Page 13 of Preferential Treatment

He’d given her an honorific he’d never used before—never thought to use before—but it fit her so perfectly, it had fallen from his lips without thought. She wasn’t a cold, cruel mistress. Not a remote, untouchable goddess. She was his princess, yego knyazhna. She was feminine and powerful, capricious and playful, sweet and dangerous. He could still taste her on his tongue, and he wanted nothing more than to drag her back here and make her come on his face again and again and again.

He got to his feet, groaning at the heavy, tender ache in his groin. He dressed slowly, hyper-aware of the slide of the clothing over his skin, delicately maneuvering his stiff, sensitized cock back into the confines of his trousers. Walking like he’d just gotten off a horse, he went to the chessboard, intending to replace the piece Kate had moved. He’d been playing a match against himself, and he expected her “check” declaration had been nothing more than a bit of showmanship before she left him.

But when he reached the board, he found himself staring down at her move with a measure of appreciation. She’d made a valid move. And not only that, a reasonably clever one. Getting out of check would be easy, but he would waste a turn doing so. Which would allow her to take his rook with her queen on her next turn, setting up a potential checkmate in two more moves if he didn’t do something about the knight on g6.

A slow grin stretched his face. Forgetting the ache of unrelieved arousal, he pulled out the nearest chair and settled in to contemplate his next few moves.

CHAPTER SIX

Saturday morning, Kate woke to a notification on her phone. Five-thousand dollars had been deposited into her checking account. She laughed in disbelief as she stared at the screen. Mikhail had made her come so hard, he might have literally fucked her brains out, because she had completely forgotten about the money.

Before she did the sensible thing—putting it towards her remaining debts—she needed to be a little self-indulgent. She needed new black pumps before the loose heel came off on her current pair. She also desperately needed a new winter coat, and she wanted a nice one. She’d been scouring luxury second-hand sites, hoping to score a decent coat for a reasonable amount of money, but she hadn’t yet found any that fit her taste and fell within her budget. Now she didn’t have to.

Kate got dressed and made her way over to the Gold Coast. For the first time since moving to the city, she was headed to Oak Street to actually buy something instead of just staring enviously through store windows.

Four hours later, she had spent a little over two thousand dollars on three different pairs of shoes—a beautiful pair of black T-strap heels that made her feel like a 1930s Parisian lounge singer, another beautiful pair of black d’Orsay pumps with golden spikes on the heel that made her feel like the evil bitch character in a bad action movie, and a pair of brown knee-high lace-up riding boots that made her feel like she also needed aviator’s goggles and a pixie cut.

She resisted the temptation to spend another few thousand on new work clothes, instead putting just over four grand on a goose-down coat. The dove gray cashmere shell had a subtle tweed pattern that screamed quality. It was so beautifully constructed, it was hard to believe it was such a well-insulated coat. It looked too pretty to be so functional. She’d never owned something so perfect in all her life. She’d never been the sort of person who had nice things. She’d never felt like the sort of person who deserved nice things.

Arguably, nobody deserved a four thousand dollar coat. But Kate had one now, and as she stroked her hand over the wool, she was overwhelmed by a strange feeling. Her throat and chest tightened. Her hand shook. The feeling reminded her a little bit of what it’d been like when she’d first befriended Anna five years ago—when she’d realized she’d somehow gained the affection of somebody so much better than her. If there was a name for that feeling, Kate didn’t know what it was. Pride and fear and comfort and shame all rolled into one confusing jumble.

She had just gotten back to her apartment, still tangled in that strange melancholy, when her phone rang. She pulled it out and groaned. It was her mom. Just what she needed for her current mood. Her mom had gotten sober a few years ago, and she was generally okay to talk to, but Kate had never figured out how to get past the resentment of her childhood. She was glad her mom was healthier now, but where the fuck had that willpower been when she’d had two little kids depending on her?

Kate let the phone ring a few times, slumped against her front door as she stared at the screen, deliberating. Finally, she sighed and answered it. “Hey, mom.”

“Hey, Trina.”

Kate cringed. She hated that name. It’s what everyone back home called her. It was her trailer park name. Her white trash name. As soon as she’d gotten the fuck out of Whispering Pines Trailer Court, on her first day of classes at the technical college—a new world where nobody knew who she was or where she’d come from—she’d introduced herself as Kate, and she’d never looked back.

“Katrina? Baby?”

Kate had been quiet too long. “Sorry, Mom. I spaced out. How’re you doing?” She cringed again. The northern Wisconsin accent had come out hard on that last bit. Talking to her family always resurrected it.

“Well, I’m alright. But Angel’s in a tough spot.”

Kate’s sister, Angela, was her identical twin, but no two people had ever been less alike. Kate valued self-control beyond anything else, while Angel was impulsive, messy, and loud. Kate had left their shitty hometown at the first opportunity, Angel had stayed. After growing up under the erratic care of two alcoholics, Kate was a teetotaler in every regard. Meanwhile, Angel had multiple drunk-and-disorderlies and several possession charges to her name. Kate had avoided so much as breathing the same air with any man who could drag her down, while Angel was stuck with two different losers who owed her thousands in unpaid child support. Which was less of an issue now that CPS had taken Angel’s kids away and placed them with Auntie Deb, the only halfway decent person in their entire family.

Kate sighed. “Don’t tell me she got kicked out of another club.” Angel worked sporadically as a stripper, but she’d already been banned from clubs in Green Bay, Appleton, and Milwaukee for fighting the other girls and bringing in drugs.

“Well…”

“Mom.”

“Well, it’s not her fault when they gang up on her and she defends herself!” Mom’s voice was too deep and raspy for her age, but that was what thirty-some years of a pack-a-day habit and two handles a week did to the vocal cords.

“Yeah. I’m sure that’s what happened.” It was always everyone else who was the problem, never Angel.

“She’s your sister,” Mom huffed. “You have to stand by your family.”

Kate said nothing.

“Anyway,” Mom went on, “they set her bail at five thousand and we only need seven hundred more to get her out.”

“Wow, that sucks. What’re you going to do?” Kate asked blandly.

“Well, you’ve got a little cash, dontcha? Big city girl.”

“Not a red cent,” she lied. Had Mom called before she’d met Mikhail Volkov, she’d be able to tell the truth without a single qualm. She didn’t feel any qualms now, but she recognized that normal people probably would have.

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