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Nothing’s funny,I want to tell him.It’s all just different kinds of pain, and if you don’t laugh, you’ll end up crying.
But opening up to Uri Bugrov is firmly off the table. “I was just thinking… this would be so much like a date if it weren’t for the fact that I can’t just leave once dessert is over.”
“I’m not seeing the humor in that,” he drawls.
“It’s not funny in aha-hakinda way. It’s funny in alook at where my life is atkind of way. I’ll bet all the women who came before me thought the same thing.”
His nostrils flare for a second. His chest rises and falls as he picks up his wine glass and gives it a practiced twirl. “Do you even realize how serious this is?” His voice is tight and thrumming with tension. It’s as though he’s trying his best to stay calm.
A little thrill runs down my spine. It’s nice to know that I have the power to rile him up. “Of course I realize it. I’m the one who’s been trapped here all day.”
The blue of his eyes is really something. It’s a bright aquamarine, the kind of color you see only way out in the ocean on a hot day.
“You are the first woman to stay down here. And, I can say with some confidence, you’ll be the last.”
“If that’s supposed to be reassuring, try again.”
“It’s a statement of fact. You’ll return to your life once I’ve handled this threat and I’ll get my basement back.”
“Your basement, huh?” I ask. “Does that meanyouenjoy video games and Legos?”
I’m fishing and we both know it, but Uri’s expression doesn’t change. “On occasion. It can be very therapeutic.”
I snort derisively. “So… are you going to tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
“Who the finger belonged to?”
His demeanor doesn’t change. He has very few tells that I can see. It’s gonna take me longer to crack his code than I’d hoped for. Although maybe I shouldn’t want to crack his code at all. In fact, that might be the safer option.
“What did I tell you about asking questions?” he rumbles.
That’s the thing about sitting down to dinner with a person: you start talking. And when you start talking, you get a feel of the person you’re eating with. You don’t even have to swap personal stories to get to know them. Sometimes, getting to know a person is as simple as finding out that he likes his fish undersalted and his pasta swimming in butter.
His rippling anger would have freaked me out twenty-four hours ago. In fact, it did.But now? I find myself shrugging it off like a child who refuses to listen.
“I like questions. They get to the point.”
“The point here is your safety,” he tells me firmly. “The finger is my problem and the moment I deal with it, you will be free to go.”
“And until then?”
“Until then, you are safe here. If you need anything, all you have to do is ask.”
I sigh. “Unless of course I ask for my phone.”
“This one, you mean?” From the pocket of his pants, he pulls out none other than my phone.
The bright orange case winks at me like an old friend. Gasping, I reach for it instinctively but Uri pulls it out of my reach. “You get this phone for the next five minutes.”
My mouth drops open. “What can I do in five minutes?”
“You can text work, friends, and family and let them know that you’re going to be taking a last-minute job in Cuba, where the work will be difficult and the cell service will be unreliable.”
Oh.Shoulda known there’d be serious strings attached.
“You’re covering your bases,” I say, scowling at him.
