Page 53 of Preferential Treatment

“Ah.” He still wanted to check on her. “Would she recognize me?”

“When she hears your accent, she might put two and two together.”

In his best attempt at the classic Chicago cadence, he said, “I don’t have an accent.”

“You sound like a really bad KGB agent.”

Mikhail barked out a surprised laugh.

“How do you do, fellow American?” she went on, imitating him. “I enjoy the watching of the baseball and the eating of the hamburgers. Tell me, what government secrets do you know?”

“You sound like the Count from Sesame Street.”

It was Kate’s turn to laugh. The light, bubbling sound slipped inside Mikhail’s chest and lodged there.

“Let me come over, knyazhna. If your roommate knows who I am, you can tell her I am just very devoted to my employees’ wellbeing.”

“Devoted, huh?” she asked, amused.

“Yes,” he said sincerely. “Completely.”

There was a pause on her end. After a moment, she said, “Alright. Naomi’s out running errands. You can come over for an hour.”

Kate rushed frantically through getting herself cleaned up. She changed into clean leggings and a comfy, oversized sweater. She brushed her neglected hair and quickly french-braided it back from her face. She went through her morning skin-care routine, but before she could put on even a speck of make-up, the intercom buzzed. Swearing, Kate abandoned her efforts and went to let Mikhail in.

He had clearly come straight from work. He showed up less than twenty minutes after their call ended, dressed in his usual impeccable suit. As soon as Kate opened the door for him, he laid the back of his hand against her forehead, her cheek, the side of her neck. She shivered at the gentle touch, pulling back before she did something embarrassing, like try to kiss him again.

“You look much better today,” Mikhail said, open relief in his voice. “But you should have more tea.” He bypassed her, going to her kitchen and digging around in the cabinets like he had been there a million times.

Bemused, Kate wandered in after him, leaning against the doorway as she watched him assemble ingredients and put the pan on to boil. He glanced over his shoulder at her.

“Katya,” he said disapprovingly. “You should sit.”

She pulled out a stool from beneath the small island and slid onto it. “Happy?”

“I will be when you are fully healthy again.”

“Because then I can fuck you?” She asked in a teasing tone, but the question was real enough. The feelings were out of her control now, and she could almost believe that the same thing was happening to Mikhail.

He glanced at her again, heat in his eyes. “Not just that, and you know it.”

“Do I?” She hadn’t meant to voice that one—it was too vulnerable.

Mikhail paused, setting down the jar of cloves he’d been twisting open. He turned to face her. “You should. I’ve been—” He cut himself off abruptly, lips still parted on unspoken words as his gaze tracked over Kate’s face. His expression was unreadable, but something dark and potent burned in his eyes. He turned away from her, focusing on the spices he’d been measuring out. “Tea first. Then we will speak.”

Kate’s heart skipped. Her hands shook, and she buried them in her lap to hide it. The kitchen was quiet except for the sounds of Mikhail making tea, and Kate’s heartbeat pounding in her ears. When he finally placed a steaming mug in front of her, she immediately locked her hands around it, gripping it hard despite the painful heat.

“So, Katya.”

She stared at him, speechless, nearly ready to scream from nerves.

“I have been thinking.”

She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry.

“I would like to—” He frowned, gaze dropping to her white-knuckled hands clenched around the mug. “You’re not drinking your tea.”

She swallowed again, wetting her lips with her tongue. “I will. Keep talking.”

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