Behind me, Graham whistled low. “Well. That was chilly.”
“Yep.”
“He’s not going to punch you, is he?”
“No,” I said, though I wasn’t entirely sure. “He knows better.”
“Does he?” Graham said, stepping into the lift beside me. “Because I’m not sure anyone knows what the hell’s going on any more.”
Neither did I.
But something told me it was about to get worse.
Aleksandr Volkov – Seoul Hotel Bar
The bar was dimly lit, all amber glass and polished wood, tucked into a quiet corner of the hotel lobby. Low jazz hummed over the speakers. Most of the press had retired for the night or were still at team events, and I walked in, scanning the scattered faces around the room.
Elena was sitting at a round table at the far end of the bar with her laptop open on the table and a fruity-looking drink beside it. She glanced up, as if feeling my gaze on her. The corner of her mouth twitched. Not quite a smile.
I headed for the bar, ordered a vodka, neat, and made my way over to her table, making every effort to appear casual.
“I thought you’d want to keep avoiding me,” she said, as I sat beside her.
“I needed time,” I said. “To get my head straight.”
“And is it?”
“Not even close.”
She sipped whatever she’d ordered. Something citrusy. Fresh.
I took a deep breath. “I owe you an apology.”
That surprised her. Her brows lifted, faintly.
“For leaving,” I said. “After we—I shouldn't have walked out like that.”
Elena nodded slowly. “It wasn’t exactly the afterglow I was hoping for.”
I huffed a breath. “I was overwhelmed. Not by you,” I added quickly. “By… everything. I don’t usually lose control.”
“No kidding.”
She said it lightly, but I caught the edge underneath. I deserved it.
“I don’t regret what happened,” I said. “But we were reckless.”
That sobered her. She looked away for a second, then back. “I’m on the pill,” she said quietly. “I have been for years. But you’re right. We should’ve talked first.”
“We’re talking now.”
A pause.
Her eyes met mine again, steadier this time. “Do you regret it? Really?”
“No.” I swallowed. “But I need to do better. We both do. This thing… whatever it is… it’s not going away. And if we’re going to keep doing this—” I hesitated. Then I reached into my jacket and pulled out my phone. I handed it to her, open to a blank contact. “I don’t want to be a ghost any more,” I said, quietly. “If this is going to keep happening—us—I should at least be reachable.”
She took the phone. Typed something in. A tiny smirk dancing on her lips.
