Page 4 of Preferential Treatment

He gestured at the chairs again. “Won’t you sit? Please?”

She considered it, then shrugged. Setting the plant down on his desk, she carefully unwound the vines from her neck and shoulders, and then settled into the nearest chair, back straight, gaze level.

A soft buzz came from the bag she’d set on the floor. Mikhail smiled. “Check your messages.”

Giving him a dubious look, she reached into her bag and pulled out her phone. She stared at the screen for a long moment. When she finally looked up, her expression had shifted from skeptical to contemplative.

“The funds have been transferred?” Mikhail asked.

“All ten thousand,” she answered, faintly wary.

“Then we are in agreement? The details of this conversation will not leave this office?”

“Alright.” She shifted, crossing her legs, leaning forward, and meeting his gaze. “Ask your ten-thousand-dollar question.”

Her command crept over his skin like trailing fingers. “Yes. Well. To be blunt, I would like to offer you financial compensation in exchange for your physical companionship.”

She blinked, going still as a statue. But she didn’t recoil. Didn’t gasp in outrage or shock. Didn’t leap up and run for the door. A heavy silence descended, seemingly endless. But Mikhail didn’t break it. It was one of the oldest rules of negotiations—whoever spoke first lost. And he never lost.

Finally, Kate yielded. “How much?”

Got her. Mikhail kept his expression remote. “In the past, I have—”

She snorted, her gaze flattening with distaste. “Done this a lot, have you?”

“I’m a busy man. I don’t have time for relationships. This is a simple arrangement, no gray areas, no hurt feelings, where we both get our needs met.” He shrugged.

“Hmm.”

Her skepticism wasn’t promising, but he wasn’t worried. He continued on. “I have found it simplest to ‘gift’ my companion on a weekly basis. How do you feel about twenty-five hundred?”

Kate looked at him like he was insane. Maybe he was. “Twenty-five hundred dollars a week?” she repeated incredulously. “Just to… what? Fuck you?”

“Not enough?” He tilted his head, considering. He could afford to pay more—far more. But he had to take longevity into account—the more he paid her, the sooner she would no longer need the funds, and the more likely she was to end the arrangement before he was ready for it to be over. It was a careful balancing act between offering enough to be lucrative, but not so much that he shot himself in the foot. The severance pay when he was done with her would more than make up for it. “Five thousand, then?”

Unexpectedly, her skepticism only deepened. It was unusual for anyone to doubt him where money was concerned.

“Five thousand. For sex. With me.”

“Yes.”

She sighed. “You’re into really weird stuff, aren’t you?”

Mikhail shrugged. “Some people would consider it strange.” Especially for a man of his position.

She rubbed at her forehead, agitated. “I can’t believe I’m entertaining this idea.”

Mikhail could believe it. She needed money. He had more money than anyone could ever need. It was a win-win situation. She would say yes. He knew she would.

“What happens to me if I say no?”

“Nothing. If you say no, then the ten thousand dollars is still yours, this conversation never happened, and we continue with our lives as if we’d never met.”

She was quiet, looking past him, as she contemplated. After a tense silence, she straightened, meeting his gaze again. Hers was unnervingly direct. “Alright, let’s rip the bandaid off. Tell me what you’re into. Hurting me?”

“No. Not hurting you.”

The meaningful emphasis gave her pause. After a second, her eyes widened. “Ah. That’s… not what I expected.” She settled into the chair more comfortably. Her sudden ease filled him with victorious elation. “So, you’re a masochist?” she asked.

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