Obsession: (Billionaire Venture Capitalist #5) A Billionaire Russian Mob Romance Read online

  “What do you mean by luxury obsessed?”

  “He couldn’t just say something like ‘my sunglasses.’ He had to say, ‘my Gucci sunglasses’ instead, and I remember instead of ‘shoes,’ he said, ‘my Ferragamo loafers.’ Everything was luxury branded.”

  “And what was his ludicrous statement?”

  “He made a joke about murdering someone.”

  Oh fuck. This is what this is all about. It wasn’t a joke.

  All the blood drains from my face, and I want to cry.

  “What did he say, exactly?”

  I run my fingers over my hair, hoping to wipe away some of the tension coursing through me. “I don’t remember his exact words, only something like ‘I killed a guy for less.’ I thought it was a tasteless joke, and that’s when my cell phone pinged and my friend invited everyone over for an impromptu dinner party. I put fifty dollars on the table and left.”

  “Did he tell you he worked for Dimitri Kuznetsov?”

  “I don’t remember him saying that. But had he said the name Dimitri Kuznetsov, it wouldn’t have meant anything to me at the time.”

  Marci asks for a break and they leave, giving us the room.

  I start to cry. I’m so screwed.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about this Jeffery guy?” she asks quietly.

  “He was just a bad date. Do you want a list of all of them? I have no idea who he is.”

  She picks up the photo of the two of us sitting together at a table. I’m laughing and smiling, and it dawns on me who he was.

  “Marci, he didn’t tell me his name was Jeffery. He told me his name was… oh, I want to say Michael? He told me he was a software engineer for a start-up down in maybe Fremont or Palo Alto. He didn’t make a great impression on me. He was nice enough, but he didn’t excite me, and he seemed more interested in my bank account than anything else. I figured he had a start-up that he was looking for funding.”

  Marci calls Walker in, and she asks me to repeat what I just told her.

  “But you went out with him twice?” Walker probes.

  “The picture’s from our second date.”

  “Yes, we know. Why did you go out with him a second time?”

  “My mother taught me to never judge a book by its cover. So when he asked for a second date, I went out with him one more time. My opinion didn’t change. I got a text with an excuse to cut the date short.”

  “Have you talked to him since?”

  I can’t help myself. “As you well know, I haven’t. He called for a few weeks, but I ducked his calls until he put together that I wasn’t interested.”

  “Why didn’t you just tell him?”

  “I did when we met. I told him the date was a mistake and that I was leaving. How much more direct do I need to be?”

  “Okay, Miss Hathaway, tell us more about your relationship with Dimitri Kuznetsov.”

  Now we’re back to this.

  I want to go home, but instead, I find it in myself to be patient. “At BrightStar, there were eight partners. I was one of the eight. Ethan and I were the closest. The three founding members of our company had essentially retired, leaving Ethan in charge as our managing partner. He oversaw investor relations, which meant it was his job to sweet-talk people into joining our fund with their money and we’d invest it. Dimitri Kuznetsov was his contact. I didn’t know him and never remember meeting him. We had a partner who oversaw technology, one who oversaw emerging markets, another who oversaw the fund, and I oversaw the business development and procuring new companies to invest in. Ethan Sommers and I were both single. The other partners were older and married.”

  Marci inquires, “Are you still talking to the rest of the partners? Because they’re much more involved in what’s going on. My client’s a whistleblower, and you’re treating her like she did something wrong.”

  A woman sitting next to Walker decides to join the conversation. “We’re only trying to get the facts, ma’am.”

  “Well, let’s continue on,” Marci acquiesces.

  “When was the first time you met Dimitri Kuznetsov?” Walker asks.

  “I don’t even ever remember meeting him. You’ve shown me photos of him, but he doesn’t look familiar to me. I could’ve passed him in Union Square, and I wouldn’t know it.”

  Questions like this continue the rest of the day. I don’t have answers, and it frustrates them. It’s also starting to make me nervous, because I don’t recall meeting any of the people they keep asking about and showing me pictures of.

