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We sit at the kitchen table and drink our tea together.
“It’s going to be okay, Mom.”
She just nods, her expression wretched and gloomy.
Raine
We meet at a French restaurant. Very upmarket. The hostess actually looks down her nose at me when I arrive. Catherine Moriarty is already at the table sipping from her glass of San Pellegrino. She smiles when she sees me. If she had intended to intimidate me, she is going to be disappointed. I have never eaten in such an expensive restaurant, but I know how they work and exactly how the diners behave like I know the back of my hand.
“Good. You are on time. I hate it when people are late,” she says, when I arrive at her table.
A waiter materializes out of nowhere and effortlessly pulls out the chair opposite hers. I slip into it and thank him. He nods at me and withdraws. Someone else comes forward to ask if I would like something to drink.
“Martini, no olives,” I say.
“Of course,” he says with a nod, and leaves.
I turn my attention back to Catherine.
Her eyes are assessing. “I’m glad you said yes. I have a good feeling about you. You’re the right physical type, and you are intelligent. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s stupid girls. There are too many of them in my line of work.”
Her phone rings. She picks it up and says, “Yes. Tell Mr. Nikitin everything is set. He has nothing to worry about.” Then she looks up at me and with a glitter of satisfaction, adds, “I’ve found the perfect bait.”
A waiter carrying a basket full of all kinds of bread comes by. Catherine shakes her head and waves him away. I point to a seeded bun and he lays it on the small plate on my right with a pair of tongs.
My glass of martini is put in front of me. I pick it up and take a small sip. Catherine is still listening to something the other person on the phone is saying. So I break a piece of bread and begin to butter it. Catherine ends her call, leans back on her chair and stares at me. There is a strange expression on her face.
“What is it?” I ask.
She flashes the first genuine smile I’ve seen from her. “You know what?”
I play her game. “What?”
“You’re perfect for Konstantin Tsarnov.”
“Why?”
“Let’s just call it an instinct. I’ve been in this business a long time and I can tell when I have scored. When I’ve found that one girl that will be perfect for the job.”
“What if he doesn’t take me to his apartment?”
“Then you will either have to walk away with just $50,000, an amount I have a feeling is not enough for what you need, or you can arrange another date and try again.” She shrugs eloquently. “It will be all up to you. No doubt you have googled him and know he is dashingly handsome. You may even want to sleep with him.”
Yes, I did google him and he is drop dead gorgeous, but I zoomed in on his eyes and they are shockingly cold. The eyes of a heartless predator. Not a man I would ever consider sleeping with. I am attracted to guys with warm brown eyes, a cheeky grin, and a wicked sense of humor. Konstantin Tsarnov looks like he wouldn’t know humor if it hit him with a wet fish. Besides, men like him disgust me. Their greed is endless. No matter how much money they make it is never enough. They just have to keep on piling on more and more money that they will never be able to spend into their accounts. So I have absolutely no intention of sleeping with him. Even the thought fills me with revulsion.
A waiter approaches and hands us menus.
She hands the menu back to him. “I’ll have the chicken salad.”
I hold my menu out to him. “Same, please.”
When he walks away I turn back to her. “Tell me what Konstantin Tsarnov likes.”
She leans forward. “He likes variety. He likes change. He likes beautiful women who don’t make demands on him. I suppose he likes dumb blondes.”
Just as I guessed, Konstantin Tsarnov is a male chauvinist pig. “I thought you said I’m perfect because I’m intelligent…”
“It takes intelligence to play dumb when you’re not dumb. I wouldn’t dream of entrusting this job to a truly dumb girl.”
“I see,” I murmur.
“He likes fast cars, good food, and travelling to exotic places, so if you have ever gone to far-flung locations you may talk about that.”
“I’ve never left the States,” I admit.
“Hmm… nevermind. He rides horses and is an excellent polo player. He’s a great swimmer. He enjoys racing and goes to Monaco and Monte Carlo once a year for the Formula One event. He is also a judo black belt holder.” She looks at me hopefully.
