Chapter 3 : Miss Petrov
Chapter 3: Miss Petrov
Keava POV
“The number you have dialled is currently unavailable,” said the frustratingly calm service tone.
“Fuck!” I cursed. The cab driver jumped a little bit in surprise.
Atlas was ghosting me…that bastard. Now because my cover was blown I had nothing for my article. The most interesting thing that happened was that Roman Cabot was a patron at the Andromeda. My publisher was expecting a juicy piece on a corrupt politician and now all I had was critique on the club’s interior design.
“Right here,” I told the driver as we neared my apartment building.
I gave him a little extra and entered the building. I was dying to just take off this ridiculous dress and unwind with a glass of wine and a bubble bath. I definitely needed to cleanse myself of Max’s intense cologne.
I entered my one bedroom apartment, ready to relax, but my phone rang before I could even remove a shoe.
I grabbed my phone quickly, hoping to God that it was Atlas or Margret.
I groaned when I saw my publisher’s caller ID. I steeled myself and answered.
“Hi Helen,” I said chirpily, “I was just about to call you.”
“Keava, we both know that you weren’t,” she said flatly. “I would have gotten a dozen texts from you already if your stunt tonight went well. What went wrong?”
I sighed. There was no point in lying.
“I got made. Salazar had someone watching me…which must mean he was tipped off.”
“I told you this was a bad idea. Just drop the story and do something else,” she pleaded. “Not every article has to be ground breaking or award-worthy. Just stick to the ground and keep a low profile.”
Keep a low profile? I hadn’t built up my career by keeping a low profile. This wasn’t just about writing a great story, this was about exposing a corrupt politician before he could gain even more power.
“Helen, you know that I can’t just back down,” I said. “Just give me another week or two, please. I promise I’ll have something.”
Helen sighed. I was putting her in a difficult position, I knew that much. She had stuck out her neck for me more times than I could count but I had always delivered results.
“Look, Keava, I’ll see what I can do but I can’t make any promises,” she warned me. “And do not, under any circumstances, do anything reckless.”
“Thank you, Helen,” I said gratefully and hung up the call.
I exhaled with relief as I undressed and ran a steaming hot bath. It was pure heaven when I sunk into the depths of the soothing water. My eyes closed and felt myself drifting off…and then I felt his tender lips on mine once again.
My eyes shot open expecting to find Roman leaning over the tub, but the bathroom was empty.
My heart was beating fast. I couldn’t have enjoyed that kiss, could I? It wasn’t like it was passion or anything, the kiss had been a ruse.
It hadn’t felt fake though…It was the most real kiss I had ever had.
No, it was fake, no matter what it had felt like at that moment.
I couldn’t shake the sensation from my mind.
I brought my fingers to my lips and caressed along the edges, the sensation of the kiss was burned into the memory of my flesh.
No! Get a hold of yourself! There’s no need to complicate your thoughts with a man you’ll never see again. And besides, it’s more than likely that he’s involved in illicit activities as well. I wouldn’t want to get involved with someone that I would have to expose later on.
Life was too complicated already.
Roman POV
Salazar vanished from the club not long after my kiss with Keava. Not seeing any further reason to stay I left as well and headed to my penthouse suite; the place I stayed when I had business to deal with in Manhattan.
I cursed, now I was back to square one. I needed to get myself noticed by Salazar in order to get into his inner circle; the man was incredibly selective over who he associated with no matter their social or financial standing. He was careful and calculating, allowing just a little bit of debauchery to be known so the public didn’t get overly suspicious of him.
That journalist had bitten off more than she could chew and had gotten in my way because of it. Sure I didn’t have to intervene, but I knew what would have happened to her if I didn’t.
Margret Orhzov had sent her into the lion’s den just for the chance of getting back at Salazar, not caring to be careful with the false identity she had given Keava.
Keava Petrov; award-winning investigative journalist under the pseudonym of Rose Cathlyn, infamous for exposing numerous unethical business practices. While her face was not known to the public, a person with resources could potentially discover who she was, where she lived, and even who her family was.
