Page 79 of Cruel Demands

Viktoriya stares at her.

Taylor gestures toward the screen. “Cold hors d’oeuvres, pastries, fruit, smoked fish, caviar. The caterer prepares everything off-site and plates it there. They don’t need a full kitchen.”

“This is an education benefit, not a cocktail hour.”

“Call it a winter reception and supper buffet. People are coming to drink, donate money, and look important in photographs. They will survive without hot chicken.”

A laugh escapes someone at the central desk. Viktoriya narrows her hazel eyes, but I can see her reconsidering.

Taylor continues. “The cultural center already has service entrances and government security protocols because they host diplomatic events. Parking can be handled through the estate grounds and the municipal lot across the street. The conservatory is climate-controlled all winter because the plants would die otherwise.”

“Tropical trees,” I say.

Taylor turns. She finds me standing a few feet behind her. Color rises in her cheeks, subtle but immediate. “Yes,” she says. “Tropical trees.”

Viktoriya looks between us and wisely says nothing.

Taylor turns the monitor farther toward me. “Your office protects their annual funding. The event raises money for regional education. They would be hosting the people who keep their programs open.”

“We do not threaten cultural institutions with their funding,” Viktoriya says.

“I didn’t say threaten them.”

“You implied it.”

“I said we have a relationship.”

“You said they owe us.”

“I said it politely.”

Viktoriya folds her arms.

Taylor lifts one shoulder. “Politeness is mostly saying threatening things in a nicer order.”

I look at the photograph again. The glass walls curve around a central courtyard. Iron balconies overlook the main floor. At night, with the interior lit properly, it would be more striking than the hotel ballroom.

“The orchestra could go on the upper level,” Taylor says. “Tables around the outside. Dance floor in the center.”

“There is no dance floor,” Viktoriya says.

“There is a floor. People can dance on it.”

“That sounds almost respectable.”

“It is respectable.”

Viktoriya leans closer to the screen despite herself. “The conservatory may still refuse.”

“They will not,” I say.

Taylor looks up at me. “How do you know?”

“Because I will ask.”

The room becomes quiet. I turn to Viktoriya. “Have Olga contact the conservatory director and arrange a tour. Tell her I will attend.”

Viktoriya nods. Olga has spent most of the week on our floor preparing for the education forum and the benefit. Her presence makes the request appear administrative rather than personal, though I know she will ask why I am suddenly touring a venue that was dismissed months ago.