Michael frowns, overhearing. He makes to speak, but Aleksandr shakes his head. “I’ll take care of it,” Aleksandr tells him. “Andrew, with me. Lili, Michael will walk you in. I’ll find you after.”
“Risky,” Lili teases, squeezing his hand before she lets go.
“Play nice, Misha,” Andrew warns.
“Me?” Michael grumbles as the men disappear. Behind them, their car rolls away, and another pulls up. “You tellmeto play nice?”
“Left in the cold.” Lili shakes her head. “Worse, left to babysit.”
“Come on,” Michael says, scowling. He jerks his head towards the hotel. “Keep up.”
“Careful,” she says, following him through the crowd, “or I might begin to think you actually like me.”
“I’d dislike you less if you didn’t actively endanger my business. Would you like to explain why Petrov rearranged our entire last afternoon of work so he could go commune with the wilderness?”
Lili frowns. “What?” Around them, the pitch of noise changes as they enter the hotel; the traffic of Fifth Avenue gives way to the overwhelming buzz of the crowded foyer.
“Somecove,” he says, steering her towards the ballroom, its towering open doors. “He was entirely out of reception, it was absurd.”
He’d gone to Tennessee Cove, she realizes. Walked out over those headlands, felt the black sand underfoot, heard the crash of the Pacific. Taken steps she’d walked hundreds of times as a teenager, alone.
A smile, almost stupid in its glow, breaks across her face, thinking about him in places important to her.
“So?” Michael prompts. “You tell me: Was he attempting to find God? Is this some grand conversion scheme?”
Lili laughs, shaking her head. “What’s with your aversion to me? Aren’t you used to a slew of young girls on his arm over the years? What’s so bad about me, specifically?”
“He does not usually date children. He doesn’t usually date younger at all.”
She frowns, taken aback. “Really?”
“The last woman Petrov was seeing was one of the world’s foremost neurosurgeons.”
“Shame she didn’t lobotomize you.”
“I agree,” he mutters, “and before I had met you—Jesus, don’t trip. Honestly. Here, just take my arm.”
Lili stifles a smile, as he steadies her. Entering the ballroom, crowds mill, sedate music playing. Around them, ostentatious flower arrangements bloom, tables laden with elaborate place settings and shining silverware, laughter that sounds like eased tariffs and new trade agreements.
“Are you old enough to drink?” Michael asks, taking two champagne flutes from a passing server.
“Just about,” Lili says, swiping one of the glasses.
“That was for Andrew.”
“And he told you to play nice,” she says, taking a light sip. If she blinked, she’d have missed the faint split second of his smirk.
“Michael!” Across the crowd, a tall, dark-haired man—handsome face, close-shaven hair—shouts, waving; the woman beside him—Kara, Lili realizes—rolls her eyes, already beelining towards them through the crowd.
“Christ, save me,” Michael mutters as the two approach.
“Michael, have you seen Petrov?” the unfamiliar man asks.
“He’s taking a call.”
“The London acquisition, yeah?” Kara asks. Her merlot silk dress glows in the ballroom’s tasteful lighting. An engagement ring gleams—deep sapphire, clustered with diamonds—on her hand, impeccable gloss of dark red nail polish. “I saw those emails today. It’s turning into a real nightmare.”
“Should I be on the call with Petrov?” the man asks Michael anxiously. “Does he need me? I could step in, if he needs coverage—”