  It’s starting to turn to dusk outside. It’s been over eight hours of grilling, and they’ve worn me out. I’m done.

  Walker finally announces, “We have what we need for now, though we may need to have you come back at a later date.”

  Marci stands and extends her hand. “We’ll make ourselves available.”

  As we walk outside, one of the young guys from Jim’s team jumps out of the car to hold the door open. I pause long enough for Marci to give me a hug. “You did fantastic today. Let’s talk next week.”

  “I don’t feel like I did great. And I actually went on a date with one of this guy’s minions.”

  “Trust me, you answers all their questions with finesse. Continue telling the truth and you’re going to be fine.”

  I get into the car with Jim’s team, utterly exhausted. My bed’s calling my name, and I want to do nothing more than sleep for a few days.

  The detail walks me to my apartment, where I grab a few things, and then they lead me up to Todd’s apartment. I’m still not super comfortable here, feeling a little out of place. It’s just not mine.

  Changing into a pair of yoga pants and a University of Texas T-shirt, I wrap up in a blanket and turn the television on. Lying down on the couch, I relax, telling myself that I’m only going to shut my eyes for a second. He does have a nice deep couch that’s perfect for sleeping though, and it’s quite comfortable.

  I wake to the smell of Greek food—juicy lamb covered in oregano, mint, garlic, onion, dill; lemon potatoes; and best of all, warm, doughy pita bread. My stomach growls at the scents filling the air.

  Stretching, I find Todd sitting at his kitchen table on his computer with paper cartons around him. He looks up at me and smiles widely. “You’re awake.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

  “What are you apologizing for? You haven’t slept much at all the last week.”

  “I’m usually a good sleeper, but this has been a trying few days.”

  “How did it go today?”

  “There were a couple questions I wasn’t prepared for. They asked me about somebody I went on a date with, but they had a different name for him than what he told me.”

  “That’s strange.”

  “I think so too. It makes me wonder how deep I’m into this, and it makes me worry because I promise you, I don’t look good in orange.”

  “I have no doubt you’ll be fine.” Looking down at his computer, he sheepishly rasps, “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you’d like. I love having you here.” He pauses for a beat, then says, “I made plans for Saturday night with some friends from New York who moved here with the company.”

  “Oh, please go out with those guys, don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

  “No, you don’t understand. I plan to host dinner here at the house.”

  “I can find another place to stay. I’ve well overstayed my welcome.”

  He walks over and pulls me into an embrace. “Cyn, I told you I like having you here. Actually, I was wondering if you might be interested in cohosting with me. It’s only three other couples. Well, my managing partner, Thomas, isn’t part of a couple, but he’ll find a date even if he has to pay someone.”

  “So, only eight people?”

  “Might be fun. I’ve ordered a catered meal. All we need to do is mingle.”

  “Please know that I’m happy to move back into my own place. There are also a lot of other optio
ns for me. You don’t have to be stuck with me.”

  “I don’t feel stuck with you.” He wraps me in a tight hug that lasts a few seconds longer than it should.

  It feels right.

  It feels comfortable.

  It feels like it could be trouble.

  Chapter EIGHTEEN

  Cynthia

  We hit the farmers market, our typical Saturday morning routine. I look at the four guys in jeans, black T-shirts, and windbreakers accompanying us. It’s odd to have bodyguards with us everywhere we go. It’s not like we’re important, and they don’t necessarily blend into the crowd. Then again, I don’t think they want to blend in; they want to make it obvious that we have protection.

  I spot Emerson and Dillon and wave. “Hey, guys. Funny running into you here.” I say with a big grin.

  “Probably the same thing as you. What’s with all the muscle? I thought your security team was supposed to be gone after your interview with the FBI on Thursday?”

  “Well, that’s what I was hoping, but for now I have a party everywhere I go.”

  Dillon puts his arm around my shoulder and assures me, “Hopefully you’ll be free and clear soon.”

