Chapter 75
Evelyn's POV
The second morning after Julian left my apartment, I stood outside Titan Tower at eight forty-five AM.
I'd spent an hour choosing what to wear. Settled on a charcoal Armani pantsuit and four-inch Louboutins. Professional consultant. Don't fuck with me. My mother's cross hung beneath the silk blouse, hidden but there.
The lobby was all marble and chrome. Aggressive minimalism that screamed money and power. I gave my name to the receptionist and waited while she made a call.
"Mr. Russell is expecting you, Ms. Valentine. Forty-fifth floor."
The elevator ride up was silent. I watched the numbers climb and tried to ignore the knot in my stomach. This was just business. A consulting contract. Nothing more.
The doors opened on controlled chaos. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Workstations arranged in precise patterns. Personnel moving with military efficiency. This wasn't a corporate office. This was a war room with a dress code.
Webb appeared immediately. "Ms. Valentine. Right this way."
He led me through the space. I cataloged exits out of habit. Bulletproof glass. Biometric scanners. Cameras everywhere. Whatever Julian was protecting here, he wasn't taking chances.
Webb stopped at a door marked Private. Knocked twice. Some kind of code, because the lock disengaged before he finished.
"Mr. Russell, Ms. Valentine is here."
"Send her in."
Julian's voice was flat. Professional. It made my chest tighten in ways I didn't want to examine.
The door opened and I stepped inside.
The office was smaller than I expected. More windows. Technology that probably violated international treaties. And Julian, leaning against his desk with his arms crossed, looking like he'd slept as well as I had.
Which was to say not at all.
He'd gone full CEO, but not the Wall Street kind. Black tactical suit that probably cost as much as a Tom Ford but looked like it could survive a firefight. Charcoal button-down with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, no tie—Julian didn't do ties unless someone was paying him to pretend he gave a fuck about boardroom etiquette.
His hair was slightly damp, still dark from the shower, and there was a faint shadow along his jaw like he'd skipped shaving this morning.
I tried very hard not to think about the last time I'd seen him wet.
The door clicked shut behind me.
We stared at each other across ten feet of expensive carpet that might as well have been an ocean.
"Ms. Valentine." Perfectly professional. Like I was just another consultant he'd never met before. "Thank you for coming."
It hurt more than it should have.
"Mr. Russell." I matched his tone. "Your assistant said you wanted to discuss the employment terms."
"I did." He gestured to a leather chair. "Please, sit."
I sat. Crossed my legs. Folded my hands in my lap. Perfect posture. Arthur's etiquette lessons coming through.
Julian moved around to his side of the desk. He didn't sit. Just stood there, one hand resting on the surface, looking down at me with gray eyes that gave away nothing.
"I've had Legal draw up a standard consulting contract." He pulled out a folder and slid it across. "Three-month term, renewable by mutual agreement. A hundred thousand base plus expenses. Performance bonuses tied to actionable intelligence." He paused. "Webb said you wanted to review it first. Have you?"
I had. Three hours last night, going through every clause, looking for traps. But all I'd found was a straightforward agreement with a termination clause I could invoke anytime.
Almost insulting how fair it was.
"I reviewed it," I said. "It's acceptable."
"Good." He pulled out a pen. Set it on the folder. "Sign where indicated and we can get started."
I picked up the pen. A Mont Blanc. Flipped to the signature page.
My hand hovered for three seconds.
Then I signed Evelyn Valentine and watched Julian counter-sign without hesitation.
Just like that, I was officially employed by the man I'd slept with before kicking him out.
This was going to be a disaster.
Julian filed the contract in his desk. Then finally sat down and fixed me with a look that was pure business.
"Now that the paperwork is handled, let's discuss the actual job. You've read the brief?"
"The one claiming I'm consulting based on my academic expertise?" I kept my voice flat. "Yes. It's a good cover story."
"It's not a cover story." He leaned back, fingers steepled. "You do have expertise in post-Soviet private military contractors. You did write a thesis. And you do have intimate knowledge of the Winthrop family." A pause. "The fact that you're also a trained assassin just makes you uniquely qualified."
I stared at him. At the casual way he laid out exactly how much he knew.
"You're hiring me to investigate the case where I was the weapon."
"I'm hiring you to help identify who orchestrated the attempt and why." He pulled up something on his monitor and angled it toward me. A complex web of connections. Names. Organizations. Financial transactions. All centered around Caldwell's photo. "Someone powerful enough to manipulate Kholod. To identify you as an asset. To set you up to frame Adrian." His eyes met mine. "That's not amateur hour. That's someone with serious resources, and I want to know who before they try again."
The logic was sound. The threat was real.
But this was also Julian's way of keeping me close. Of refusing to accept the boundaries I'd tried to establish.
"What exactly do you expect me to do?" I asked. "I can't go back to Kholod asking questions. That would only raise suspicion."
"I don't need you to go back to them." He pulled up another screen. Financial records. Corporate filings. "I need you to help me work the problem from the other direction. Someone hired Kholod. Money changed hands. Shell companies. Offshore accounts." He fixed me with that predator's stare. "You're going to help me follow the money."
"And you think I can do that because...?"
"Because you spent five years in Russia learning how their black market operates. Because you understand how organizations like Kholod structure themselves. Because you've been on the inside."