Conflicted (Undercover #2) Read Online Free PDF Page B

her. “I remember,” I said in a small voice. “But Luka isn’t like that.”
    “I really think you should come home,” said Nancy. “I know your dad thinks it’s good for you to be out there, seeing the world, but I’m really worried you’re going to get your heart broken. Just come home, Arianna.”
    “I’m fine,” I said again. The car was slowing. “I have to go. Take care.” And I ended the call before she could argue.
    I wanted nothing more than to speak to her. Hearing her voice after so long with nothing familiar around me was like coming home. But if I kept talking to her, she was going to persuade me to bail. God, she didn’t even know about the trip on the yacht, yet. If she knew I was planning to do that, she’d freak out completely. And the scary thing was that she was absolutely right—I was way out of my depth.
    The cab pulled up outside a boutique that was all soft lighting and artfully displayed mannequins, a world away from the places I normally shopped at back home. My stomach tensed. In theory, I had the new Arianna Ross credit card Adam had given me, but my instincts took over. Shit! I couldn’t afford this!
    As soon as I took a step inside, a woman in an immaculate black designer dress stepped from behind the counter. Her blonde pixie cut was so precise I suspected it was styled with a laser. Something about my clothes clearly marked me as a tourist, and not a rich one. “Can I help you?” she asked in English.
    There’s a certain way that store assistants can say Can I help you so that it sounds like Please get out of my store.
    “Um,” I said. “I think I need some clothes. Quite a lot of clothes. I’m not sure exactly what.” We stared at one another. Well done, Arianna. Very decisive. I looked around. “I’m not sure I can afford this place…”
    The store assistant gave me a smile so incredibly patronizing, it felt as if she’d kicked me in the chest. “There are some cheaper stores a few streets down,” she said sweetly. And she picked up the coffee she’d been drinking and leaned against the counter, smirking. Even her coffee mug was designer, with some achingly cool clothes company’s logo on the side.
    A hot flush rose in my cheeks. She made me feel as if I was something she’d scraped off her shoe. I turned to slink out and then remembered something. “Luka Malakov sent me,” I mumbled.
    There was a crash as the designer coffee mug hit the floor.
    I thought I’d offended her. I thought maybe his name was so despised that she’d thrown the mug down in anger. I headed for the door.
    She ran in front of me, slipping and almost falling on the marble floor, and blocked my path. And now I saw how the color was draining from her face. She babbled at me in Russian for a few seconds, begging forgiveness, before she remembered I was just a dumb American tourist. “I’m sorry!” she said in English. “I didn’t know! Alina! Alina!”
    I’d seen people go pale, but I’d never seen anyone go white before. She looked as if she was about to throw up.
    A slightly older woman with dark hair came running in from the back. At first, she frowned at the commotion, especially when she saw the coffee all over the floor. Then the blonde woman hissed in Russian, “ She’s from Luka Malakov!”
    Alina stopped dead in her tracks and then swallowed as if she was trying to choke down a football. Her hand played nervously with the necklace at her throat. “You work for Mr. Malakov?” she asked in Russian.
    “She’s American!” the younger one said in a terse whisper, still in Russian. Holy shit, there were tears in her eyes. “I think she’s his….” She looked up at her boss with huge, scared eyes. “ I was rude to her!”
    Alina stared at her and then at me. I actually saw her knees weaken. She spoke in English for the first time. “You are Mr. Malakov’s…” She swallowed again. “You are with Mr. Malakov?”
    I nodded, growing more freaked out by the