Page 48 of Boardroom Sins

RECOMMENDATION: Retain. For now.

Lukas’s back is to me as he looks at something on my desk. The files I’m still churning through, maybe. Or the crumpled Post-it note I dropped when I fled from Naked Natasha.

He hasn’t seen me yet. I could still turn around. Run again and go hide in that stairwell until he leaves or retreats into his office.

But before I make up my mind, he turns.

His silver hair is shorter than it was on Friday. Trimmed close on the sides, still thick on top. The beard is, too. It’s neater now, more precise. I can’t decide if I like it better like this, or a little wilder and more unhinged the way it was when we first locked eyes.

But either way, he looks good.

He looksdevastating.

It’s kind of funny, though, to picture him doing something so mundane as getting a haircut. It shouldn’t be—it’s a normal, human thing. Billionaires go to barbers just like everyone else. They sit in chairs and make small talk and tip well, presumably.

But somehow, the idea of Lukas Lazarev doing something that ordinary feels impossible. Like imagining a shark stopping for coffee.

Either way, the effect is undeniable. The new cut makes his jaw look harsher and his cheekbones more pronounced. The gray of his eyes seems colder against the coarse lines of his face.

That silver gaze sweeps over me. It takes in my blotchy face, my red-rimmed eyes, and, worst of all, the tear tracks I didn’t manage to wipe away.

“Ms. Everett,” he says in a cold, cruel voice. “Where were you?”

“I was—” I clear my throat and try again. “I stepped away for a moment.”

“You stepped… away,” he repeats, as if he is unfamiliar with the concept. “Is that in your job description?”

I do a double-take. “I’m… I’m sorry. It’s just that I was?—”

“Answer the question, Ms. Everett. Is it in your job description to ‘step away for a moment’?”

My eyes fall to the floor at my feet. I could say,What job description? You haven’t given me one!But I get the feeling that would be a very bad idea. Instead, I say, “No, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”

“Then why did you do it?”

I begin to explain, then stall out. I’m not actually sure what I’m supposed to say. I don’t think he’s particularly interested in my answer either way. He has other motives at work. And if he wants to make me feel like I’m lower than the dirt beneath his feet, then job well done. We can call it right here.

“I received an urgent phone call while you were out this morning, sir,” I splutter. “Someone named Afon. He said it was about the… theRymbayevsituation. He said—” I swallow. “He said people were going to die.”

Lukas’s face doesn’t change. Not even a flicker. “And?”

“And I tried to find you. I knocked on your door. But you weren’t there. So I went in to leave a note and I—” I stop myself just in time. “I stepped away after that.”

“To cry.”

I don’t bother denying it. There’s no point—he can see the proof all over my face. “Yes.”

He takes a step toward me. “I’ll ask one more time: Is that what I’m paying you for, Ms. Everett? To cry in stairwells when things get difficult?”

“No, sir.”

“Then whatamI paying you for?”

“To—” My throat tightens. “To assist you.”

“And were you assisting me just now? While you were weeping alone in a stairwell?”

“No.”