Page 55 of Preferential Treatment

“I don’t want it.”

“I can give more. Tell me what you want. A house? Several houses?”

“No.” Kate swallowed against the knot rising in her throat.

“Katya, please!” he burst out, his deep voice raw with frustration. “Tell me what you want!”

“I don’t want to commit to something that you’re already planning an ending for!” she snapped, goaded into it by his own failing control.

He went still, imploring expression fading into remote inscrutability again. “You are concerned about what comes after this?”

No, you oblivious dick, she wanted to scream at him. I’m concerned that you make my stomach flutter and my heart skip, meanwhile all I am to you is a temporary toy.

“I can make it so that you never have to worry about money again, even after our arrangement runs its course. Your benefits package includes Domovoy stock—the dividends would be enough to live very comfortably off of. The severance package would be equally generous.”

For the space of a few seconds, the appeal of guaranteed financial security overwhelmed her. But when she tried to imagine spending the rest of her life trapped in unrequited love with the man who’d paid all her bills but didn’t give a shit about her, it crushed any practical considerations. “That’s not what I want.”

“Nothing,” he snapped. “You want nothing.”

“I want what we’ve currently got. That’s not nothing.” At least this way the lines were clear. She still had her own life. And when he walked away from her, as he’d made clear he would eventually do, Kate wouldn’t be left in the position where everything she had was dependent on him.

Mikhail stared at her, speechless, cold. The silence stretched on, tense and brittle. Finally, he pushed away from the counter. “I should get back to the office.”

Kate nodded, a foreboding feeling running down her spine. “Are you done with me, then?” she asked quietly.

He turned his head sharply, looking at her as if she were insane. “Do you think I made it to where I am because I give up easily, knyazhna?”

The pet name—she’d long-since stopped thinking of it as an honorific—eased the worst of her worry. He wasn’t happy, but he wasn’t ending things.

At least not yet.

“Then where do we stand?”

“Apparently in the same place as we did yesterday.” He adjusted the knot of his tie, ran a hand down the rest, smoothing it. The gesture had the air of a boxer taping his hands. “If you feel well enough tomorrow, will you come to me?”

She nodded. “Okay.”

He held her gaze for a moment longer, before finally turning away and heading for the door. At the threshold, he paused. He reached out, almost nervously, and gently touched her cheek. Kate stared up at him, so hungry to lean into his touch, but afraid to.

“I’ll convince you,” he assured her.

She couldn’t help but smile at his arrogance. “You can try.”

Rueful, he stepped back, breaking off the gentle touch. “Goodbye, Katya.”

“Goodbye, Mishka.”

He froze for a second, dark eyes meeting hers. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then quickly thought better of it. With one last look, he departed.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Later that afternoon, Naomi returned to the apartment, loaded down with shopping bags.

“Hey,” she said, huffing as she hauled her bags to the kitchen island. “Got something for you.”

“For me?” Kate followed her curiously.

Arms freed, Naomi reached into one of the bags and pulled out a rumpled white envelope. “Okay, don’t shoot the messenger—this is from your sister.”

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