‘Are you excited?’ Lavinia asked, and then glanced over to Zakahr. ‘Eddie’s about to become a grandfather.’
It could not interest Zakahr less, and his extremely brief nod should have made that clear, but Lavinia and Eddie carried on chatting.
‘I can’t stop my wife shopping—we’ve got a room full of pink!’
‘So it’s a girl!’
Lavinia seemed delighted, and Zakahr watched as she snapped into action—touching up her make-up and combing her long blonde hair.
She could feel him watching her, sensed his irritation, and her blue eyes jerked up from the mirror. ‘What?’
He shrugged and looked away before he answered. ‘I don’t like vanity.’
‘I’d suggest that you do!’
‘Pardon?’
‘You’ve dated enough vain women,’ Lavinia pointed out. ‘According to my impeccable sources.’
‘Five-dollar magazines?’ Zakahr was derisive, but still he was intrigued. Lavinia wasn’t remotely unnerved by him, and it was surprisingly refreshing. ‘Are you always this rude to your boss?’
‘Was I rude?’ Lavinia thought about it for a moment. ‘Then, yes, I suppose I am. You wouldn’t last five minutes in this place otherwise.’ She was annoyed now—he just didn’t get it. ‘And it has nothing to do with my being vain—this isn’t me!’ Lavinia said. ‘This is me at work. Do you really think the Princess wants someone greeting her in jeans with oily hair?’ She was on a roll now! ‘And another thing—while by your calculations I was five minutes late, I was actually fifty-five minutes early. Most people start work at nine. And because work insists I look the part, when I got to work I ensured that I did,’ she concluded, snapping closed her lipgloss as the driver opened the car door. Then, having said her piece, she suddenly smiled and did what Lavinia did best—got on with the job. ‘Let’s go and meet the Princess!’
Zakahr had realised back at the office that it would be extremely offensive for him not to greet the royal guests, and he was more than a little grateful to his dizzy PA for her strong stance. Because it wasn’t just the Princess—the King himself was here. Zakahr quickly assessed that one bad word from this esteemed guest and even the great Kolovsky name would be dinted.
Zakahr swung into impressive action—greeting the guests formally in the VIP lounge, and immediately quashing any disappointment that neither Nina nor Aleksi was here to greet them.
Lavinia was very good at small talk, Zakahr noted, back in the limousine. She chatted away to the shy Princess and her mother, and very quickly put them at ease. And every layer of lipgloss, Zakahr conceded, was merited—because it was clear the royal family expected nothing less than pure glamour, and Kolovsky could deliver that in spades.
‘The team are so looking forward to finally meeting with you,’ said Lavinia now.
She was nothing like the pale, wan woman who had stepped into his office this morning. She was effusive, yet professional, and as they stepped out of the limo it was Lavinia who paved the way, speaking in low tones to Zakahr about what was taking place.
‘We take them through to the design team now.’
The King remained in the car, his aides in the vehicle behind, and they all waited till they had driven off before the colourful parade made its way to the centre of Kolovsky. Every door required more authorisation, but then they were in.
‘Thank you.’ Zakahr was not begrudging when praise was due, and as they left the Princess in the design team’s skilled hands he thanked Lavinia. ‘It would have been unthinkable of me not to greet the King!’
‘I know!’ She gave him a wide eyed look. ‘They don’t normally come—the men, I mean. Lucky!’
He didn’t know why, but she made his lips twitch almost into a smile. He contained himself as Lavinia showed him the wedding displays, all locked behind glass and beautifully lit. She headed straight for the centrepiece.
‘This,’ she said, ‘is the one they all want. The Kolovsky bridal gown.’ He stared at it for a moment. ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ Lavinia pushed.
‘It’s a dress,’ Zakahr said, and Lavinia laughed.
‘It’s the dress! It was supposed to be for the Kolovsky daughter, or one of their son’s brides—well, that’s what Nina and Ivan intended.’ She didn’t see his face stiffen. ‘It’s the dress of every woman’s dreams,’ Lavinia breathed, peering closely and steaming up the glass as she did so. ‘It actually is,’ she added. ‘I dreamt about this dress long before I ever saw it.’
Zakahr was not going to stand there and engage in idle chit-chat about a wedding dress, and without a word he walked off. But she caught up with him, trotting along to keep up with his long strides, and—annoyingly for Zakahr—carrying on with her incessant chatter.
‘I used to fall asleep dreaming about my wedding, and I swear that was the dress I was wearing—it really is the dress of dreams.’
‘You fell asleep dreaming of your wedding?’ They were in the lift now, and he couldn’t keep the derisive note from his voice.
‘I was eight or so!’ Lavinia shrugged, then coloured a touch as his eyes assessed her.
‘You don’t dream of it now?’ Zakahr checked, and he watched her ears pinken a fraction.
‘Sometimes I do.’ She shocked him with her honesty. ‘Then the alarm goes off and it’s back to the real world.’ She gave him a little wink as the lift door opened. ‘Or I hit the snooze button.’
Was she being deliberately provocative? Zakahr couldn’t be sure, and it irked him. There was an edge to Lavinia—an openness that was inviting, a smile that was beguiling—and yet there was a no-nonsense element to her too, almost a wall. The combined effect, he reluctantly admitted, was intriguing.
‘We have much work to do,’ Zakahr said as they reached the office suite. ‘We’ll start the one-on-one interviews tomorrow, but this afternoon I will address everyone—liaise with HR, but I want you to arrange it.’
‘It’s not possible,’ Lavinia told him. ‘People have meetings scheduled, and there are—’
‘Anyone not present has effectively handed in their notice.’ He cut her off mid-sentence. He would accept no excuses, and Lavinia’s lips pursed as he left her no room for manoeuvre. ‘Just do as I ask.’
‘The thing is—’
Zakahr halted her. ‘The thing is I am in charge now. Whatever your relationship with your previous boss— disregard it. When I say I want something done, it is not up for negotiation.
‘Which night do we dine with the King?’
‘Wednesday. But I don’t do dinner.’ Lavinia shook her head. ‘They only trust me with the occasional airport run.’
‘Well, for now you do the social
