Fate Intended (The Coulter Men Series Book 3) (4 page)

Jane turned and smiled at the approaching elderly woman. Mrs. Little gave Eddie an affectionate smile. “You’re as wise as you are handsome, Edward.”

“And Mr. Little is lucky I despise home wreckers. You, Mrs. Little, know the way to a man’s heart.” Eddie patted his chest and then tipped them a two finger salute as he backed out into the cold.

Mrs. Little waved him off with a shake of her gray head. Jane turned her attention to the elderly lady at the front desk. Inez Little was as quiet as her husband was chatty; as thin as he was round.

Jane smiled. “Can I help you, Mrs. Little?”

“Inez. And yes, my washer won’t drain, so I need to put in a work order with the super and perhaps sign up for laundry service until it’s fixed.”

“Of course.” Jane pulled papers out of filing cabinets and laid them on the counter. “George should be in tomorrow, so why don’t we see what he has to say before charging you for laundry?” Jane jotted some numbers on a piece of paper and placed it on top of the work order. “That’s the code for the washer in the basement. The elevator won’t go to that floor without a key, but you just tell Eddie to hit the override button from the desk if I’m not around.”

“Why, thank you, Jane.” Inez folded the paper neatly and tucked it in her purse. “You know, Eddie is right. You will make some lucky man perfectly ecstatic.”

“Yeah, well…the one I like…sort of has a girlfriend.”

Inez chuckled as she slid the purse over her shoulder. “All’s fair in love and war, dear.” A slow smile spread across Inez’s face. “As a matter of fact, when I first met Henry, he was dating my neighbor. But all she had was big knockers, no brains. They weren’t meant to be. So, when he went off to fight in the war, I,” she said as she looked over her shoulder before leaning in closer and whispering, “took her letters to him out of the mailbox and burned them. And sent him letters of my own. By the time he came home, he was as hooked on me as a pup on milk.”

“Why, Mrs. Little…that is….”

Inez patted Jane’s hand as she pulled back. “Love. Sixty years…seven children…and twenty-three grandchildren. I don’t see a thing wrong with nudging fate in the right direction.”

Was she joking? Or was sweet Inez really that bold and devious? Jane didn’t have time to think the thought through as a throat cleared to her left.

Jane turned to find Olivia tapping pink nails on the front desk. “I found my shirt in the hall. The public hall. You evidently dropped it. If you lost my shorts…you will pay for them. I don’t pay two thousand dollars a month for you to scatter my belongings like some sloppy vulture. If you could ever keep your damned eyes off my boyfriend long enough to get your job done, maybe you could at least half-ass it. My God, it’s not rocket science.”

With that, she left. She didn’t wait to hear Jane mumble an apology or assure her the shorts, if lost, would be replaced. Jane’s cheeks blazed, and she felt sick to her stomach. She had been so happy, but reality slowly crept in…. Olivia was as evil as she was perfect. How could she compete? And seriously, was she so totally obvious in her crush on Trip that
everybody
in the building knew about it?

Inez gave her a wink. “Breaking them up would be doing him a favor, don’t you think?”

Chapter 4

Jane unwrapped another chocolate and popped it in her mouth. She tucked her blanket tighter around her as she chewed. Sasha sat cross-legged beside her on the couch. Jane offered her a chocolate, so Sasha took the bag and tossed it on the coffee table.

“What are you sulking about?” Sasha asked.

Jane frowned. “I’m not sulking.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Sasha asked, “Really?”

“Really,” she said with a sigh. Of course she was sulking. She cleaned Olivia’s apartment today and happened to read an email from Olivia to Trip that was so sickeningly sweet and apologetic for being a bitch. Now they would get back together, or more accurately, would stay together. Dammit, Sasha was right—all she’d ever have was the dog.

Jane dropped her head against the back of the couch. “I can’t beat her.”

“Beat who?”

“The bitch on four. She is perfect, and I am plain and ugly.”

“Seriously?”

Jane nodded.

Sasha gave her a leg a slap. “You realize, your mother, aside from being an evil, cheating bitch…was a raging beauty?”

Jane shrugged.

“And you look just like her.”

“I look similar.”

“No,” Sasha said slowly, “just like her. Only difference is you are softer, more friendly looking.”

Jane laughed. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means Tracy Dugan knew how to be stunning; she wielded her beauty like a weapon. Men noticed because she knew she had it.”

“Like you?” Jane lifted her head and looked across at Sasha.

“I am nothing like your mother.” Sasha lit a cigarette and flashed her a glare.

“But you know how to be stunning.”

Sasha rolled her eyes. “Thanks, I think.”

“So, I want to be like that.”

“No, you don’t. You want to be like you. You are sweet and beautiful in a different way.”

Jane grabbed the candy off the table and pulled out another piece. “I want to be stunning and get the man.”

“You like him that much, hmm?”

