“Hey,” she breathes, sliding the call open.
“It’s a good photograph,” he says. “What you just sent.”
His voice is low, sending a warm thrum through her. It soothes her nerves. “Yeah,” she replies, toying with the seam of her borrowed socks, cigarette hot between her fingers.
“Do you have the original?”
“Um, no—Amina does, though, I can get it. Why?”
“I’d like a copy.”
Her chest tightens. “Why?” she repeats.
“It’s a good photograph, Lili.” In his tone, she hears a smile that she can’t quite interpret.
“Right.” She takes another light inhale from her cigarette. “Yeah, I can ask her.”
“Thank you. It’s getting late for you, isn’t it?”
Lili shrugs, tapping out more ash. “Yeah, I just got back from dinner with everyone. How was your day?”
“Good. Still going. We have some final meetings to review terms in a bit.”
She frowns. “It’s almost nine for you.”
“Yes?”
She snorts. “Have you seen any of the city?”
“Not much. It’s beautiful, but we’re focused on the acquisition. I’ll come back sometime.”
“You should go to Tennessee Cove, if you have any time,” Lili says. “It’s just an out-and-back trail, doesn’t take more than two hours, but the ocean’s stunning there. Black sand beach.”
“It’s near the city?”
“Yeah, in the headlands across the bridge. I used to go there all the time in high school,” she adds, quiet. That feeling of being intentionally alone, she remembers. A relief from daily loneliness. “In winter, especially. Almost no one’s out there. I loved it there.” Lili watches her cigarette burn down between her fingers, as Aleksandr is silent on the other end, listening. She hears the reassuring, steady pattern of his breath. The spark of uneasiness incited by the photo calms. “Anyway,” she continues, “if you can convince Michael, you should head out there.”
“I am allowed on my own without an escort, sweetheart.”
Lili smiles. “Right, of course.”
“Are you at home?”
“Yeah, I’m at the loft. I stole one of your cigarettes,” she confesses, sheepishly.
“Ah, without me,” he teases.
“Watch yourself, I saw the extra one missing.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Aleksandr deadpans.
“I won’t tell Michael,” she assures him, conspiratorial. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
He laughs, affectionate. “Such magnanimity. What are you doing tomorrow night?”
“Nothing, I think,” she says, stifling a yawn. “What’s up?”
“I have to attend a gala dinner. I’d like you to join me, if you can.”
