A solid ten seconds goes by and I give up.
But then?—
“The boss doesn’t like food or drinks in the car.”
I grin. His accent is the thickest I’ve heard, second only to Dmitry Chadovich.
“So you do speak English,” I razz him. It doesn’t earn me any expression whatsoever, but at least he’s talking. “So not even coffee? The man works you pretty hard to not allow a cup of joe in the morning.”
“Mr. Rozanov pays well,” he says as we pull up to the building.
Apparently, that’s all he intends to say.
I get out of the car. A small smile plays on my lips as I walk through the building, making my way towards my office. I take a breath and let it back out again as I open my computer, tapping it awake, and wait for the schedule to load so I can fine-tune it for the day.
When it’s ready, I hit print and turn to the table behind me where the printer is. It spits out a hot sheet of paper, like a breakfast pastry ready to go.
Breakfast pastry. God, that sounds good. With a coffee and?—
“Shit!” I blurt out when I turn around, because I am not expecting Ransome to be standing there. “Sorry. You scared me. Am I late? Sorry if I’m late.”
“You’re not late,” he says. His tone isn’t flat but it is dry. Robotic almost. Whatever it is, it’s weirding me out.
“Oh. Okay.”
“Actually, you’re a little early,” he says.
My eyes travel down to his hand. He’s holding a black mug as usual. But he’s not sipping it. And it doesn’t smell like his order. It smells like?—
“Here,” he holds it out.
I blink. I don’t know what the fuck is going on.
He looks down at it, then back up at me. “Caramel macchiato.”
In my silence, I’m starting to feel like Ivan.
“That is your order, isn’t it?” he asks.
“It is. But how did you?—”
“I had Annette pick up the coffee this morning.”
I take the mug from him and stare down at it sadly. “I knew it. You’re replacing me.”
Ransome’s face screws into a look of confusion. “What? No, of course not. Who the fuck could I replace you with?”
“Oh.”
“You’re the only assistant I’ve ever had that understood how to do the job.” Fuck me, he looks mad now. “I just—I thought you might like some coffee, that’s all.”
… Okay?
“Thank you,” I say, though I don’t sound very sure of the words. Or what dimension I woke up in this morning. “Oh, here’s your schedule.”
Ransome takes it, looks it over for all of half a second, then gives a single nod.
“Also, we are going out tonight,” he adds.
