Page 78 of Cruel Demands

“Well, yes. That is what double-booked means.”

“Sorry.”

Viktoriya turns her monitor toward her. An email fills the screen, dense with apologies and entirely useless. “The hotel accepted a private wedding after confirming our reservation,” she says. “They claim there was an error in the system.”

“Well, Mikhail is the governor.” Taylor says my first name before she realizes she has done it. Viktoriya notices. So do I. Taylor’s shoulders tighten, but she keeps going. “Surely they can make the hotel move the wedding?”

“The bride’s father owns part of it.”

“So no.” She sits straighter. Now she understands. So do I.

The benefit is still more than a month away, but the invitations have already been approved, donors contacted, and the catering deposit paid. The event raises money for teacher-retention bonuses and emergency improvement grants for schools that cannot wait for the next budget cycle to repair a roof or replace a failing heating system. It’s organized through the governor’s office, and changing the date would require explanations, refunds, and calls to several people who believe inconvenience is a personal insult.

“The date has to stay,” Taylor mutters. “So we move the location.”

“We need somewhere large enough for dinner and dancing,” Viktoriya says. “And speeches. An auction. The education-fund presentation. Security. Press photographs.”

“Anything else?”

“A small orchestra.”

Taylor glances at her. “Of course there’s an orchestra.”

I remain in the corridor and listen.

Viktoriya opens another document. “I have called every hotel on the approved list. They are either booked or too small. The Radisson has space, but Governor Korolev rejected the ballroom last year.”

“Why?”

“It is ugly.”

I lower my coffee before either of them can see the corner of my mouth move. Taylor considers this. “Fair.”

Viktoriya scrolls farther. “The old assembly hall cannot accommodate the separate press entrance. The museum closes too early, and the director will not extend the hours. The conservatory has enough space, but it has no approved catering kitchen and does not allow large private evening events.”

Taylor rolls her chair closer. “The conservatory attached to the old cultural center?”

“Yes.”

“The one your administration funds?”

Viktoriya looks at her. “The regional government supports many cultural sites.”

“That one receives a protected annual grant.” Taylor returns to her own computer and begins typing. By the time she turns her monitor toward Viktoriya, I have moved closer without deciding to.

She has found the conservatory’s website. A photograph fills the screen. The conservatory is a long glass pavilion built behind a restored nineteenth-century estate. The main building hosts exhibitions, lectures, botanical programs, and minor diplomatic receptions. During my campaign, I promised to preserve regional cultural and educational sites threatened by budget cuts. Once elected, my office placed the estate under a protected grant program that guarantees its annual operating funds.

Viktoriya already knows this. What she has not yet seen is the angle Taylor sees immediately.

“They host government receptions,” Taylor says.

“Small daytime receptions.”

“Then make ours a reception instead of a formal dinner.”

“The invitations promise dinner.”

“Cold dinner.”