A Matter of Trust: The Silicon Beach Trilogy, #3

By Jill Blake

Venture capitalist Vlad Snezhinsky excels at two things: making money and being a dad. Still struggling through a bitter divorce, he has zero interest in starting a new relationship. That is, until he meets Klara Lazarev.

 

Klara doesn't have time for romance. She's too busy forging her own path in life: scrambling to finish her senior thesis, applying to grad school, writing innovative software in her spare time.  Besides, she's been burned before. She refuses to let it happen again—especially with a man who seems to have trouble remembering their first disastrous encounter.

 

But when a shocking murder throws their world—and their hearts—into chaos, discovering the truth becomes more than a matter of trust…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jill Blake
• Release date: May 17, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393408048

Jill Blake

Jill Blake loves chocolate, leisurely walks where she doesn't break a sweat, and books with a guaranteed happy ending. A native of Philadelphia, Jill now lives in southern California with her husband and three children. During the day, she works as a physician in a busy medical practice. At night, she pens steamy romances.

Book preview

A Matter of Trust

(The Silicon Beach Trilogy, Book 3)

By

JILL BLAKE

TABLE OF CONTENTS

A MATTER OF TRUST

Glossary (Russian-English)

Note from the Author

About the Author

Copyright

CHAPTER 1

Vlad Snezhinsky paused mid-sentence as the newest member of the Talbot household let out a wail.

Sorry, Ethan said. Maya’s teething. Go on.

Vlad watched as the man draped a fresh burp cloth over his shoulder, adjusted his hold on his six-month-old daughter, and patted the baby’s back.

In the year since Vlad joined the Talbot Fund, he’d been to Ethan Talbot’s home office twice. For a venture capitalist, Ethan did a remarkable job keeping his business life from encroaching on family time. Today’s meeting proved the rare exception. Not that Vlad blamed him. The allure of first-mover advantage was hard to resist.

The market’s at least $500 million, Vlad said, picking up where he left off. They want six million, in exchange for sixty percent of the company—

A peremptory knock cut him off. The door swung open, and a dark-haired woman popped her head inside. Sorry, Ethan. Anna needs you. The Pack ’n Play won’t fold, and she’s wigging out.

Vlad stood up.

The woman glanced his way. A flicker of something—recognition? awareness?—crossed her face, but before he could interpret it, her expression smoothed into polite disinterest. She turned back to Ethan. If you want, I can watch Maya while you go fix things.

Ethan got up and rounded the desk, transferring his daughter into the woman’s care. She may need a diaper change.

The baby cooed and kicked her legs. The woman laughed—a smooth, husky sound that trickled like warmed oil down Vlad’s spine.

He forced himself to remain still, knees locked, fingers digging into his palms.

Ethan, apparently unaffected, removed the burp cloth from his shoulder and offered Vlad an apologetic smile. Sorry. Our first big trip with Maya. You know how it is.

Vlad nodded.

Anyway, Ethan said, let’s do the due diligence, and if everything pans out, we’ll set up a preliminary meeting. I’m available by phone if you need me.

The door closed. Silence descended.

Vlad waited to see what the woman would do next.

Pee-yew. She wrinkled her nose and headed for a brightly decorated corner equipped with an array of baby paraphernalia. "Your daddy’s right, kiddo. You do smell like you need a diaper change."

She placed Maya atop the padded changing table and rummaged through the top drawer with one hand, while keeping the other on the squirming infant.

Looks like we’re in business, kid. She cleaned, re-diapered, and dressed Maya in a fresh outfit. Now what?

Vlad cleared his throat, and the woman jumped, as if she’d forgotten he was still in the room.

There are toys, he said. In the cupboard to your right.

At least that’s where they’d been the last time he was here, shortly after Maya was born.

Yeah, I know, she said. Her eyes—green, with flecks of brown and gold—widened at Vlad’s approach. Her lips parted, and he nearly groaned.

