Page 31 of Preferential Treatment

“We’ll take the blue headphones,” Mikhail said unsteadily.

Kate couldn’t help the saturnine smile that took over her face.

Several hours later, in addition to the headphones, Kate had gained an iPad, a gorgeous Valentino handbag, several sets of very expensive lingerie from an appointment-only boutique (which Mikhail was able to secure in seconds with a brief call to his assistant), a Patek Phillipe watch with a rose gold bezel and diamonds surrounding the face, and a beautiful perfume whose price had nearly choked Kate when she saw the receipt. Mikhail paid for it all unflinchingly, ignoring when Kate balked at the expense, and carried all the bags like a hired porter.

When they were alone, out of sight and sound from others, Mikhail provoked her by insisting on different colors or styles or brands from the things she wanted, and she tortured him into compliance with the cockring. It wasn’t something she risked in smaller boutiques, but in Neiman Marcus and Saks, she found herself battling wills with him every time they found themselves in an empty aisle or discreet corner.

“I didn’t realize you were such a brat,” Kate said conversationally, holding down the vibration button. Mikhail leaned against the wall, breathing roughly, eyes screwed shut, hands filled with Kate’s shopping bags. “Here I thought you wanted to please me.”

He gasped as she released the vibration. Hauling in a ragged breath, he let it out on a huff of laughter. “I know I’m pleasing you, knyazhna.”

She smiled impishly, uninterested in pretending otherwise, and looped her arm through his, towing him back to the front of the store. “Well, I do enjoy your agony.”

Mikhail made a gruff sound, deep in his throat—a pleased hum that also somehow sounded like a growl.

As they stepped out onto the sidewalk, Kate ambled aimlessly, interest in shopping waning. They’d been at it for hours, and while she was thrilled to have beautiful things that she would’ve never expected to own, there was an edge of discomfort that came with it too. Kate was ostensibly in charge, Mikhail serving her with his wallet, but the power of that wallet was immense. With every outrageous purchase, Kate became more and more aware of how wildly disparate their lives were. And while she felt no shame taking money from him—he’d hardly notice the loss—she couldn’t help feeling a small ding to her pride that she was only able to get these things because a man had deigned to bestow them upon her.

And even worse—this was just a sexual thing for him, but Kate was getting overwhelmed again by the same soft, glowing feeling that the lunch from Violetta had imparted. It didn’t help that he looked so different today. So ordinary. Like he was actually the type of guy Kate might reasonably expect to date. She preferred the suits, not because she necessarily thought they looked better, but because they imposed a certain remove between the two of them. In a suit, he was the CEO of Domovoy. Wealthy. Mysterious. Unknowable. In jeans and a beat-up old baseball cap, he looked… real. Touchable. Familiar.

“What are you thinking, knyazhna?”

“Hm?” Kate looked up, pulled out of her thoughts. Mikhail was watching her with an unnerving acuity. She wasn’t about to admit to her sentimental confusion. “Oh—uh, nothing.”

He raised his brows skeptically.

“Seriously, nothing.” She looked away from him, focusing her attention on the stores they were passing. The nearest was an upscale cookware store, a display of colorful Le Creuset in the window. “Oh, look,” she said, desperate to change the conversation. “I’ve always wanted one of those Le Creuset pots.”

That was true, actually. Despite the fact that she couldn’t really cook anything more complex than Hamburger Helper, she’d always wanted nice kitchen things—and to know how to use them. People who had Le Creuset pots and fancy stand mixers and good knives were the sort of people who were on speaking terms with their fathers and had bachelor’s degrees and good credit scores and just generally had their shit together. Kate wanted to be one of those people.

Without a word, Mikhail steered Kate into the store.

“Oh—no, wait. I don’t need—” She wasn’t sure why she was objecting now. An enameled cook pot would be the cheapest thing she’d gotten today.

“Hello! How are you?” They were greeted by a young woman wearing a black apron over her button-down shirt and charcoal trousers.

“Good, thank you,” Kate said automatically.

“Is there anything I can help you find?”

“Oh, no, we’re just—”

“She wants the Le Creuset pot,” Mikhail cut in.

The saleswoman nodded in immediate recognition. “The dutch oven?”

“Um…” Why couldn’t she say yes? Why was the pot freaking her out more than the ten-thousand-dollar watch?

“Yes,” Mikhail answered firmly.

“All of our Le Creuset is over here.” She led them to a wall filled with colorful enameled cookware. “This is the dutch oven. These two,” she laid a hand on two different display models, one slightly larger than the other, “are our most popular sellers.”

Kate stared blankly at them.

Mikhail nudged her. “Which one do you want, knya—” he cut himself off, gaze flicking briefly to the saleswoman. “Katya?” he said instead.

Katya. That warm glow that had been simmering in her chest suddenly expanded. It was choking her to keep it contained. She wasn’t sure what would happen if she let it spill over, but she was terrified to find out.

“That one,” she said, pointing blindly at one of the two displays.

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