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I make the two-minute drive to the house across the canyon, parking behind a yellow Ferrari and getting out. Before I’ve even set foot in the driveway, men are exiting the house and watching me from the porch.
I hope up the bottle of wine. “Behold, I bring good tidings.”
None of them moves so much as an eyelid.
“Is the man of the house available?” I put a goofy, affable grin on my face. The smile of a dude who’s had everything in life handed to him on a platter. “I call that ugly, split-level monstrosity home,” I say, pointing at my house just beyond the trees and casually sliding the wine into the closest thug’s hand. “I also call it the one thing my wife didn’t get in the divorce.”
That gets a couple of laughs. Still…
“This is a private party,” one of them drawls in a thick accent. “We’ll keep the wine, though.”
“It’s yours, man. I’ve got plenty more just like it.”
“Who is this?”
The hair on the back of my neck stands up when Stepanov steps out onto the porch. Small in stature, he’s huge in presence. Silvering brown hair and a pinched mouth. I’ve been studying pictures of him for months, so I know every crease of his face, every expression in his arsenal. But I’m the poster boy for clueless right now. “David Paldino,” I say, extending a hand. “One of us appears to be doing bachelorhood the right way. Here’s a hint. It’s not fucking me.”
There’s a smattering of laughter, but it takes Stepanov another few seconds to shake my hand. I pretend not to notice his hesitation.
“All right, well I don’t want to intrude on a private party.” I toss my car keys up in the air and take a step back, judging I’ve made about as much progress as I can with this crowd for one night. “Good to meet you. Don’t hesitate to knock if you need anything. If you hear my crying late at night over my alimony payments, just ignore me. You all have a good night.”
“Wait.” Everyone seems to go still when Stepanov speaks through a tight smile. It’s like the snap of a finger. “What is wrong with you pieces of shit? You don’t invite in my neighbor?”
He’s not really admonishing them. It’s all an act. And they don’t even have the brains to play along and look contrite. Good to know. “No worries,” I say, grinning. “I was planning on heading out for the night, anyway. Find a good woman.”
“And what is your definition of a good woman, Mr. Paldino?”
“One that keeps her mouth shut until it’s ready to open wide. They’re not good for much else.”
Know your audience, right? Even Stepanov has a chuckle at my dirty comment, but I’m finding it hard to smile along with them, because all I see is Hailey’s beautiful face. How would she react to me saying such things, even if I was just doing my job and trying to ingratiate myself to these assholes?
“No need to go looking for one of those women,” says Stepanov once the amusement has died down. He nudges the door open with his elbow and I get a look at the inside of his house. There are another dozen or so men—and every one of them has a woman sitting on their thigh or draped over their back. “We have everything you’re looking for right here. Come inside.”
I walk in like a man who’s rarely had a door slammed in his face, but on the inside, I’m beginning to feel ill. After that comment I made, Stepanov is going to try and set me up with a woman for the night—and I would rather die than put my hands on anyone but Hailey. Without looking, I already know there isn’t a single woman in the room—or the planet—who compares.
Stepanov pats me on the back as we walk through the opulent entryway, which opens up to a dark, sprawling living room. It looks more like a nightclub than a house, and the music is loud enough to match. The men eyeball me warily, but barely glance away from their adoring women long enough to comment on my arrival. Coming over here tonight was a risk, but Stepanov seems interested in befriending his clueless neighbor, probably banking on the fact that I’ll look the other way over his suspicious behavior if he makes me complicit.
“Vlad, pour him a glass of his wine,” Stepanov instructs one of his men. “Unless, of course, the gentleman prefers vodka?”
“Wine would be great. Thank you.”
“Excellent.” Stepanov claps his hands together. “Now, one poison squared away, one more to go. All my women know to keep their mouths shut unless instructed, so you have only to pick one. Blonde, red, brunette.” He turns a sickening smile on me. “First ride is on the house.”
