“Mr. Bugrov, I have the adjusted schedule for your Thursday reservations through the end of next month. The private roomwill be held from ten to midnight on your standing nights, and I’ve added the sound buffer request to your permanent profile.”
I take the tablet and review the changes. Everything is correct. She’s efficient and treating me exactly like every other client, which bothers me more than it should. I want her to treat me differently. I want her to acknowledge, even by a fraction, that I’m not the same as the men she manages every night. The want itself is a warning I’m choosing to ignore.
I hand back the tablet. “Does Eric Hayes always talk to you like he still thinks he has the right?”
Her hands still on the tablet for half a second before she recovers. “Some men mistake history for permission.”
“That’s a diplomatic answer.”
“It’s a complete one.” She meets my gaze without flinching, and there’s a steadiness in it that tells me she’s had this conversation before, and whoever pushed harder than I am didn’t get anywhere.
The flinch is still in my head. It’s hard to forget her pulling back when he reached for her hair. “Does he make you feel unsafe?”
Her expression closes. I see no anger or offense, just a boundary she won’t let me cross. “I appreciate the concern, Mr. Bugrov, but I handle my own problems.”
She turns to leave, and I should let her go. I just watched a man reach for her without permission and saw what it did to her. Every rational part of my training says this is the moment to step back, maintain the boundary she’s imposing, and prove I’m not like my father, as my mother warned me about this morning.
Instead, I get up and follow her. She ignores me behind her until we’re alone in the service corridor. She whirls to face me but doesn’t speak. She seems curious rather than afraid as she waits for my next move.
I step into her space, but not aggressively. I close the distance slowly enough that she can see it coming, and I stop with six inches between us and wait.
She doesn’t step back.
I take her face in both hands and kiss her. It’s a conscious violation of every rule I’ve built, and I make it anyway because I’m not willing to pretend I don’t want this. My mother’s voice is in my head, Sergei’s mistakes are in my blood, but I know exactly what I’m doing.
Aurora doesn’t pull away. She doesn’t lean in either. She goes completely still, and the stillness is more honest than any response I anticipated. Her breath stops for a half-second, then resumes slowly as she exhales against my lips. Her hands stay at her sides. She doesn’t touch me, push me away, or move either forward or away. She just stands there and lets it happen. The choice to hold still instead of reacting is obviously deliberate. She’s not enduring my touch, for sure, but I can’t read if she’s enjoying it either.
I let go and step back, rattled by the thought of her not liking what I’m doing. I won’t be a client she has to deal with to keep her job.
She looks at me, and the expression holds no fear or disgust. It’s just pure recalculation. It looks like every assumption she made about me just changed, and she hasn’t yet decided if the new version is better or worse. At least she doesn’t seem angry orrepulsed by my kissing her, and I gave her plenty of time to pull back or make it clear she didn’t want it. Instead, she stood still, confounding me.
I feel outmaneuvered though I can’t grasp why, or if she was even trying to do that. Hiding my confusion, I say, “Good night, Aurora,” in a raspy voice. Everything about me reveals my reaction to her, while nothing about her tells me anything concrete.
She doesn’t answer. She turns and walks toward the service corridor, her stride steady and her posture straight. Nothing about her movement betrays what just happened. She’s too good at her job to let it show on a floor full of people who make their living from watching other people’s reactions.
I return to the table and sit back down to drink. Viktor is watching me from across the table with something between disbelief and resignation. “Did you…talk more?” His tone is neutral, but the left corner of his mouth twitches twice.
The bastard is amused at my expense. “Don’t.”
He holds up his hands in a defensive posture even as the left corner of his lip twitches once more, revealing he’s fighting the urge to laugh. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”
“Good idea if you like breathing.”
He ignores that and picks up his phone. “Your mother called while you were…following the hostess.”
I stiffen. “I’m not calling her back tonight. I’m ready to go.”
“Probably wise.” He stands and buttons his jacket. “I’ll get the car.”
I stay at the table for another minute, watching the corridor where Aurora disappeared. I kissed a woman I barely know in a venue I’m actively investigating, and I did it because the difference between how she responded to Hayes and how she responded to me mattered more than it should have. I had to know, and I still don’t, which is frustrating as hell. She didn’t flinch, but she didn’t pull me closer either. She gave me stillness, which is harder to read than either.
I can’t call it strategy or even curiosity anymore. It’s the beginning of something my mother warned me about this morning, and I’m walking into it with my eyes open.
5
AURORA
The kiss happened two days ago, and I still can’t stop replaying it.
