Page 48 of Preferential Treatment

“Because you have the means! If I had your money, it’d be on me.”

“You want one person to fill the role that governments should be filling. That sounds precarious.”

“I don’t want one person to do it. I want a better system, but for a better system to happen, the people with the most power have to make it happen.”

Mikhail was quiet, looking down at the board as he took that in. Kate’s heart thundered in her chest. After a moment, his gaze lifted to Kate’s, and all the hectic uncertainty seemed to die away. There was only the heavy, dark pin of his gaze.

“You have all the power here, knyazhna.”

She didn’t know what to say. How could he not understand that his money meant he’d always have the power in their relationship? Or was she the one who was misunderstanding?

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

He wasn’t sure why being told he didn’t deserve the wealth he’d built should flood him with arousal and play on endless repeat in his brain, but Kate’s sorcery had done its work, and it was all he could think of. It wasn’t that he was turned on by the idea of losing his wealth. It was more that she’d presented him with a challenge—convince me you deserve your wealth—and that challenge fired his blood and obsessed his mind. He would convince her. It was easy to criticize from the sidelines—but if she actually had skin in the game? She wouldn’t be so dismissive.

It was time to present his proposition.

After he’d brought up creating a position for Kate, his personal assistant had come back to him with a list of potential job titles. Social Coordinator. Domestic Assistant. Travel Attendant. Any of them would work. He’d offer a seven-figure salary and a benefits package that would make her faint, and then he’d claim his victory on his knees, with Kate where she belonged—with him, over him, always.

Always?

He brushed that uncomfortable thought away. It would last as long as it was meant to, though he couldn’t deny he had expectations that exceeded past experiences.

Monday morning, his self-control was shot. He’d intended to have her over after work and make the offer then. He’d only been at the office for an hour when he gave in and asked one of the office assistants to have Kate Pasternak sent up to his office.

A few minutes later, a message pinged to his computer. Kate Pasternak is out sick today. Would you like to speak to one of the logistics managers, or someone else in the department?

Mikhail frowned as he re-read the message. Sick?

No, he replied. It can wait.

He pulled out his phone and immediately called Kate. After several rings, it went to voicemail. Perturbed, he texted her, Are you ill?

He stared at his phone, waiting. When she didn’t immediately reply, he got up, pacing restlessly to the windows. He stared out at the city, looked back down at his phone, then back out the windows again. Several agitated minutes passed before he brought his phone back up to call her again.

Before he got that far, her response came in via text. I’m fine. Just a little run down.

Have you gone to the doctor? he demanded.

I don’t need to go to the doctor. They’ll just tell me it’s a virus and that I should drink lots of fluids and rest.

Do you have lots of fluids?

Well, I’ve been fortunate enough to land an apartment with indoor plumbing, so yes.

Her sarcasm reassured him, but there was still a tight band squeezing around his chest. Do you have somebody who can look after you?

It’s just a cold. I don’t need looking after.

Do you have somebody? he pressed.

Yes, mother. I have a roommate.

That eased his mind somewhat, but not totally. I’m going to have food and medicine delivered to your address.

I have food and medicine. Stop fussing. I’ll be back on my feet by tomorrow.

But she wasn’t back on her feet. The next day, Mikhail checked on her first thing, only to find out she’d called in sick again. He closed his office door and called her. She didn’t answer. He called her again. Still no answer. Punching at his phone screen impatiently, he texted her, Have you gone to the doctor?

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