Petrov was not her real last name and Keava was only her middle name. Her real identity was Alexandrea Keava du Morte. She was born to a wealthy family in France but lost everything when her father died and his wealth was stolen out from under him by his business partners.
Orphaned, she was adopted by her mother’s distant cousin in Chicago. Her new adoptive father had been involved in all sorts of crime and vanished from her life when she was twelve. Her adoptive mother was in and out of rehab so she never had much of a childhood.
While I did struggle to unearth her real identity and history; the fact that it was possible meant that she was in danger.
I knew that I owed her nothing. I didn’t know her from a bar of soap and yet I stuck my neck out for her. Jeopardised my own plans for the sake of a stranger.
Was it because she was an orphan as well, had I sensed a kindred spirit and felt obliged to rush to her aid at the cost of everything?
I tossed Keava’s file back on the desk and poured myself a glass of whisky. I wasn’t much of a drinker but tonight was a cheat night.
“I think you should just drop this whole secret agent charade you’ve got going on here,” Matt groaned. “It’s taking your focus away from your actual job. You might be the owner and CEO but you can still be voted out by the board if you cease to perform effectively.”
“If Salazar gets elected then the board will have bigger things to worry about,” I muttered sourly.
“Is this really about helping the city and your company, or is your gripe with Salazar just a tad bit more personal than that?” Matt posed with a raised eyebrow.
I didn’t answer him. I spun my chair and gazed out of the wonder at the bright city lights of New York. I would often sit in this very chair as a child and pretend that I was a King looking down at his kingdom from the grandest castle.
My reality was not far off from that daydream, with the exception that I didn’t really feel like a king. I felt more like an urchin who had been given his position by a generous uncle. An uncle who had taken me in when my brother and I had nothing and gave us a future.
In that way my life was polarised to Keava Petrov. She was a girl born into wealth who lost everything…and I was a boy from nothing who had gained everything, though not from any efforts on either of our parts.
“You know what Salazar did, Matt,” I said finally. “We were all there when it happened; Me, you, and Andrew. I’m the only one who’s chosen not to forget.”
“I haven’t forgotten anything,” Matt retorted, “I’m just not willing to die for something like revenge.”
I spun around and looked him in the eye.
“What about Alastor Cabot? Would you not die for him?” I growled.
Sensing a fight coming on, Matt stood up and made his way to the door.
“There’s no point in dying for the dead,” he bit coldly. “I just want to make sure that you don’t join him, wherever the old man is.”
Matt slammed the door behind him. I knew deep down that he was right but I couldn’t let go. Without this purpose to drive me I would be nothing more than another billionaire with way too much money and time on his hands.
Uncle Alistair, despite his flaws and shortcomings, taught me what it means to be a man; someone who protects, wades into danger, and sacrifices everything for his morals and those whom he loves.
There was no way I could let this go while knowing that the one who killed him still roamed freely without any blame.
Edwin Salazar POV
“Someone was watching you tonight, sir,” my bodyguard said, checking the club’s footage of a tablet. “It seems to be by more than one person.”
“They’re always watching,” I gulped down a blade of whisky, “Anything to be concerned about?”
Luther handed me the tablet, the screen displayed enlarged images of three individuals.
I recognised Roman Cabot; the idiot boy who thought himself a player in this game, no doubt his uncle’s influence on him making him think he was some saviour.
The blonde woman and the man however, I could not put names to faces.
“What do we have on her?” I passed my bodyguard a glass of whisky. He had earned it after the work he did tonight.
“Nothing aside from the fact that she’s shown up at multiple high profile events. She’s the one that we received that tip about; the one who is suspected of being some sort of journalist.”
“The infamous Rose Cathlyn,” I sneered. The one who exposed many of my pawns…now finally a face to a name. Though it was most likely not her real name.
“See if you can get the hacker to squeal a little bit more…We need to know where he’s hidden all of his data.”
Rose Cathlyn and Roman Cabot…Potential thorns in my side.