I turned as she nudged at me in the backseat with her notepad, and I took the pink stationery from her where she had scribbled.
Where are we going?
“To see your uncle,” I replied. “You haven’t seen him since yesterday, have you?”
The light that had been in her eyes immediately dimmed.
To my surprise, I noted that it had been replaced by outright fear and worry. She turned away from me, and once again, I was beyond confused. I lightly touched her arm, and tried to get her attention. “Yulia,” I called softly. “What’s wrong?”
She didn’t respond or write another word until we arrived at Canary Wharf and pulled up in front of the wonder of steel and glass that was Volkov Industries.
As I stared at the glistening skyscraper, I felt my first tiny bout of panic at my shabby appearance. For some reason, I had stupidly assumed we would be heading to a place that was similar to the construction yard where I went for my gun training.
The chauffeur pulled up and parked in front of the entrance of the building.
To my dismay, I noticed the sophisticated influx and outflow of executives in polished oxfords and shoes. My back hunched with regret. I should have worn one of my two dresses. Anything would have been better than what I was wearing. “We’re at the main office?” I asked the chauffeur. He was wearing sunglasses so I couldn’t see his expression, but I noted that even he was dressed with dignity in his pristine dark suit. It was with that insecure state of mind that I walked into the building with Yulia.
We were seen immediately across the expansive, seemingly endless lobby made of marble. A man wearing a pink tie, he could have been gay or just effeminate, ran up to us and introduced himself as one of Mr. Volkov’s assistants. He told us his title, but it didn’t register. I was too self-conscious of being the only person who looked like a hobo.
He took us past a row of flawlessly put together receptionists granting access and exit to authorized guests and herded us towards a transparent, private elevator.
A middle-aged woman guided us after we’d been delivered by the man with the pink tie on the 14th floor. She took us to a different elevator where she had to tap her fingerprint and card to open the car’s doors.
Yulia and I got in.
With a kind smile, she said to us, “It will go straight to the top. Taylor will receive you there.”
I wanted to ask if Taylor was male, because my battered esteem couldn’t cope with some beautiful assistant who looked at me with contempt, but I kept my mouth shut and rode the elevator with a very somber Yulia. I looked down at the hand she had in mine and it felt as if with every floor we passed, her hold was getting tighter and tighter.
I gazed down as we rode upward towards the symbol of Yuri’s dynasty. I could hardly believe he was the same human who had plunged into me. The one I had so daringly teased, fucked, and even slapped!
Now that I took this all in, it made sense why I was so easy to ignore. He was worth all of this and I was the nanny. Yes, I had a place in his life, but it was clear that looking to move even an inch out of that small space would only cause me more grief than I could handle. I’d known this instinctively, but somehow in the last two days I had allowed myself to forget.
Not anymore.
We eventually arrived at the top floor and I stepped out to the consolation that Taylor was indeed male, with a curly head of hair and a soft gaze. I pretended to myself it was because I didn’t want to be looked down on by a high and mighty female employee, but the truth was I was wildly jealous. I couldn’t bear the thought that he was working closely with a beautiful woman.
“Miss Winters,” he greeted with a nod and a smile, before crouching down to meet my little companion. “Hello Yulia,” he said with a big smile.
She stared at him with eyes that seemed haunted.
He frowned. “Yulia are you okay? What’s wrong, sweetie?”
She shook her head and he turned to me.
I shrugged my shoulders. I was equally perplexed. “She’s been like that since we got in the car.”
“Hmm…Maybe she’s dreading her session with the psychiatrist. She’s been through a couple of these in a short amount of time.”
“Perhaps,” I responded, and just then there were voices down the hallway.
We all looked up and there was Yuri, dressed in only his shirt and navy blue suit trousers. He had loosened his tie and was strolling amidst two men dressed surprisingly casually in T-shirt and jackets. He noticed us immediately but kept his attention on the two men, their voices hushed, until they shook hands and walked away. Yuri ducked into a nearby door and the two men came towards us. As they walked past us towards the elevator, they nodded at Yulia.