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Idon’t know how to put a name to the emotion boiling in my veins right now, as I head for the elevator.
If I had to guess, if someone had a gun to my head and demanded I verbalize it, I’d call it jealousy. Which makes not the slightest bit of fucking sense.
Lidiya is my job. A task to complete that, if I fuck it up, will result in so very many things going wrong for me. Vladimir isn’t a man to tolerate failure, not even once.Especiallynot when it comes to a job like this–a job meant to prove that I can follow through on the things that I’ve said I could be trusted to do. That I can be depended on to deliver a man like Grisha.
The man is a fucking liar.I keep hearing the conversation he had with Lidiya over and over in my head, him telling her that he’s never believed himself to be the sort of man to be unfaithful, that it was all her, as if she were some temptress that seduced him out of his cold yet faithful marital bed.
Doesn’t she tempt you, though?
It’s not the same thing.I grit my teeth, stalking out of the elevator and towards the too-familiar hotel bar. The bartender is the same one from last night, and he has a glass of vodka pushed towards me before I’ve barely sat down.
“Thanks,” I mutter as I tip it back, wondering how much vodka it will take to get that fucker’s voice out of my head.I was falling for you too, Lidiya. I missed you.
Fucking liar.
I shouldn’t give a single shit. I never have before when I’ve supervised women sent to do jobs like this. My job puts me in danger just about every day–so why shouldn’t it be the same for others? Everyone is given a choice, even if it’s not a good one. I, at least, don’t hold a gun to any of their heads.
You know good and damn well that what you threatened her with is just as bad. Maybe even fucking worse.
Now I want to drink more to get my own voice out of my head. I toss back the second vodka the bartender brings and start on a third, trying not to think of Lidiya upstairs, trying not to wonder what she’s doing–if she’s okay. If she’s upset. If she’s sleeping or sitting curled up in the bed, fretting over having to see Grisha again.
Maybe you should go up to see her, just to make sure she’s not completely unraveling. She has to be in a good enough state of mind to actually go through with the job.
I’ve just about talked myself into charging my tab to the room and going up to check on Lidiya, regardless of whether I have myself back under control or not, when a musical voice next to my ear keeps me from standing up.
“It’s a little early to be cashing out, isn’t it?”
I take in the woman sitting next to me in an instant, with the long practice of someone who is always aware of those around him. She’s tall and willowy and blonde, with green eyes and poured into a dress to match. She waves a hand at the bartender, who brings her a drink with the same aplomb that he brought mine, as if he knows equally as well what she wants.
“You’re not from here.” I raise an eyebrow at her, pivoting slightly in her seat. Her accent is crisp and British, with that edge of posh sharpness that tells me she’s someone from money, likely with a high-level job and connections or a husband with the same. One flick of a glance towards her hand and I see that there’s no ring, so either there’s no husband, or she came down here with the intention of pretending that there isn’t one.
Either way, I don’t really care. I’m more interested in the potential to blow off some steam, and return to Lidiya with a clearer head.
“What was your first inclination?” She tosses her hair back with a laugh, reaching for the glass of what looks like expensive scotch that the bartender pushes her way. “It’s the accent, isn’t it?”
“Well, I don’t run into many who sound like they’re a few steps removed from the royal family, no,” I tell her with a smirk. “Can I try to guess your name?”
“By all means. If you get it right, I might even give you a prize.” She winks at me, taking a sip of the scotch, her lipstick leaving the faintest red mark on the glass.
“Something posh. Vanessa, Veronica, Diana–”
“Wrong on all counts. But if you buy me my second drink, I’ll be inclined to forgive you.”
I nod to the bartender, who sets about getting another round for us both, and then glance back at her. “Well? Are you going to tell me?”
“My name? Maybe. You go first.” She leans back in the chair, clearly enjoying the banter. I am too–to an extent, though I’d prefer to finish the drinks and continue this upstairs.
“Levin Volkov.” I smile at her. “Here on business, as I assume you are?”
“I am. Government business. I’m Elizabeth.” She holds out a pale, neatly manicured hand, and I take it, feeling the warmth of her skin sink into mine. “Are you here with anyone else?”
A woman who gets to the point. I like that.“Not at all,” I tell her smoothly, forcing thoughts of Lidiya out of my head. I’m not here ‘with’ Lidiya–if anything, she’s here withme. And there’s nothing stopping me from enjoying the company of this woman, who is clearly interested.
“Well–” she lowers her voice, leaning in a little closer with a conspiratorial expression, “I’m not either. So maybe we finish these drinks, and go upstairs?”
“Do you want to have dinner first?” I smirk at her. It’s early evening by now, and I find myself wondering if Lidiya has ordered room service again, if she’s sitting in the middle of that big bed, watching tv, trying to keep her mind off Grisha.
“I was thinking you might have me as an appetizer.” She flicks a lock of blonde hair over her shoulder, green eyes sparkling with devious intent. “And then, if you’re still hungry, we could have dinner—and then go back upstairs for dessert.”
