Page 62 of Cruel Demands

“I am memorable.”

“You are loud. Different thing.”

Dima watches her settle into her chair, his gaze lingering on her mouth when she brings her straw to it. She notices and nudges his shoe beneath the table. His smile is immediate.

They’re friendly in a cautious way. Curious but not rude. They ask about America, about my program, about whether Moscow is what I expected. I say yes because no seems too complicated. I don’t say that Moscow has been stranger, colder, more beautiful, and more personally destructive than expected.

When the others get up to dance to a song they all know that I’ve never heard in my life, like most of the songs played in Russian bars, Viktoriya sips from her straw and blinks her hazel eyes at me. She smiles, her teeth biting the straw, and says, “So.”

I sip my own drink and glance over at our dancing coworkers. “So?”

“You have made an impression on Governor Korolev. He was watching you all day.”

My stomach drops, and I nearly choke as heat crawls up my neck. “I think he watches everyone.”

Viktoriya laughs. “No. He sees everyone. Different thing. Oh, and speaking of the devil⁠—”

The devil. I look behind me where she gestures with her chin. Over by the door, standing by himself, is Mikhail. He looks exactly as he did at the office: controlled, dark, expensive, and completely wrong for a place with sticky floors and neon signs.

He didn’t simply happen to choose this bar. Just like the night I met him, I get the feeling that men like Mikhail don’t happen anywhere.

My hand tightens around my glass, and I shrug. “So, he comes to these too, then?”

She takes another sip, watching him with open fascination. “He never comes out with us.” She tilts her head. “He is an enigma.”

“Maybe he already had plans,” I say, but Mikhail’s dark eyes find mine. Immediately. The room seems to narrow. I hate him for it. I hate that he can stand twenty feet away and make me feel like I’ve been touched.

I look away quickly, my cheeks hot, and Viktoriya lifts an eyebrow. “Interesting.”

“No. Not interesting.”

“You are a bad liar.”

“Everyone keeps saying that.”

“Then maybe become better. Or stop lying.”

I turn back to the bar too quickly. “He’s my boss.”

“Yes,” she says dryly. “This is what makes it interesting.”

Mikhail approaches from behind me. I know it in my bones. I feel him coming even though it’s much too loud to hear his footsteps. “Good evening,” he says, walking around the table. His brown eyes look at Viktoriya only long enough to say he did before flicking back to meet mine. “How are you both?”

“Fine, Governor Korolev,” Viktoriya says, a grin spreading across her face so wide her cheeks might split. “Happy you have decided to finally join us.”

“It has been a long day. I needed a drink.” Mikhail’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes as he pulls out the empty chair beside mine and sits at the table. His knee bumps mine, and a pulse jolts straight up my leg.

Everything in me wants to jump straight out of my seat. The music and lights around me, which seemed fun earlier, have turned into a suffocating blanket over my nose. Heat gathers between my thighs. Mikhail’s rings glint in the light as he loosens his tie by one brutal inch.

Viktoriya’s mouth opens slightly, and I realize for the first time that I might not be the only person in the office who realizes how attractive he is. “Do you want me to get you a drink, Governor Korolev?”

“You are not at work, Viktoriya. Relax.” He flashes a brief smile at her, then looks at me. “Besides, that would usually be a job for an intern.” Heat swallows me whole, and Mikhail seems to notice because his mouth curves. “But since you are off the clock as well, Miss Hayes, I will get it myself.”

Before he can say anything else, the others return from the dance floor in a wave of heat and laughter. Katya drops into the chair beside Viktoriya and fans herself with both hands. “Too hot,” she says, then notices Mikhail and freezes. “Oh.” Dima stops behind her. Alina bumps into his back, then follows his gaze to our table. For one second, everyone behaves like a teacher has walked into a classroom where the students were misbehaving.

Then Mikhail leans back in his chair like he hasn’t just ruined the natural order of their evening by existing in the wrong place. “Please,” he says. “Don’t stop on my account.”

No one moves. Viktoriya grins wider. “He means continue embarrassing yourself, Dima.”