Page 1 of Preferential Treatment

CHAPTER ONE

Kate stared at her computer screen, vaguely aware that an excited murmur had arisen on the far side of the office. She didn’t bother standing up to peer over cubicles at the commotion. It was almost certainly because of a food delivery. The only reason anybody ever got excited about anything around here was because there was free food in the break room.

She’d go find out what it was in a second. First, she had a freight issue to deal with. She picked up the phone and punched in the number for her favorite Port Authority contact. He was incredibly susceptible to a bit of flirting, which often allowed Kate to finagle favors that maybe weren’t entirely above board, but they made her job a hell of a lot easier.

As she listened to the phone ring, the murmuring commotion drifted closer to her cubicle. She heard the sound of male voices conversing excitedly, their words indistinct. Must be something really good in the break room.

Her regular contact went to voicemail. Uttering a quiet “shit,” she dialed the backup contact—a no-nonsense woman who would inevitably tell Kate to go fuck herself in logistics jargon.

“This is Tammy,” she answered abruptly, as she always did.

“Hey Tammy, it’s Kate Pasternak with Domovoy Technologies.”

“Kate, hm? Jeff’ll be sorry he missed your call.” The snideness was not totally unwarranted. Tammy knew Kate played Jeff like a fiddle, and Kate was evolved enough to recognize that her manipulations probably made Tammy’s work more difficult.

It didn’t stop her from doing it, though.

“Oh, yeah? Well, tell him hi from me, would you?” Kate replied, ramping up her Wisconsin accent. It had a weird effect on people. The accent itself wasn’t particularly attractive, but it led a lot of people to assume she was wholesome and sweet and maybe a little bit dim. It helped smooth the way with more cantankerous types. “Listen, I just got a call from my carrier that you guys are turning freight away? There’s got to be something we can do.”

“Nope. Try Philly.”

Kate looked down at her map. A slight shadow fell across her desk—somebody standing at the opening to her cubicle. She ignored whoever it was. They’d just have to wait. She was busy. “I already contacted Philadelphia and Boston and it’s the same story. None of the smaller ports can take a ship this size, and you guys have the most capacity, so if—”

A male hand suddenly appeared in Kate’s peripheral vision, reaching for one of the printouts on her desk. Irritated, she caught the intruder by the wrist and flung his hand away.

“Didn’t your mother teach you to ask first?” she snapped without looking at the offender.

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry, Tammy, not you. I’ve got somebody grabbing stuff off my desk. Listen, I think if we just…” Kate trailed off as she realized a deathly hush had fallen over the office. Heads popped over cubicle walls like wide-eyed prairie dogs. She swiveled back to look at who she’d just manhandled.

He was unnervingly tall, dressed in an expensive-looking, immaculately-tailored suit. He looked like he was carved from granite—pale skin, tightly cropped dark brown hair, thick black brows over hooded eyes so dark she couldn’t tell the iris from the pupil. His features were starkly cast, with a bold, Roman nose, prominent cheekbones, and a sharply carved jawline. He wasn’t handsome exactly, but he was definitely striking. That harsh face was set in a cold, unreadable mask as he looked Kate over. One hand gripped his other wrist—the wrist Kate had caught and flung away—rubbing it as if he’d been burned.

Fuck.

It was Mikhail Volkov. The CEO, majority shareholder, and founder of Domovoy Technologies. Kate had never met him before, but she’d seen his picture often enough to recognize him immediately. He was one of the richest, most powerful men in the world. And she’d just grabbed him and scolded him like a bratty child.

Welp. So much for this job.

She closed her eyes briefly as she let out a resigned sigh. When she opened them again, she straightened her spine and lifted her chin. “Tammy? Sorry, I’m going to have to call you back.” She hung up and when she stood up to face him, Mikhail Volkov was leaning against her cubical divider, surveying her critically, his wintery Russian unreadability still in full force.

“Kate!” Her ridiculously young department head stood nervously behind the CEO, looking like he wanted to faint dead away. “Have you met Mikhail Volkov? Um, Mikhail—” he said the man’s name uncertainly, as if he weren’t sure he had the right “—this is Kate Pasternak. She’s one of our logistics coordinators for overseas freight.”

“Pasternak?” Mikhail echoed, pronouncing it with proper Slavic inflection, rather than the Anglicized way Kate pronounced her own surname. “Russian?”

Kate hesitated for a second, not sure why they were going through the ruse of small-talk when she was obviously about to get reamed out. “Polish,” she answered stiffly. “On my dad’s side.”

Mikhail stared at her for a moment longer, stone-faced, saying nothing.

Kate raised her eyebrows. She hated these stupid intimidation games. “Can I help you with anything else?” She let an edge of impatience bleed into the frosty professionalism of her tone. After manhandling and snapping at the CEO, she was definitely going to be fired. No sense in licking his boots on her way out.

Mikhail pushed away from the divider, straightening to his full height, expression unchanging. “I would like to see you in my office in one hour, Ms. Pasternak.” His deep-voiced accent lent an intimidating touch to the softly-spoken words.

The urge to quit on the spot—to refuse to let her fate rest in the hands of some dispassionate, entitled, billionaire asshole—almost won out. But common sense managed to take over, and she remained just as stone-faced as the man staring back at her.

“Alright,” she answered coolly. “I’ll see you in an hour.”

Without another word, Mikhail Volkov turned and left. The department head cast a crazed look over his shoulder at Kate before hurrying to catch up to the CEO.

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