  “I can’t stay in Todd’s apartment forever. It’s such an inconvenience for him.”

  “Stop saying that,” Todd interjects. “It’s not the case, really.”

  We talk a short while longer, then hug goodbye before returning to Todd’s. I bought makings for a nice salad and a lunch of tomato bisque and grilled cheese sandwiches.

  Once we finished eating, I tell him, “I thought we might visit the Palace of Fine Arts today. I know we need to be back and ready when the caterer arrives at five for prep, but are you up for a small adventure?”

  “Absolutely.” He slaps his thighs and stands. “Let’s do it.”

  Todd calls and makes arrangement with Jim’s team. They aren’t thrilled, but at least it’s some fresh air. We take the Escalade to the Palace of Fine Arts, a beautiful gazebo-looking Greek and Roman piece of architecture that was designed as a fictional ruin for the Panama-Pacific Exhibition and overlooks a manmade lagoon. We have a team of three guards who might blend in if we were going to a punk concert and were working our way to the mosh pit. We see a couple in wedding attire having photos taken and stop for a moment to watch.

  “This place is amazing,” Todd exclaims. “When was it built?”

  “Well, the original was built in 1915. It was meant to be torn down after the exhibition, but they left it up. By the 60s it was in bad shape and had to be rebuilt.”

  We look at the ornate ceilings, avoiding being in the wedding photos but still taking some fun ones of the two of us.

  “Now for the music trivia of this trip. Janis Joplin was photographed here with her painted car.”

  “Always with the music trivia.” He smiles at me and ruffles my hair. “I’ve seen pictures of that car. It was a Porsche and really cool.”

  “She was a Texas girl who escaped, just like me. I feel a great affinity to that.”

  We follow the path and wander around the water, dodging the groups of people and bicycles speeding by. “We need to come back for a show. It’s totally different in the evening.”

  “Stop!” Todd holds me back and points to a turtle trying to cross the path to the lagoon, barely being missed by speeding bicycles. Picking up the turtle, he talks to it. “Okay, little guy. This is not the time to try to get across the walk at a turtle pace.”

  I snap a picture with my phone. “I’m going to blow up your PeopleMover page with that pic.”

  He shrugs. “That’s fine. I like animals. Maybe it’ll bring me some street cred.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “Street cred? Who’s using 90’s vernacular now?”

  After spending the afternoon wandering, Jim’s team is there to drive us back to the apartment.

  I need to get ready for the party tonight, but I want to make a salad for my lunches this week first. I’m too nervous and distracted, and as I work my way through the carrots, I cut myself. I shriek, and Todd comes rushing into the kitchen. I instantly forget all about my bleeding finger, too busy taking in his chiseled chest with a sprinkle of hair and his happy trail line that I want so much to explore. My core clenches and my heart beats much faster.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to alarm you. I wasn’t paying attention and cut myself.” I’m humiliated by my knife skills.

  Todd reaches for my finger and holds it under the water to wash the blood away, pursing his lips as he examines the cut. He’s so close, and I want so much to kiss those lips.

  Watching me carefully, he lifts my finger to his mouth and softly kisses the cut. “Are you going to be okay?”

  I nod, which is all I can muster right now. I just want to curl into him and have him kiss more than my finger.

  He breaks my trance when he turns and walks away to find a bandage.

  Taking a few breaths to normalize myself, I shake off the effect he has on me.

  I need to find someplace else to live. This is not going to work.

  When the caterer arrives, I’m fully dressed in a killer red dress that hugs every curve, with a slit midthigh and deep cleavage. I’m wearing a thong but worry that even that will show through with this dress.

  I walk out of the bathroom, trying to find the hole in my ear for my earring, when I hear, “Woah. You look fantastic.” He’s frozen in place, taking in every curve this dress shows off.

  I blush. I guess it doesn’t matter about my thong. “Thank you. Since your friends know we’ve shacked up, I thought I could look presentable.”

  “Oh, I’d say you look more than presentable. They aren’t going to believe me when I tell them we aren’t fucking.”

