The Devil Wears Kolovsky. Carol Marinelli

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.