You had always liked Makarov. You had been crushing on him for about a year, but you were just a secretary at one of his military bases. He would come by sporadically to check that everything was okay, but you had no other way to talk.

That was one of the days he came to your office. You were keeping accounts for shell companies for Makarov, so he could launder money. He was checking with you that everything was in order.

“Good as always,” he said, glancing at you. “I should pay you more.”

He chucked.