The Devil Wears Kolovsky

‘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.’

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.