  My goal was to get a physical reaction from him, and my heart races in satisfaction. I’m not sure I can even believe that we sleep in the same bed and he’s not made one move.

  He looks positively good enough to eat in his dark linen pants, his white linen shirtsleeves rolled up, a Ferragamo belt, and matching loafers. His hair is slicked back, and he has a twinkle in his eyes. I’m positive he saw me shudder.

  The caterer has been busy plating and preparing for a while. It’s nice to not be rushing around preparing. Her staff sets the table and prepares the dinner for everyone, while we’re left to wait.

  I turn to Todd. “This home chef thing’s a fantastic idea.”

  “CeCe recommended it, and it’ll be nice to enjoy this group. I warn you, they’re going to get rowdy.”

  “Tell me they have good secrets they’ll share about you.”

  “They might, but they’ve been warned not to share too much.”

  “Too much? That’s not fair.”

  He kisses my forehead. “Life’s not fair, babe.”

  I need a drink. If he keeps touching me, I’m going to have a wet spot on my dress and a big problem.

  The three couples arrive at once. I like them immediately, as they tease and cajole Todd. They’re definitely New Yorkers—a little aggressive, not quite the West Coast laidback.

  “Cynthia, this is Thomas. Thomas, please meet Cynthia.”

  “So you’re the woman who took my wingman off the market,” Thomas ribs me.

  “I’m not keeping him off the market. He’s welcome to see all that San Francisco has to offer.”

  He smiles at me and turns to Todd. “I like this one.”

  “Hands off, Thomas,” Todd warns.

  Thomas obviously knows he’s gotten to Todd, and it’s fun to watch them banter.

  Thomas turns to a stunning woman standing at his side. “Todd and Cynthia, this is Elizabeth.” She’s dressed in a sleek black sheath dress and an expensive pair of heels. Not a platinum-blonde hair is out of place, her nails are perfectly manicured a deep red, and her figure is that of a Barbie doll. I immediately believe she’s been bought and paid for.

  “So nice to meet you,” I tell her.

  Handing me a bouquet of flowers, she gushes, “
Thank you for having us over.”

  “I hope Thomas warned you, this group can get rather loud and rowdy,” Todd says.

  She looks at him with affection and replies, “I grew up with three brothers. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

  “How did you two meet?” I ask.

  Reaching for her hand and giving it a squeeze, Thomas assures, “This guy was getting a little too friendly. I stepped in, and after a few words, he moved along.”

  “You know, Thomas makes it sound like he rescued me, but I’d seen him at my gym and was smitten from the moment I met him. He was so self-confident and all male. You know that doesn’t happen in this town often. He has half the girls at the gym eating out of his hand, and I ignored him. It was pure happenstance when we ran into one another.”

  “What do you do?” Todd inquires.

  “I work in marketing for a brokerage house,” she tells us all shyly.

  “Don’t let her fool you. She works at Charles Swift and is Chuck’s right hand, as well as the SVP of Marketing. She played that off with me until someone who worked for her set me straight.”

  She blushes. “Titles mean so little. It’s about how your team performs.”

  I like this girl. She definitely isn’t paid by the hour like I so wrongfully assumed; she’s smart and demure, but can clearly hold her own.

  “This is Anthony and Marie,” he introduces me to the next couple. “Anthony is one of our lead traders and Marie works in advertising.”

  “So nice to meet you both,” I say.

  “We were wondering if you were a figment of Todd’s imagination,” Anthony confides.

  I grin widely.

  “And this last couple is Dan and Jessica. Dan is a researcher, and Jessica is a teacher.”

  “A substitute teacher right now,” Jessica corrects.

  “Great to meet you both,” I tell them

  I have fun all evening, being regaled with stories of rent-controlled apartments, running crew on sailboats, and all the comparisons between New York and San Francisco. I can tell that many of them miss the craziness of the city that never sleeps, but they’re beginning to enjoy their adopted city as well.