“I am not here to chitchat. Hand me the codes, and we’re done.”
“Be patient.”
Smirnov leaned in like he was telling her a secret, his breath caressing her neck as he said, “You realize that I have a man stationed outside your home. At my signal, he will kill your family.”
Gabby tried to still her trembling. She was scared, but she wasn’t as scared as she looked. Men never took her seriously, and now was not the moment to change that. She had spent her whole life doing as told, listening to dudes who sounded like they knew what they were doing. Phil—she’d tried to make him happy for fifteen years, and look where that had gotten her.
Kramer—that asshole couldn’t even tell the difference between her and Darcy. To him, women were literally interchangeable, Swatch watch bands, only good for serving his immediate needs. Half the guys at this party were the same, only interested in her if there wasn’t a prettier woman in sight. Smirnov was the worst—literally threatening to kill her children. Who the fuck did he think he was?
Gabby was done with being bossed around by average men. Why had she tolerated it all these years? To fit in with other moms in the pickup line? There were no good options for a regular woman with kids. Career-woman mode came with inadequate time off, six weeks of maternity leave, insane childcare costs, and limited time with their children—stresses that she couldn’t name because she hadn’t chosen that path. Until this week.
The soccer mom path came with low self-esteem and plenty of time with people who didn’t necessarily respect you or want that much time with you.
Most of the women she knew thought they were selfish for thinking they deserved more. Well, fuck that.
She did deserve more, and she definitely didn’t deserve to be threatened. Hell, she’d walked into this job because of some fucking divorce paperwork. Fuck Phil for the seek work order, and fuck Smirnov for thinking he could threaten to kill her family.
“I know you’re scared, rybka. All I need are the codes.”
She let his pandering stoke her rage, even while she whimpered. Let him think he had her where he wanted her.
Time to pull out her best Meryl Streep. She harnessed her real fear and let her breath come fast and shallow. Like she wasn’t going to make it, she rubbed her temples.
Softly and menacingly, he repeated, “Where are the codes?”
“In the back. I’ll show you.”
As she gestured to the swinging door to the kitchen, she palmed one of the darts Valentina had given her. There was an hors d’oeuvres trolley directly in front of Smirnov, but the attendant was nowhere to be found. It was her chance. As he looked toward the kitchen, Gabby jabbed him in the ass with the dart.
Smirnov gasped, and Gabby braced herself for the whole plan to go sideways. Every reason for failure raced through her brain at once: Maybe he’d been too big to dart. Did he need a double dose? What if he screamed or he fell on the floor instead of the cart? Then his eyes drooped, and he slumped onto the cart as planned. In the background, Betty yelled, “Yaaas, Queen!” almost like it was for her. Hopefully, it was for one of the bankers.
A second later, Betty appeared. “Um, Camille…”
Gabby smiled brightly. “He had one too many. Will you help me wheel him into the back?”
Without question, Betty stepped in to help, but she looked up through her lashes with a particularly sassy look. “Girl, this explanation better be good.”
“It is,” Gabby said, as they heaved the cart toward the back. It would have been her luck to get the trolley with a bad wheel that pulled to the left. “This is better than a Target cart,” she exclaimed.
Betty shouldered in and took the handle. “Let me push. He’scute.” When she bumped him into the wall, she apologized, “So sorry, Daddy.”
“Betty!”
“You know he’s a daddy. Look at him!”
As Betty pushed Smirnov through the door to the service area, she glanced at the party. No one had noticed a thing. Everyone’s eyes were on Kramer and Orlov.
Betty said, “Where would you like your groceries, ma’am?”
Gabby repeated her usual line. “In the back is fine.”
While Gabby held the door open, Betty wheeled him into a storage room behind the kitchen, just some boxes and dim lighting. Perfect.
“What should we do with him?” Betty asked.
“I’ll take it from here.”
Betty held up her hands and said, “He’s all yours. I’m married anyway.”
