Lili tenses.
“Jesus, relax,” he says. He drags his knuckles up and down her spine.
“Why—why would you want to go on a date?” she asks, wary.
“I enjoy your company.”
“You’re enjoying my company right now.”
“I’d like to enjoy it more extensively.”
She doesn’t reply, searching his expression. His face is calm and relatively open, watching her watch him.
“This isn’t a trap, Lili.”
It feels like one. The amount she wants to kiss him, the amount that she likes his hands on her.
“I should go,” she whispers, after a few more moments.
A bit of the openness in his eyes shutters, but it’s a slight change; one she can only catch for a second before it’s gone.
“Alright,” he says.
Outside, the heavy summer air smothers her. Traffic is loud, wearing away her calm, replaced by a fresh bite of reality. A faint hangover pounds in her temples. As she’d gotten ready to leave the loft, avoiding Aleksandr’s gaze, her phone had buzzed incessantly, a stream of texts from her friends, farm staff emails about who’s managing next week’s volunteer schedule, a ping from Kerr about her upcoming deadline. Plans in her real life, waiting.
A black car idles at the curb. Tinted windows. Lili checks Aleksandr’s text again—I have a car outside,he’d said upstairs.Don’t argue. This is the license plate number—and gets into the Maybach.
It’s a cool, mercifully air-conditioned interior. But instead of silent emptiness—a moment to process the morning—a vaguely familiar man sits in the back seat. Expensive gray suit, close-cropped light brown hair, looking disgruntled at his phone.
“Uh, hello?” Lili says.
He looks up. She’s never met him, but he somehow already seems irritated by her.
“Hello, Miss Marwan. Do close the door, you’re letting the cold air out.”
As she gets in, wary, he tucks his phone into his breast pocket, and raps on the window.
“We can go,” he tells the driver. “Whatever address Petrov gave.”
Lili watches him suspiciously as the car pulls away from the curb. She can barely hear the city outside, insulated in this pocket of cold wealth. “And you are?” she prompts.
“Michael. Mr. Petrov’s chief of staff.” Surprised, she suddenly locates the familiarity of his face: the photograph of a kind, sweet boy on a park bench, barely into his twenties; a much sterner, colder man now, who seems put out at the very prospect of having to speak with her. He glances down at his watch. “As you are likely well aware, Mr. Petrov is a busy man.”
Lili raises an eyebrow, wondering where this is headed.
“A very busy man,” he emphasizes. His accent is British, too. Hard and polished, but careful. Coldly intentional. “If we want to be technical, the performance of entangled swaths of the global economy depend on his attention, focus, and dedication.”
“Excuse me, but does he know you’re here?”
Michael ignores her. “My job is to make sure that he’s able to do his job,” he continues. “To ensure he has the answers, strategy, and resources he needs so we continue to deliver outstanding results to our investors.”
“I’m riveted.”
“He retains me to make his life easy, Miss Marwan.” He already sounds long-suffering, despite having only had to deal with her for a few moments. “Efficient. Effective. You are none of these things.”
“Thank you,” she retorts.
He scowls. “Because of you, he rescheduled an entire morning of meetings today. Important clients—institutional clients—flew in from theother side of the world to discuss our shared aims and goals. Institutional clients whose performance affects the financial futures of hundreds of millions of individuals.”
