lavinia said. ‘Maybe you made the best decision you could at the time.’

‘I should have tried to find him,’ Nina said, and Lavinia, who never, ever cried, felt her eyes suddenly well up.

The nails she was trying to focus on blurred, and for a moment she couldn’t answer—because, yes, Nina should have tried to find him. And, yes, when they were so rich and powerful, surely, surely she should have tried to find her son. And it dawned on her, fully dawned, that the brooding, closed-off man she had met this morning was actually the baby Nina had abandoned.

‘Why didn’t you?’ Lavinia couldn’t stop herself from asking. ‘Why didn’t you even try?’

‘I saw how everyone hated me when Levander came to Australia—when they found out I knew his mother had died, and that Levander had been raised in Detsky Dom orphanage…’

Lavinia blew her hair upwards. Nina was getting more and more indiscreet, and the rumour that had quietly blown through Kolovsky—that Nina had known all along—was, to Lavinia’s horror, confirmed.

‘Levander wasn’t my blood, and still they hated me. I couldn’t face it if they knew there was more—that I had left my own son too.’

‘Well, you have to face it.’ Lavinia bit down on the sudden white-hot fury that shot through her. ‘You have to face it because the truth is here.’

‘Does he ask about me?’ Nina begged. ‘Does Riminic ask about me?’

‘Nina…’ Lavinia shook her head in exasperation. ‘He doesn’t have a clue that I know who he really is—to me he’s Zakahr Belenki, someone Kolovsky was doing business with, and he’s taken over now that Aleksi is working solely on the Krasavitsa fashion line and you are not well. That’s all he thinks I know.’

‘He is beautiful, yes?’ Nina said. ‘How could I not see he was my son? How did I look in his eyes and not recognise him?’

‘Maybe you were scared to,’ Lavinia offered. She glanced up at the clock on the wall. She was loath to leave her because at least Nina was talking now, but she had no choice. ‘I have to go, Nina.’

And then, in the midst of her devastation, as always Nina remembered.

‘How is your sister?’

Lavinia toyed with whether to tell her or not. She had always confided in Nina, but now it just didn’t seem the right time.

‘She’s doing okay.’

‘She likes kindergarten?’

‘She does,’ Lavinia said quietly, thinking of Rachael’s serious little face—a guarded face that rarely smiled. She was reminded of Zakahr.

‘You keep fighting for her.’

Nina stroked Lavinia’s cheek, and Lavinia truly didn’t get it. She had seen the worst of Nina—had heard her bitch and moan, had worked alongside her even as she tried to have Aleksi ousted. With all the shame of her past—the fact she hadn’t fought for her own son—there was so much to despise, and yet Nina could be so kind.

‘Give her my love.’

‘I will.’ Lavinia stood up. ‘I’d better get back.’

She really had better get back—hospital visits didn’t really squeeze into lunch-breaks, and she’d have to run through the car park to make it back to the office.

But as she raced out of the lift she saw Zakahr had beaten her to it.

‘How was the doctor?’ he asked.

‘Not great.’ Lavinia put on her best martyred face, but instead of being cross with her Zakahr actually wanted to laugh—she was such an actress.

‘Poor you,’ Zakahr said, and she caught his eye, not sure if he was being sarcastic—not sure of this man at all.

He unsettled her.

All morning he had unsettled her—in a way very few did.

She would not be intimidated. Lavinia utterly refused to be. Only it wasn’t just that—it was the lack of roaming in those eyes, the stillness in him as he looked not at her, not through her, but into her that made her breath quicken, made the ten-second lift-ride down to the main function room seem inordinately long. And when the lift doors opened she forgot to step out.

‘After you,’ Zakahr said, when she had stood for a second too long.

And because Zakahr didn’t know the way to the stage entrance Lavinia had to lead, awkward now, with him walking behind.

‘Hopefully everything’s in place…’ She hung back a touch and walked in step with him, tried to make small talk. But Zakahr, of course, didn’t engage in that.

Lavinia was just a little impressed with what she had achieved—and just a little praise would have been welcome. Effectively the place had been put into lockdown, and now, as they stood in the wings, instead of models and the new season’s display, it was Zakahr Belenki who was the star of the show, with wary, disgruntled staff waiting to hear their fate.

He wasn’t in the least nervous, Lavinia realised, as he leant against the wall reading e-mails on his phone while the head of HR read out his credentials to the tense audience. Even Lavinia had butterflies on his behalf, yet Zakahr was as relaxed as if he were waiting for a bus.

‘Hold on a second…’ She put her hand up to correct his tie, just as she would have for Aleksi, just as she would have if Nina had had a strap showing as she was about to walk on. But on contact she immediately wished that she hadn’t. The simple, almost instinctive manoeuvre was suddenly terribly complicated. She felt his skin beneath her fingers, inhaled the scent of him as she moved in closer, the sheer maleness of him as she moved his tie a fraction to the centre and went to smooth his collar down.

