I’m sitting alonein a private lounge at Stone & Vale, drinking sparkling water that probably costs more than my weekly grocery budget, trying very hard not to lose my mind.
This is insane.
Completely, objectively insane.
The room I’ve been parked in is elegant in that old-money, aggressively tasteful way. Dark wood. Velvet chairs. A fireplace that crackles softly even though the weather doesn’t remotely require it.
Through the half-open doors at the far end, I can hear the faint murmur of conversation drifting in from the terrace where Aleksei is having dinner with Marina Leston.
Hisdate.The date I arranged. The date I am apparently chaperoning like some deranged combination of assistant, bodyguard, and emotional masochist.
I check my phone for the twentieth time in ten minutes.
Frankie: How’s the new evil empire job going??
I stare at the message, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. I could tell her.
I could text back something completely unhinged like:Oh nothing much, just sitting in a rich-person side room while my terrifying boss goes on a date with a socialite I picked for him after he kissed me in an elevator. lolz.
I snort quietly to myself. Then I delete the half-typed sentence.
No. Absolutely not. Frankie would call immediately, demand details, and probably scream loud enough to crack my screen.
Instead, I type:
Still working. Long night. Tell you later.
She sends back three suspicious emojis and a heart. I lock the phone and drop it into my lap.
The silence creeps in again.
I hate this.
I hate that I’m here. I hate that he insisted. I hate that some part of me had still rushed home and changed into a black dress that makes me feel like less of a nervous mouse and more like someone who belongs in places like this. But mostly, I hate that I can’t stop picturing him out there with another woman.
Laughing, maybe. Leaning in. Looking at her the way he looked at me in that elevator.
My stomach twists.
I tell myself this is work. Observation. Strategy. Compatibility assessment. Whatever ridiculous corporate euphemism makes this sting less.
But after another five minutes, I can’t take it anymore.
I stand.
If I’m going to be forced into this ridiculous situation, the least I can do is gather intel.
That sounds much better thanI’m about to go spy on my boss because I’m jealous and pathetic.
The terrace doors open without a sound when I slip through them. Outside, the estate grounds are bathed in soft amber lights. Stone paths wind through manicured gardens, and beyond them stretches a dark lawn edged by old trees. The restaurant terrace overlooks all of it, intimate tables tucked between tall planters and flickering lanterns.
I spot them almost immediately.
Aleksei sits with his back half-turned to me, one arm draped over the chair, posture effortless and commanding even at rest. Marina sits across from him in a pale dress that probably cost more than my rent, her posture elegant, her smile polished.
Together, they look… right.
And I think that’s the worst part.
