Page 64 of Preferential Treatment

“Look, I don’t know a lot about computer science. But I do know that the processor that you developed when you founded Domovoy has increased tech accessibility all over the world. Hospitals and schools and homes all have better tech than they could have afforded before your invention. It’s improving lives all over the world.”

“Because it’s cheap to produce from materials that are easy to source,” Mikhail said dismissively. “It’s still comes down to money.”

As she struggled to find a way to convince him that he was so much more than the wealth he’d accumulated, Kate realized she’d gotten way too deeply invested. The urgency she felt, the desperate need to make him see the things she valued in him, it was too much. She couldn’t keep doing this with him and pretending she didn’t feel this way.

“Not everybody cares about money,” she said.

His gaze cut to her, contemplative, a little bitter, even. “Not you. How much money do I have to throw at you to make you take me up?”

Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right? Kate had to believe that Mikhail’s blindness to his own innate worth was the only barrier between what she wanted and what he was offering. He wouldn’t want her this badly, treat her this sweetly, if she was just a paid service. Just a transaction.

“I don’t want money. I want more than that. I want… I want a real relationship.”

Mikhail went utterly still. “What?”

“I don’t want to be your employee. I want to be your… girlfriend? Partner? I want something real.”

He stared at her. “Katya…” He spoke her name with obvious reluctance, looking uneasy.

Well. There was her answer. She pulled away from him immediately, slipping out of bed to find her clothes. Mikhail sat up, watching her, his face a stone mask. “I’ve never wanted a ‘real’ relationship,” he said apologetically. “I’m not built that way.”

“That’s fine,” Kate said as calmly as she could. “That’s your right.”

“I don’t think I’m even capable of it,” he went on. “I never had a family. I’ve moved around so much, never in one place long enough to build those bonds. After a certain amount of time, that part of the brain just doesn’t develop, if it’s not stimulated. Like feral children who never learn to speak.” He began to sound aggravated, a hint of urgency as he tried to explain.

Kate finished zipping her dress. “It’s okay, Mikhail. You don’t owe me feelings.” She was impressed by how collected she sounded. She managed to speak around the lump in her throat as if it weren’t even there.

“I wish I were capable of it, Katya. I know I’d love you, if I could.”

A sneaky tear broke the dam, and now her eyes were leaking. She turned her back on him, blinking hard, wiping discreetly at her cheeks. She couldn’t even think how to respond to what he’d told her. “Can you tell the driver to come get me? Or I can get an Uber, it’s fine. Whatever.” The wobble in her voice gave her away, and suddenly Mikhail was out of bed, big hands clasping her shoulders, spinning her around.

“Ah, no, Katya.” He stared down at her teary face, deeply aggrieved. “Take the job I’m offering. It’s—”

“Nope. No.” She shook her head, pulling out of his hold. “Can’t do that. And I can’t do this—” she gestured between the two of them “—anymore, either. Sorry.” She turned away from him again. “Where are my shoes? Did I—oh. I left them in your office. I’m going to go get them, would you call your driver?”

“Katya—”

“If you don’t, I’ll walk out of here and take the train home.”

He sighed. “I wish you would stay, but I won’t stop you from leaving.”

“Good.”

“But we’re not done talking about this.”

Yes we are. He just didn’t know it yet.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Three days had passed since she’d left his house, and Kate wouldn’t answer Mikhail’s calls or his texts. Knowing it was an asshole move, he did it anyway—on Thursday, he had her called up to his office.

She entered, looking harried and grim. “What is this?” she demanded as soon as the door was closed.

“We need to talk, Katya.”

“We did talk. We realized we want different things, so now we’re going our separate ways. The end.”

Mikhail rose from his desk chair. “Not the end. This isn’t over. Not yet.”

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