His hand shot up and caught her wrist.

‘What are you doing?’ Zakahr was the least touchy-feely person on the planet. Flirting, unnecessary touching—he partook in neither. Lavinia seemed a master at both.

‘Sorry!’ His reaction confused her. There had been nothing flirtatious about her action, but Zakahr seemed less than impressed. ‘Sheer habit,’ Lavinia explained. Only her voice came out a little higher than normal, and her breath was tight in her chest as those eyes now did roam her body. His hand let go of her wrist, but instead of dropping to his side, the warm, dry hand slid around her neck. Lavinia stood transfixed. For a second she thought he was going to pull her towards him—for a full second she thought she was about to be kissed—but instead his fingers stole down the nape of her neck to the tender skin there, tucked in a label he couldn’t even have seen beneath her thick blonde hair. And then he mocked her with a black smile. She could see the flash of warning, and she could see something else too—the danger beneath the slick surface of him.

‘That’s better,’ Zakahr said, his hand still on the back of her neck. ‘It was annoying me.’

‘I was just…’ Lavinia attempted to explain again that she had just been straightening his tie, but her voice faded as Zakahr shook his head.

‘No games!’ Zakahr said. ‘Because you have no idea who you are playing with.’

The applause went up, and without a further word he headed out, leaving Lavinia standing in the wings, her neck prickling from his touch, stunned and unsure as to what had just taken place.

And then he smiled.

A slow smile that moved around the room like the rays of the sun.

Those grey eyes somehow met everyone’s, and before he had even opened his mouth the audience was his.

‘There is much fear and speculation today,’ Zakahr said, his accent more pronounced over the microphone. ‘I cannot end the speculation, but I hope to allay your fears.’

He did.

Everyone had a voice, he told his captive audience, and he would listen to each one. He expected the House of Kolovsky to continue to flourish, and was looking forward to getting to know the staff.

A smile of relief swept the room—only it didn’t reach Lavinia, and neither did his speech. It was his earlier words that rang in her ears as she watched from the shadow of the wings.

‘You have no idea who you are playing with.’

But she did.

Riminic Ivan Kolovsky—a man surely with no allegiance to the empire, a man who had learnt hate from the cradle, a man who had practically warned her himself to steer clear.

She didn’t trust him. She wasn’t even sure if she liked him. And he was absolutely out of her league. So why, Lavinia asked herself as her hand moved to the back of her neck, as she felt the skin he had branded with his touch, did she really want to know him some more?

CHAPTER FOUR

THERE was no one less fun to work for.

It was straight down to business after yet another sleepless night.

Not only did she have Rachael to worry about, there was now that incident with Zakahr. She hadn’t been flirting, she’d thought indignantly as she’d lain there. Or maybe she had? Blushing in the darkness, Lavinia had rolled over, replaying that seemingly innocent gesture over and over, replaying: Zakahr’s warm fingers on the back of her neck, her being momentarily trapped at his bidding.

Even though she’d hauled herself to work early, Zakahr, of course, was already there. She made him coffee and took it in, but he neither looked up nor thanked her—just asked for some staff files and reminded her that he wanted to commence interviews at nine. Lavinia rued her night of imaginings—clearly it hadn’t troubled him a jot.

Lavinia ached for the old days—gossiping by the coffee machine, chatting with Aleksi. Even Kate would have made things so much more bearable. But with Zakahr it was just work, work, work.

Her lunch break consisted of a mad dash for the vending machine and yet another energy drink.

‘Annika’s on the line.’ When a moment later Zakahr still hadn’t picked up his sister’s call, Lavinia buzzed him again, and then knocked on his door. ‘Annika’s on the phone for you.’

‘I’m busy with interviews. Who’s next?’ Zakahr asked, raising an eyebrow at the large energy drink she was carrying. It was Lavinia’s third of the day.

‘I’m just trying to get hold of her—it should be Alannah Dalton, Head of Retail,’ Lavinia said, handing him the file.

‘And?’ Zakahr asked, because Lavinia’s little off-the-record additions were actually spot-on.

‘A right old misery. She moans about everything—thinks the whole world’s out to get her…’ Her voice trailed off, and Zakahr looked up to see that Lavinia’s eyes were closed and that despite her make-up there was a sallow tinge to her cheeks.

‘Are you going to faint?’ He sounded weary at the thought of it.

‘No,’ Lavinia whispered. ‘I’m just…’ For an appalling moment she thought she might be sick, but it abated and she took a deep breath, licked very dry lips. The world was swimming back into focus. ‘I had no sleep last night.’ She saw his jaw tighten. ‘I know it’s not your problem—it’s entirely mine…’

She sat on his large sofa and put her head on her knees for a moment. He just sat at his desk and watched, neither worried nor impressed—if anything, he was bored by the drama of her.

‘I’ll be fine,’ Lavinia said a couple of moments later.

Only she wasn’t.

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