Page 180 of Sexting His Assistant

He leaves with Dima, moving toward a cluster of men near the trustee entrance. Almost immediately, he’s absorbed into conversation. Even from across the room, he is impossible not to notice. Tall, composed, tuxedo sharp, his face calm while the men around him look like they are trying to guess which version of him they are speaking to.

I stay near the side of the ballroom with my sparkling water and try not to look like I’m waiting for him.

The music changes.

Soft conversation shifts as couples begin moving toward the dance floor. A few older men lead their wives out first, then younger guests follow, laughing as if dancing at charity events is a normal thing people do instead of an elegant form of public surveillance.

I take one step back to stay out of the way.

Then a voice says, “May I have this dance?”

I turn. And nearly have a heart attack.

The man standing in front of me is the man from Alina’s video.

I know it before my brain catches up.

Dark hair brushed back. Hard jaw. Expensive suit. Cold expression disguised as charm. In the video, he had been half blurred, only a profile in bad lighting, his hand near Alina’s wrist.

Standing close enough that I can smell his cologne.

My fingers tighten around my glass. “You,” I say.

His mouth curves faintly. “Me.”

I narrow my eyes. “What do you want?”

“Just to talk.”

“Then talk.”

His gaze moves once around the room. Not obviously. He’s smoother than that. But he checks the exits, the guards, the men near the bar, and the corner where Luka disappeared.

“I’d rather do it while dancing,” he says.

“I’d rather not.”

“That is understandable.”

He says it politely, which somehow makes him more irritating.

I fold my arms, forgetting for a second that I’m holding a glass. The sparkling water sloshes dangerously close to the rim.

His eyes drop to it. “Careful.”

“Don’t care about my drink.”

“I care about the scene you will cause if you throw it at me.”

“Then you know me already.”

“A little.”

That makes my skin prickle.

I look around for Luka. He’s nowhere near me.

I can see Dima near one column, but he’s facing the other direction, speaking into his earpiece. Sergei is at the far entrance. Pavel’s not visible. Luka is still caught near the trustees, partly blocked by a group of men in black suits.