“Yes.”
“And you are still doing it.”
“Yes.”
I exhale through my nose. “Unbelievable.”
He is quiet for a moment, then asks, lower now, “Are you alright?”
The question catches me off guard.
I look toward the window where his men are still parked outside and think about the shots, the suite, the way he’d gone cool and distant after sex, and then the way he made sure I got home anyway.
“No,” I say honestly. “But I’m not the worst I’ve ever been.”
That gets a low huff from him that might almost be a laugh. “Get some sleep, Zatanna.”
“You say that like I won’t spend the next hour staring at your security detail and reconsidering every life choice that brought me here.”
“Then stare briefly and sleep after.”
I smile despite myself. “Bossy.”
“Tired.”
“Still irritating.”
A pause. Then, softer, “Still here.”
That lands somewhere inconveniently deep.
I tuck the phone closer to my ear. “Goodnight, Mr. Vasiliev.”
He doesn’t correct the formality. Just says, “Goodnight.”
The line goes dead.
I lower the phone slowly and stare at it for a second before setting it on the bed beside me. Outside, his men keep watch. Inside, my apartment feels too small for all the things I now know about him.
I pull the blanket up, lie back, and let out a long breath.
He’s exhausting. Infuriating. Completely unreasonable.
And somehow, impossibly, exactly the person I want to hear from before I fall asleep.
By the next morning, I’ve managed exactly three hours of sleep, two stress dreams, and one deeply unsettling moment where I woke up convinced the men outside my building had somehow multiplied.
They hadn’t.
Still two cars. Still two men in each. Still very much there.
I spend half the morning pacing my apartment, drinking coffee, and trying not to imagine what would happen if anyone at the office found out even ten percent of what happened last night.
Because that is the thing about secrets. They feel very dramatic and sexy when you’re keeping them in a hotel suite. They feel significantly less sexy in daylight, when you start wondering whether your coworkers can smell scandal on you.
By noon, boredom and anxiety are eating me alive, so I do the dumb thing.
I go into the office.
