"Is that a problem?"
The challenge in his eyes was unmistakable. He was waiting for me to balk, to admit I was in over my head, to prove that I was nothing more than Vasily's pretty distraction.
I closed the folder and stood. "I'll need a workspace. Somewhere quiet, with computer access and whatever databases you use for market analysis."
Semyon's expression didn't change, but something shifted in his posture—a slight relaxation, as if I'd passed some invisible threshold.
"The library has been set up for you. Login credentials are in the folder." He returned his attention to his laptop. "I'll see you at seven."
***
For the next six hours, I lost myself in work.
It felt like coming home. The familiar rhythm of data analysis, the satisfaction of finding patterns in chaos, the quiet confidence that came from doing something I was actually good at. I'd forgotten how much I missed this—the sense of purpose, of competence, of being more than just a body taking up space.
Aegean Shipping's problems weren't hard to identify once I dug into the numbers. Their client retention had dropped sharply over the past year, with three major accounts—representing nearly twenty percent of revenue—shifting to competitors. When I cross-referenced the timing with their pricing records, the pattern became clear: they'd failed to adjust their rate structure when fuel costs spiked eighteen months ago, making them significantly more expensive than comparable carriers.
But that wasn't the whole story. Customer service response times had nearly doubled over the same period, and employee turnover in the logistics department was running at thirty-four percent—well above industry average. The company wasn't just losing clients to price competition; it was bleeding talent and failing to address complaints quickly enough to retain business relationships.
I compiled my findings into a report, complete with recommendations: a revised pricing model tied to fuel cost indices, investment in customer service infrastructure, a retention bonus program to stabilize the logistics team, and a targeted outreach campaign for at-risk accounts. It wasn't groundbreaking work, but it was solid. Professional. The kind of analysis I'd done hundreds of times before.
When I finally looked up from the laptop, the sun was setting over the Mediterranean, painting the library windows in shades of amber and rose. My neck ached from hunching over the screen, and my coffee had gone cold hours ago.
But I felt more like myself than I had in weeks.
Dinner was served on the terrace again, the table set for three.
Semyon was already seated when I arrived, reviewing something on his phone. He looked up as I approached, his expression unreadable.
"You finished."
"I did." I handed him the folder containing my printed report. "Preliminary analysis, as requested. Executive summary on top, supporting data in the appendices."
He took the folder but didn't open it immediately. Instead, he studied me with those pale gray-green eyes, as if solving a puzzle he hadn't expected.
"You worked straight through," he observed. "Didn't take breaks. Didn't ask for help."
"Should I have?"
"Most people would have. The data was intentionally disorganized." A pause. "I wanted to see how you'd handle frustration."
"By getting the job done despite it."
Something shifted in his expression—not quite approval, but perhaps the absence of disapproval. "I'll review this tonight. If your analysis is sound, we'll discuss next steps tomorrow."
It wasn't praise. But it wasn't dismissal either. I'd take it.
Vasily arrived a few minutes later, still in the clothes he'd worn that morning but with his hair slightly disheveled, as if he'd been running his hands through it. He looked tired—the kind of tired that came from difficult conversations and impossible decisions.
"How did it go?" he asked, settling into the chair beside me.
"Ask your brother."
Semyon's lips twitched—the closest thing to a smile I'd seen from him. "She didn't embarrass herself."
"High praise, coming from you."
"I don't give praise. I give assessments." But there was something warmer in his tone now, some grudging acknowledgment that I'd met his test and survived.
