She’s not my type. That’s the lie I try first.
I like older, leggier women who could easily compete in local beauty pageants. Not that Alina wasn’t stunning, but she was so young and had a youthful innocence about her. I like my women more experienced. I like to know we’re on the same page about what can and should happen in the bedroom.
Alina made it clear that she knows who I am, and she didn’t have the good sense to seem afraid. That’s dangerous. Not just for her, but for me. God forbid she sleep with me and then go gossip with all her catering friends about it.
Besides, she was far too emotional and angry to make a rational decision. Being with her would have been taking advantage of a vulnerable woman.
I stop near the couch where she sat, my eyes drawn to the place without any conscious decision. I can still see her there, one leg tucked beneath her, the other dangling, the sequins on her dress catching the light every time she shifted. I think about how she sipped her whiskey, like she equally hated it and needed it to survive.
I remember the look in her eyes when she leaned toward me, putting her hand on my chest and leaning in.
She was probably trying her best impression of seduction. Perhaps she thought that was the best way to exact her revenge on the nitwit who cheated on her. However, I’m not the man to be anyone’s rebound.
I’m not afraid of wanting her. Wanting is easy. I’m afraid of wanting her at the wrong time, for the wrong reason, in the wrong way. Nothing good comes from stepping into someone else’s emotional explosion.
I was nothing more than a device to dump her pain into. I was a distraction for her, but I don’t have time for distractions.
I walk to the bar and pour myself another drink. It’s been a hell of a day, even before Alina ran into that elevator. My meeting with the Borokov entity wasn’t nearly as productive as I’d hoped it would be. I’m trying to build something meaningful in this city, and they just keep putting obstacles in my way.
I need to forget all about the jilted bride and set my mind to the business at hand. The drink helps me unwind enough to start thinking straight again. I grab my laptop from the side of my bed and open it, bringing it back to the couch and staring at the screen.
Words swim in front of my eyes from emails I’ve ignored during the last hour. Nicolai, my right-hand man, is also dissatisfied with how our meeting went. We were supposed to broker a treaty, and instead we walked away without anything decided.
My phone pings with a text from him. Where are you? I expected an update 30 minutes ago.
Had an unexpected situation come up. A small inconvenience, nothing to worry about.
Even as I type it, my stomach sinks. That isn’t true. She wasn’t an inconvenience at all. I wanted to know more about her. I was intrigued by her brokenness. I close my eyes for a moment and force myself to breathe more slowly. The relief that comes when I imagine her safely in a car on her way home surprises me. I’mglad she is gone. I’m glad the temptation is not standing in front of me anymore, looking at me like I’m a solution to a problem I did not create.
Yet, I can’t stop thinking about her, wishing she were still here, distracting me.
No, stop that.This is not the time to be distracted by a pretty girl in a shiny dress. Nicolai is right, I owe him an update. We have to start brainstorming about how to move forward with the Borokovs now that they’ve walked away from the table. There are other families we can reach out to, but I don’t want to strong-arm them. I want them willingly on my side.
We’ll just have to keep working it from another angle. I know Nicolai and I will find a solution to the problem. That’s why I’ve trusted him for the last decade. He’s always able to see a way out of things, even when it looks hopeless. I couldn’t ask for a better right-hand man.
I pour another drink and turn toward the desk, scrolling my phone to check other messages I’ve been ignoring for the last hour.
The life of apakhanis never boring, that’s for sure. Though it would be nice if people could handle some of their own shit without involving me in it.
I scan quickly. I have a few updates on a shipment my men are expecting this evening on the docks. There’s another message about a delay in a different port. There’s some sort of boat accident in the Suez Canal that’s stopping another import for the foreseeable future. One of my lower soldiers is asking for permission to deal with something that should have gone to amuch lower officer. I type back to all of them with short, precise answers.
Then my phone vibrates with a call from Anderson, my head of security. He only calls when there’s a developing situation I need to be aware of. I answer immediately.
“There’s a problem at your hotel,” he says. His voice is calm, but I hear the tension beneath it.
“What kind?” I ask.
“A girl has gone missing,” he says carefully. “A young bride-to-be. The chatter is that her fiancé’s family is looking for her, but it’s a little deeper than that.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“There was a plan for tonight, and her disappearance ruined it.”
“What do you mean by a plan?”
“I don’t know how to say this, boss, but my guys have found an armory of guns. And blueprints to your room.”
A ripple of anger goes through me. I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
