“So,” I say, “you asked to meet me first.”
“I did.”
“Can I ask why?”
Her gaze drifts over my shoulder toward the window, where rain streaks softly down the glass. “Because men in his position are usually surrounded by people who want something from them.”
“That’s not exactly rare.”
“No.” She returns her eyes to mine. “But assistants are often the only ones who know whether a man is cruel when no one is looking.”
The answer lands strangely deep. I didn’t expect that. I didn’t expect her to sound almost serious either.
“He’s not cruel,” I say before I can stop myself.
The words come too fast. Too sure.
Celeste notices. She tilts her head. “Loyal little thing, aren’t you?”
Heat flashes up my neck. “I’m just answering your question.”
She smiles again, but there’s something odd in it. Almost private. Then she says, “Does he sleep well?”
I stare. “What?”
“Mr. Vasiliev.” She folds her hands in her lap. “Does he sleep well?”
“That is a bizarre question.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
“Hm.” She looks down at her untouched tea. “Men with enemies usually don’t.”
Something about the way she says it raises the hairs on my arms.
I tell myself not to be paranoid. Everyone with internet access and a taste for gossip knows Aleksei is complicated.
Still.
“That’s a very specific thing to say,” I reply.
She shrugs one delicate shoulder. “I’ve always preferred specificity.”
Another buzz from my phone. I nearly jump.
Jake again.
I mute the entire thread and slide the phone into my bag.
When I look up, Celeste is watching me with that same faintly amused expression.
“You’re distracted.”
“I’m working.”
“No,” she says softly. “You’re worried.”
