Page 68 of Preferential Treatment

“Yeah. Still on the wagon. I, uh…” She trailed off, sounding a little embarrassed.

“What?” Kate pressed.

“I met someone, working at Cat’s Meow. He’s a recovered addict, and he’s been, sort of… helping me out.”

Kate had never heard Angel sound so bashful. A wicked, sisterly grin stretched her cheeks. “Helping you out, huh?”

“Shut up,” Angel said, no actual rancor in her voice.

“You liiiike him,” Kate crooned.

“Oh my god, shut up, or I’ll call your mafia man and tell him everything he wanted to know.”

“You liiike him and you want to—wait. What did Mikhail want to know? And why do you have his number?”

“He wanted to know what kinds of things you liked. What I thought you wanted most in the world. He left his number, said I should call him if I thought of anything.”

He was still trying to buy her. She was so torn. On the one hand, a part of her was thrilled that he was still trying. But another part of her was furious that he still thought he could throw enough money at her and eventually get his way.

“Tell him I want him to make up the budget shortfall for all the public schools in Chicago.”

“That’s… that’s a really specific one there, twinnie.”

“And I want him to implement a profit-sharing scheme for all employees at his company, with shareholder voting rights.”

“Should I be writing this down?”

“And I want him to start a non-profit dedicated to—”

“Bitch, call him yourself.”

Kate laughed and then sighed. “I can’t. I’ll give in.”

Angel made a sympathetic noise. “Don’t call him, then. But, between you and me, you’re asking for a lot.”

“He’s, like, crazy rich. And he thinks money will make up for not loving me.”

“Oh, fuck, suck him dry, then.”

Kate laughed.

“Hey, so, I gotta get going. But I’ll send you that recipe, okay?”

“Sure, yeah. Thanks. Um, could you send me the tater tot casserole recipe, too?”

“You know you can just find a recipe online.”

“Yeah, but I like yours.”

There was a faint, shy pause. “Alright. Talk to you later, twinnie.”

“Bye.”

Kate set her phone back down, feeling strangely light, even with the pain of Mikhail’s rejection—whether he saw it that way or not—still consuming her.

* * *

If having Kate in his life had been a distraction, not having her was a lobotomy. He wandered through his days in a fog. The mental effort he usually put into his company had been completely diverted to plans for convincing her to come back. He’d tracked down her sister, but it had gotten him nowhere. He’d considered reaching out to her parents, but she’d been clear that her childhood had been terrible. He doubted the people who’d overseen that terrible childhood would have much insight to offer.

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