Damn, what was he doing?

Sorry. He stopped a couple feet away. I don’t think we’ve met. Vladislav Snezhinsky. My friends call me Vlad.

Maya chose that moment to grab a handful of the woman’s hair and pull.

Oww. She winced and turned her attention to disentangling her curls from the baby’s fist. Let’s see about those toys, shall we?

In the few minutes it took to settle Maya on a brightly colored floor mat with an assortment of plush musical toys and rattles, Vlad studied the woman’s profile. She was tall—maybe half a head shorter than him—and dressed for comfort in an oversized T-shirt and faded jeans. When she leaned down and reached across the mat to grab a toy, Vlad got a glimpse of what her loose clothing concealed: a narrow waist, generous hips, and a rounded bottom that made his mouth water and his fingers itch.

Hoping to disguise his body’s reaction, Vlad hunkered down at the edge of the mat. Okay, let’s try this again, he said, stretching out his hand. My name is Vlad. And you are...?

Klara. Anna’s sister. She withdrew her fingers as quickly as possible, but not before he felt the slight tremor.

Nerves? Attraction? She averted her eyes, focusing on the baby. The pulse at the base of her neck fluttered.

He swallowed a smile. So, Klara. Why haven’t we met before?

That got her attention. And not in a good way. Her brows drew together and she narrowed her eyes. We have. A couple years ago, at your brother’s wedding.

Oh. He blinked away the unpleasant memories that threatened to swamp him. It was unfortunate that he’d forever associate Leo’s wedding with the beginning of the end. That’s when Vlad and Oksana started on a long downward spiral, culminating in an acrimonious divorce that was still dragging on today.

He studied Klara more closely. Something stirred at the back of his mind.

A brief impression of thick black curls swept up in an elegant twist, the body poured into some barely-there excuse for a dress, the lips smiling at him. And then—

Oh, God.

The red lipstick smeared, the eyes dripping mascara-tinged tears, his cheek stinging from the impression of her hand.

And then—nothing.

He couldn’t recall a goddamn thing until he woke up the next morning, head pounding like an entire battalion of jackhammers doing demolition work.

He found his voice. Klara, about the wedding—I don’t know what to say except I’m sorry. I wasn’t myself that day. Whatever I did—

You mean you don’t remember?

He winced. I was drunk. I don’t usually drink, but that day—never mind. It’s not an excuse. I’m sorry. Did I...hurt you?

Her brows rose. Wow. Are you for real? You seriously don’t remember what happened?

You were crying...

Well, yeah. I mean, first you cut in while I’m dancing with someone else. And then you’re listing to the side, like you can’t stand straight, so I have to help you back to the table. You know, shoulder under the arm, so you don’t trip and break something. Any of this ring a bell?

He shook his head.

Anyway, you’re not exactly light. We sort of stumble into the table and you grab me to keep from falling. Next thing I know, you’re kissing me. And your wife is right there.

He groaned. Shit.

Exactly. She picked up a nearby toy and dangled it above her niece’s waving arms.

No wonder Oksana had ripped into him the following day.

Appearances matter, she’d railed. You want everyone to know the truth?

Ha. Like Oksana was such a paragon of honesty. It was her lie that led to the mess they were in.

The problem was, Vlad understood why she’d lied. Self-preservation was a powerful instinct. Whether she had cause to fear for her life was another story. Maybe she was just being paranoid.

All he knew was that his father was gunned down, and Oksana had been there to witness it. A drive-by shooting at night on a dark Moscow street. A black Mercedes, barely slowing down as it passed. The flash of a gun through the window. The sound of squealing tires on a rain-slicked road.

Oksana, left shaken and alone, seven months pregnant, told the police she couldn’t recall anything but the make of the car.

At the funeral, she’d cornered Vlad and confessed her biggest fear: that whoever had killed her lover would return to finish her off. Help me, she’d begged. For the sake of your father’s child.

