Page 44 of Preferential Treatment

Mikhail frowned. “Am I not speaking English?”

“No, you are. I just— I can’t even— You’ll take me to Shanghai?”

“Would you rather go somewhere else?”

She stared blankly at him.

“Where would you go?” he pressed. “If you could go anywhere?”

Kate shook her head, absently sliding the pawn forward. “I don’t know. I’ve never left the country. I don’t even have a passport.” She couldn’t afford it.

“Get a passport.” He slid his bishop over to capture her rook. “Apply for expedited processing.”

“I’ve already planned all my vacation days this year. I don’t have any PTO left.”

Mikhail shrugged. “I’ll arrange it.”

“If you intervene to get me more time off, HR is going to know that something’s going on between us.”

Mikhail looked up at her with a wolfish twinkle in his eye. “Katya, I own the fucking company. What is HR going to do to me?”

Kate was simultaneously charmed by his irreverence, and annoyed by his obtuseness. “I don’t care what they do about you—I care about me. How am I supposed to keep working with all these people when they’re whispering behind my back about how I’m fucking the boss?”

He shrugged again, unconcerned. “Then don’t work with them. I could take care of you.”

That was the second time he’d brought up the idea of her leaving her job and becoming his… what, exactly? She was afraid of the answer. So she changed the subject.

“When I was a little kid I was obsessed with Machu Picchu.”

One Saturday morning, she and Angel had been quietly watching PBS kids’ shows while their dad slept off his hangover. One of those short, educational bits in between commercials had been all about Machu Picchu, and both she and Angel had been fascinated.

They’d invented a game where the couch, recliner, and coffee table were the Inca Trail—and then been reamed out by their dad when he caught them climbing on the furniture. At school, the librarian had helped them find all the books the school library had about Machu Picchu, and llamas, and Peru, and the Inca. She and Angel had taken turns checking them out over and over again, poring over them, playing pretend games where they lived in the ancient citadel as powerful priestesses.

In the years since then, Kate had almost entirely forgotten about it. She wondered if Angel remembered.

“I’ve never been there,” Mikhail said. “Would you like to go?”

Kate avoided answering, pretending to debate her next move, even though she knew exactly what she wanted to do. Finally, she moved her knight. “With your wealth, I would’ve expected you’ve seen the whole world.”

He rested his chin in his hand as he considered the board. “No. Until I emigrated to the U.S., I’d never left Russia. Until I started Domovoy, I never left the U.S. Now I travel all the time, but mostly to industrial cities and technology centers. Silicon Valley. Geneva. Hsinchu. Dubai.”

“Don’t you take vacations?”

He castled his king. “Yes. To the usual places.”

“I think your ‘usual’ places are probably different from mine.”

“Where do you vacation, then?”

Kate moved her queen out to take one of his knights. “I don’t know… the exotic shores of Lake Michigan? A few years ago I was feeling really adventurous, and I went on a road trip to Yellowstone.” It was the furthest she’d ever been from home. “You probably go to, like, Fiji. And Tahoe. And Paris.”

Mikhail smiled ruefully. “I have been to all of those places.” He paused for a moment, seeming to consider the board. “Get your passport, knyazhna,” he said quietly.

Soft warmth moved through her veins like syrup. She loved the honorific he’d bestowed upon her. She wished she had something equivalent for him. “Slave” felt too harsh. “Pet” was close, but not quite right. He was a big, powerful, dangerous man, who submitted only to her. He was like a snarling wolf that had allowed itself to be tamed by one person—her. If she’d had a real wolf, she wouldn’t call him “pet.” She’d call him by his name. But Mikhail was a CEO’s name, not a pet wolf’s. Something more intimate would suit, but all she could think of was “Mike,” which sounded ridiculous. She fought a smile as she considered calling him that, just to see his reaction.

“Do you always go by Mikhail?” she asked.

“People often call me ‘Mr. Volkov’.”

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