Page 17 of Maxim

Nothing that would stand up in court at least.

Micky did some further digging into Uriov, despite me asking him not to. He says I worry too much and nobody is better than him. I’m not sure I believe him but the information he’s passed on so far paints a grim picture.

It seems the charitable foundation the mayor has been much lauded for is nothing but a front for trafficking women and children. While some of the vulnerable people who reach out for help do receive assistance, many end up in far worse straits.

From what Micky has found out, the younger women are screened out and once processed are moved to a holding center in a different city. From there, it gets murky. He tells me the website Uriov has built on the Dark Web has been experiencing significant issues since it went live.

Someone hacked it, apparently. Not him, he assured me.

I can’t decide whether to be grateful for Micky’s help or terrified that somehow this will all come crashing down on our heads. Micky seems to think he’s invincible, but I’m not so sure.

At the end of the day, he’s just a 20-something man-child who lives in his mom’s basement, even if he does have a genius-level IQ.

Tonight the mayor is hosting a fund-raising gala for his charitable foundation. The rich and powerful will all be in attendance, and I will be there watching them.

Since the mayor is a publicity whore, he’s been very magnanimous about handing out press passes. My editor secured passes for me and a cameraman.

On the face of it, I’ll be writing a puff piece on the mayor and his philanthropic activities. He’s even agreed to do a short interview after the main event, where he answers some questions I submitted earlier this week.

I’m hoping attending the gala gives me a chance to see the mayor in action and find out who he rubs shoulders with. While someone like Uriov is unlikely to be there, I figure there will be other people he associates with.

***

The roads around the Civic Center are grid-locked. Expensive cars are double-parked everywhere, with photographers camped outside the main entrance, eagerly awaiting a sighting of a famous actress rumored to be attending this evening’s revelry.

My Uber drops me off a block away. Already I’m wishing I’d worn flats not heels. I don’t mind walking across a bar in heels, but while the shoes I chose to match my midnight blue dress sparkle prettily, they aren’t exactly comfortable.

James, the photographer, is meeting me there. I suppose I should be grateful all I have in my purse is my phone and a small notebook. He has to lug his camera around.

I make my way to the main entrance, murmuring a few ‘hellos’ to people I know. There are several large, hulking security guards with earpieces around the perimeter of the building. For a charity gala, the mayor seems overly concerned about people crashing the event.

The man-mountain in charge of checking peoples’ IDs spends several long moments deciding whether to let me in.

“I’m interviewing the mayor later,” I tell him impatiently. “He’ll be pissed if you don’t let me in.”

The guy’s face is expressionless. He stares at my pass one more time and then grunts. I take that as an invitation to walk past him and this time he doesn’t stop me.

Once inside, I follow the well-dressed men and women dressed in tuxes and evening dresses as they head for the main hall. I feel a bit out of place, even though my dress is gorgeous.

Jane offered to be my plus-one, as she adores this kind of thing, but I told her James was my plus-one. And besides, she’s got a date with some dude she met in a cafe. This is their third date, so I’m crossing my fingers for her. The girl deserves to meet a nice guy after her last serious relationship ended when he cheated on her.

A string quartet plays as I walk into the hall. A guy in a uniform hands me a glass of champagne and I take a beat to look around and get my bearings.

On the far side, there is a raised dais. To the left, there are tables full of items donated for the silent auction. Things like luxury vacations, artwork, a dinner date with a famous celebrity, and many more things people are happy to bid obscene amounts of money on.

I can already tell that some bidders are going to be relieved of significant sums of money before the evening ends.

“Does a vacation in Bermuda sound appealing?” a deep voice asks over my shoulder, causing me to jump and spill some of my champagne. “Because I’m happy to bid on it for you if so.”

I gasp when he grabs my wrist, takes my glass, and licks a few stray drops of champagne from my trembling fingers.

“Delicious,” he murmurs. The way he says the words is so fucking dirty. My body reacts immediately and I can barely breathe. Heat licks over my skin, causing my cheeks to glow, even though the room is air-conditioned.

“I’d get bored on a beach vacation,” I manage to cough out once my heart stops trying to punch its way out of my chest.

“I promise you won’t be bored with me.” I have a feeling he’s right.

“You have a high opinion of yourself Mr…?” It occurs to me I don’t know his name. We’ve spoken twice, well almost twice - the first time, in the bar, just after Rick… doesn’t really count - yet I know nothing about him.

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