Vlad tried to do the right thing. He’d spirited Oksana out of Russia and into the U.S. for a quickie wedding. Two months later, he signed his name on the birth certificate.

It wasn’t until the weekend of his brother’s wedding that Vlad found out the truth. Paternity tests didn’t lie.

That’s why he’d been drinking.

And apparently, under the influence of alcohol, he’d forgotten the need for discretion.

Wary now, he examined Klara’s expression. It was hard to gauge how upset she was. Maybe once he heard the whole story, he’d have a better idea.

So what happened then? he prompted.

I slapped you. You fell, hit your head on the table, and passed out. Her lips quirked. For a second, I thought you were dead. That I’d killed you.

Was she laughing? He stared at her.

She looked up and shrugged. Obviously not.

Obviously.

I checked your pulse, to make sure you were still alive and all, and then you opened your eyes and looked straight at me. That’s when Leo arrived and took over.

His brother Leo, the doctor.

Of course. Vlad sighed and rubbed his eyes. Anything else happen that I should know about?

That’s plenty, don'tcha think?

Well, at least her explanation clarified a few things. Like why she’d been so aloof earlier. And why he had no concrete memory of her prior to tonight, other than a few disjointed flashes.

I’m sorry, he said again, relieved that he hadn’t done anything truly unforgivable. I behaved like an ass.

Yep.

If I promise not to do that again, can we start over?

She gave him a long look. Sure, whatever.

Great. He extended his hand. Hi. My name is Vlad.

She hesitated for a moment before reciprocating. Klara.

Pleased to meet you. Reluctantly, he released her fingers. Nice weather we’re having.

She rolled her eyes. Yeah, and how about those Dodgers?

Wait—don’t tell me. American football, right?

Baseball, she corrected. It’s okay. I’m not a big fan, either.

Ah. Well, I didn’t grow up here, he shrugged. What’s your excuse?

Hockey.

He blinked. Hockey?

I don’t have time for spectator sports, she said. "Except hockey. That I make time for. Don’t know what would suck more—living without hockey, or living without chocolate."

Chocolate, I understand. He cocked his head. But why hockey?

When I was seven, my dad took me to see the Flyers play the Pittsburgh Penguins. That was before Eric Desjardins retired. He was like a god on the ice. John LeClair was there. Radovan Somik scored the winning goal.

You remember all that from when you were seven?

Her lips curved in a wicked smile. They say you never forget your first time.

Jesus. Was she still talking hockey? He cleared his throat and shifted, resting his elbow on a bent knee. You should come watch us play sometime.

Get outta here. You play hockey?

Not professionally, but yes. Every other Sunday, down in El Segundo. Leo’s the team captain. I’m the only one on the team who’s not a doctor, but they needed another defenseman, and Leo vouched for me.

Wow. She did a slow visual survey of his body that had him breaking out in a sweat, despite the cool temperature. I guess being Russian’s almost as good as being Canadian.

"It’s better," he growled.

She flushed and looked away.

Should he issue a more concrete invitation for hockey—and whatever else came after?

No. Bad idea. He’d already made a fool of himself once, at Leo’s wedding. If two years after the fact Klara still had such vivid memories of his embarrassing display, simply asking for a fresh start wasn’t enough. He’d have to rehabilitate his image. Redeem himself in her eyes.

Which meant slowing down.

He tamped down his frustration and focused on the baby’s antics. That helped to remind him of another reason for backing off. They were in Ethan Talbot’s house, and the man could return at any moment. Not only was Ethan a colleague, but he was also Klara’s brother-in-law. The thought gave Vlad pause.

So, what do you do? Klara said, steering the conversation back to neutral territory. For work, I mean.

I find startups to invest in.

Really? I thought... She trailed off, brow furrowed. Didn’t you have a startup of your own?

Yes. How did you know?

She shrugged. Ethan mentioned it a while back.

Interesting. Maybe his chances weren’t as bleak as he’d thought. On the other hand,