A man in a charcoal suit stepped outside before I even unbuckled my seat belt. I scrambled out of the SUV and hurried to Sergei’s side.
“Mr. Volkov,” he said, shaking Sergei’s hand. “Good to see you again. Everything is ready for the consultation.”
Again? What the hell was going on?
The man turned to me next. “You must be Dr. Cavanagh. I’m Pierre, your private consultant for the day. We’re very pleased to have you with us.”
“Umm, thank you.” My gaze snapped to Sergei. “He was expecting me?”
“Yup. You still haven’t replaced your car. It’s time, Leo.”
Pierre gestured toward the showroom. “I have the models ready for viewing just as Mr. Volkov requested. From there, we can move into the customization suite and build exactly what you want.”
“Sergei—”
“Humor me,” he said, taking my arm and pulling me along with him. “It can’t hurt to look. If you don’t find anything to your taste, we can always leave.”
My eyes drifted to the showroom, and every argument I had lined up in my head weakened. The room was immaculate. Glossy floors reflected the vehicles displayed beneath soft white lights. The cars were spaced far enough apart to give each one room to breathe. Leather seating areas and glass offices took up the rest of the space. The walls werelined with wheel samples and paint finishes and a customization wall that displayed interior leathers.
I appreciated cars; I always had. I cared about the way they came to life: the sound of an engine, the curve of a body line, the difference between a car built merely to move and one built to be experienced.
Sergei knew that. He studied me like I was an interesting specimen under a microscope. The thought should have been scary, especially when it had to do with him, but I felt reassured. He took notice because he was interested, and he wanted me to know how serious he was about me. How could I be anything but flattered at that?
Pierre guided us first to a deep-blue BMW sedan with elegant lines and introduced it to us, making note of the performance, comfort, and usability. I was certain I couldn’t afford the car, but I couldn’t help walking around it.
The car was gorgeous. I ran my gaze over the front grille, the wheels, the subtle carbon fiber details, already imagining what I would change if I were foolish enough to indulge this fantasy.
“This is beautiful,” I said.
Sergei stood a few feet away from me. I could feel him watching me rather than the car. “You like it?”
“I’m trying not to.”
“Why?”
“Because liking things around you tends to become dangerous for my sense of restraint.”
Pierre smiled faintly and gestured toward the customization room. “If you’d like, we can build one to your specifications. Nothing has to be decided today beyond the model, though most clients find the process easier once they see the combinations in person.”
That sounded reasonable. Safe, even. We were just discussing, but that didn’t mean I had to commit to buying it.
Except that the customization suite was where restraint went to die. Pierre seated us at a long table in front of a massive digital screen that displayed the car in three-dimensional detail. Along one wall sat physical samples of paint, leather, stitching, trim, wheels, and finishes.
At first, I tried to behave like a reasonable man.
“I don’t need anything too excessive,” I said as Pierre pulled up exterior colors. “Something understated.”
Sergei leaned back in his chair beside me. “Pick what you want.”
“I am.”
“You’re picking what you think is safe.”
“Why don’t we customize the way you would envision your dream car?” Pierre suggested. “We can always use that as a start, then scale back.”
That sounded reasonable. “Okay.”
I should have chosen standard black and ended it there. Instead, my attention snagged on a dark metallic blue sample that shifted almost black depending on the light.