Jane nodded as she freed a candy and popped it in her mouth. Her words were a little garbled by the chewy caramel. “I like him way more than I should. I barely know him, yet I am more depressed knowing I lost him than I was at my own mum’s funeral. How sad am I?”

Sasha took the bag of candy once again, but this time secured it on her lap. “Tracy Dugan was never a mother. You’re as motherless as I am…maybe even worse. Hell, at least I can pretend my mother abandoned me because she had no choice; you just have to accept that your mother is a cow.”

“See? That should anger me. You’re talking of my dead mum and all I can think is, I agree. Good God, Sasha, do I have a heart?”

Sasha leaned over and grabbed the ashtray from the table. “You have a heart…too big a heart. Just like Viktor. Your father could have eliminated his problems, but he didn’t. He tried to live around them. He had all the power…. He should have been respected.”

“Before everything happened, Nikki told me Poppa had his mother and my mother killed.”

“Bernadette?” Sasha looked surprised. She tapped the ashes from her cigarette. “Why would Viktor kill Bernadette?”

“To marry my mum.”

Sasha shook her head. “No, he didn’t kill Bernadette, and he didn’t kill Tracy either. I thought he should, but he refused.”

“Sasha.” Jane looked dumbstruck. “I can’t believe you said that. You told Poppa to kill my mother?”

Sasha nodded, her face emotionless. “But I knew he never would, no matter that she humiliated him in the worst way. He lost respect and power because of her.”

“But to kill her? Sasha that’s awful.”

Sasha flashed her a broad grin and smashed her cigarette in the ashtray. “Feel better? I proved you have a heart, just like Viktor.”

Jane threw her ball of chocolate wrappers at Sasha. “You are bad to tease me. I thought you were serious.”

Sasha shrugged. “Viktor couldn’t kill either. He was a good man, and you are like him, not her.”

Jane felt a swell of pride at the thought of being more her father’s child than her mother’s. She might look like her mother, but she had the heart of her burly father. “I miss him so much,” Jane admitted, the candy in her mouth suddenly tasting like chewy saw dust. Her poor Poppa was gone. Betrayed by the people he thought he could trust, taken from this life by the hand of his best friend.

It wasn’t right, but at least she avenged him.

“Look Jane, you can’t sit around and pout over lost men…even lost fathers. We escaped and it’s up to us to build a new life. We sure as hell don’t whine or overdose on chocolate.” She wrapped the bag tight and pointed with it as she spoke. “You’re a Sarkhov; you know what that means?”

“It means I am the daughter of a man who built an empire from nothing. Who feared no one.”

“Exactly!”

“Hmm….” Jane took a deep breath. “You’re right. A Sarkhov would fight for what she wanted.”

“Always.”

“And all is fair in war and love?”

“Umm…sure.” Sasha’s words held less conviction, and she added a hesitant “Why?”

“I have an idea…. Come on.” Jane grabbed Sasha’s hand and dragged her from the apartment.

“What are you doing?”

“Fighting.” Jane rode the elevator to the fourth floor and marched right to the bitch’s door; Sasha followed slowly behind her.

“Have you completely and totally lost your damned mind?”

“She’s not home.” Jane promised as she turned the master key in the lock. “Eddie told me this morning she was going to be gone all week at some policy thing or something.”

“And if Eddie’s wrong? We go to jail?” Sasha actually sounded squeaky. Since when did a little breaking and entering make her so edgy?

“Eddie knows everything. Besides, all you have to do is watch the door.” Jane moved through the apartment, straight to the glass and chrome desk, and pressed the power button on Olivia’s computer.

“If you’re so sure…why am I watching the door?”

“Variables.”

“Variables?”

“Yes, things that I’m not counting on.”

“Dear God. You have lost your mind. I only wanted you to stop pouting and eating enough chocolate to kill yourself. Not do this. This is completely insane.”

“Turn-around is fair play.” Jane’s fingers flew over the keyboard. “That bitch has humiliated me for the last time, Sasha. I am a Sarkhov, no?”

“Yes, but…”

“No buts. Poppa would be ashamed that I let her walk all over me. Time and time again. He would expect me to get revenge.”

“True. But this? What are you doing?”

“I spent a little time last night doing some artwork. Then it was just for fun, because I didn’t have the guts to do anything with it. Now I know exactly what to do. It’s like I have been given the whole plan, as if fate wants me to intervene.”

Sasha abandoned her post at the door and leaned over Jane’s shoulder to view the screen. Jane had picture after picture of Olivia in bars with men. Sasha took a sharp breath. “How did you get those?”

“I made them,” Jane sounded as gleeful as a four-year-old with a new finger painting.

“You what?”

“I made them. With the proper Photoshop program, everyone is an artist! And as soon as I have her password…which is…yep…legalbeauty1234.”

“How the hell?”

