Soon.
I watch the footage three more times, studying the way she moves, the subtle tells in her body language. The way she bites her lower lip when she's thinking. The way she tilts her head when she's listening. The way her breathing quickened when I stepped closer, though she tries to hide it.
She's attracted to me. That much is obvious.
But there's wariness there too. She’s not naive or innocent, and the challenge of that enthralls me, even as I want to hunt down and kill every man who touched her before me. She's not the type to fall easily, to be swept away by a handsome face and expensive suit. She'll need to be handled carefully. Strategically.
But that’s fine. Good, even. I've never been interested in easy prey.
I close the laptop and check my watch. It's nearly midnight, but I'm not tired. My mind is already working through the next encounter.
I know I should let her return to New York, let this... whatever this is... fade into a pleasant memory of a chance meeting in a museum. I should put distance between myself and this feeling, focus instead on the things that will move what I’ve worked and bled and killed for all my life further. I should think about Svetlana, about my upcoming deals, about the careful negotiations that I’ve only just managed to secure with the other bosses here.
But all I can think about is the plan forming in my head.
I followed her to the French bakery today, the same one she was carrying a box from when she arrived at the brownstone. Clearly, it’s a favorite of hers.
And the next time she goes there, I’ll make sure I know. I’ll be there to orchestrate another chance encounter, another coincidence.
I finish my vodka and pour a third glass, even though I rarely drink more than two. The alcohol does nothing to quiet the restlessness thrumming through my veins, the anticipation, the hunger.
I’m going to see her again soon. And this time, I won't let her walk away without knowing when I'll see her again.
—
The bakery smellslike butter and sugar and coffee, and all I can think about is jasmine and amber.
I've been waiting for twenty minutes, sitting at a small table near the window with a perfect view of the entrance, with an espresso I’ve been sipping at. I was informed she left Annie’s house fifteen minutes ago, and with traffic, she’ll be here soon.
I should feel ridiculous, sitting in a bakery like some lovesick teenager waiting for a glimpse of his crush. I'm a man whocontrols millions of dollars in assets, who has politicians and businessmen and criminals alike seeking my favor. I don't wait for anyone.
And yet here I am.
The door chimes. I don't look up immediately, to be too eager would be suspicious. I count to three, then glance toward the entrance as if the sound merely caught my attention.
There she is.
She's wearing dark fitted jeans today, with a cream-colored sweater that makes her skin glow and her black hair stand out starkly against it. She doesn't see me at first. She's focused on the display case, studying the pastries. I watch her lips move as she reads the labels, watch her tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.
I stand and move toward her with deliberate casualness, as if I'm heading to the counter myself, for another coffee, perhaps, or something to eat.
"We have to stop meeting like this."
She turns, and the surprise on her face is genuine.Perfect.Her eyes widen, and then that smile spreads across her face.
"Are you following me?" Her tone is teasing, not suspicious.Good.
"Following you?" I let a hint of amusement color my voice. "I live three blocks from here. This is my regular morning stop."
It's not—I've never been to this bakery before in my life. But she doesn't know that.
"Right." She's still smiling. "And yesterday at the museum?"
"Also a regular stop. I'm a patron." That part at least is true, although not under the name I gave her."Are you accusing me of stalking you?” I add the same teasing lilt to my voice, as if the suggestion is so ludicrous it couldn’t be anything other than a joke.
“Well, if you are, you’re doing a good job.” She pauses. “I was going to get my usual, but if you come here, often, what would you suggest?”
I scan the display case quickly, answering with an ease that belies the fact that this is all made-up. “I’m more of a savory person than sweet. I’d go for a slice of the quiche.” I pause. "Would you like to join me? Unless you're in a hurry."