“I’m a genius.” Jane opened a drawer and held up a Betty Boop notebook. “And she was dumb enough to write down all her passwords. And hid it…”

“…in her desk drawer,” Sasha finished Jane’s statement.

“Exactly.” Jane put the book back on the desk. “Now, to post to Facebook. Tag Mr. Coulter. And hmm,” Jane said as she clicked the mouse and made her changes, “I think I should change the bitch’s relationship status. Shazaam!” She closed the program. “Now, just for fun….” a few more strokes of the keys, “…we have a virus ready to crash her hard drive. As soon as she clicks on the picture, it will link her to a worm that will begin threading its evil way into her computer memory until the whole thing is locked up.”

“I didn’t realize you were so mean. I’m impressed.”

“Hah! I might have failed algebra…and geography…and literature, but I got an A in programming.”

Sasha straightened. “Okay, Ms. Gates, you can screw everything up, but can anyone track it back to being done from her own computer, while she wasn’t home?”

“Nope. Virus will wipe everything”

Jane flipped through the book until she found the email account address and password. “Now, I think Miss Olivia doesn’t feel like sending Trip mail.”

“How are you…?”

“Reset email passwords and security questions. Won’t stop her for long, but it will slow her down.” Jane powered down the computer and stood. “I’m done being gum on her shoe.”

“And it’s all untraceable? You don’t think she would suspect you first?”

“She’d never think me smart enough.” Jane tucked the notebook away. “I am the stupid Russian cleaning girl with a hopeless crush on her boyfriend. To her I’m a joke, but I am not a joke. She will never know it was me, but I will know. I didn’t let her disrespect me…over and over…and get away with it.”

They walked to the door together, peaked around the edge and then slipped out of the apartment. She whispered more to herself than to Sasha, “We’ll see who laughs loudest in the end.”

*****

The first three months flew by. Jane passed the time emailing and skyping Trip…and diligently monitoring Olivia’s email account from the safety of her own laptop. It took Olivia three days to get her password back under her control, but in those three days, Jane hit the jackpot. She intercepted Trip’s email to Olivia with the change in his email address. Olivia, or more specifically Jane posing as Olivia, emailed him that she had the change and thank you. Then Jane deleted, feeling quite smug and happy at the thought of Olivia sending message after message to Trip’s old address. Jane nearly bit her lips till they bled when she overheard Olivia tell someone on the phone that she was done sending messages to Trip…. He never answered, so the hell with him.

Jane never got to hear what she thought about her new Facebook photos. The suspense almost killed her, but satisfaction kept her going. She was content in her knowledge that Trip was also equally as frustrated with Olivia. After three of his messages went unanswered, he sent her a scathing “go to hell bitch” message. Well, that’s what the message said if a girl knew how to read between the lines. His was more like:
sorry you have to take this so personally, but I think we are headed in two different directions and should just be friends.

Let’s be friends. The relationship kiss of death. Even a stupid Russian cleaning girl knew that.

But after that high, came the low. A week clicked by without contact. Then month four passed in silence and she wondered if her tech tampering and relationship tinkering had been exposed. Olivia never attacked her, so evidently not. Month five rolled around and she wondered if she understood the timeline correctly. Maybe he meant three years? As month six started, she almost convinced herself that he had forgotten all about her and poor little Eve. A rational person would give up on him, but not Jane. She might have been losing hope, but she never gave up. She still sent him an email every single day.

She had nothing to lose, everything to gain by bugging him.

Unless he was laughing at her; mocking her for her incessant presence in his inbox. She shook the thought off. Trip would never do that. Besides, she read his last email at least a million times. It was friendly, even a little flirty. She even lowered herself to asking Sasha to read it and assure her he didn’t sound like he was bored with her.

No, he was probably busy with work…. He did say it was getting more intense. A message was coming any minute; she knew it—knew it so well hitting refresh on her email was her newest hobby.

Tying a knot in the bag of trash, she hauled it out into the back alley. This life of hers was more and more tedious with each passing day. Clean all morning for ungrateful people; spend afternoons at the front desk or in the laundry room or hauling garbage to the dumpster. She tossed it in and let the lid down with a crash. The boom it created was strangely satisfying.

It wasn’t fair. She was the daughter of Viktor Sarkhov, a powerful man who ran a multi-million dollar business. All the stress and worry from the last few months made her think more and more of her old life and how different it was from her new one. She was raised to be a fighter, not a sad little mouse who hid behind a green tunic and a scrub brush. She was pathetic. A coward.
“Trus.”
She spat the word in Russian and gave the dumpster a kick. As her foot made contact with steel, she let out a yelp. The pain infuriated her, so she kicked it again. A flurry of Russian curses rolled from her lips as fluently as the Bratva she learned them from.

She put her foot to the ground gingerly and felt the pain streak up her leg like lightning.

“Anyone with a lick of sense would’ve stopped after the first kick.”