Page 81 of Ascendent
Hell, he’d rather put his feet up and watch the sun rise and set, count the hours until Sasha came back home. There was a word for that, wasn’t there? He would make a great kept man. A house boyfriend.
He smiled. Dreams tumbled forward, him in a sun-drenched Texas kitchen, making coffee for Sasha, looking like sin in his flight suit, his mirrored sunglasses. Jack was in Texas, too, wasn’t he? Or at least he had a home there. Maybe they could be neighbors.
Reality crumbled the edges of his dream. How many cups of coffee, how many mornings kissing Sasha goodbye, until he was bored out of his mind?
And, he didn’t want to leave. Not like this. Not with Russia on the verge of ruin.
No, he needed to fix this. Somehow. Someway. He needed to take care of his people.
He slid a sheet of official Russian Federation stationary across his desk.President Sergey Puchkovstretched across the top, embossed into the heavy linen.Russian Federation.
This would be official, his letter, attached to the financial reports he’d asked to be brought to his office. A courier was waiting outside, ready to fly his package to IMF headquarters in Washington D.C.
Dear Madame Louise Babin, Managing Director
I regret to inform you that the Russian Federation is no longer able to honor our debts. We would like to—
His pen lifted. He sighed. Hung his head.
Buzzing from his jacket made him curse. Sasha was supposed to be doing a run through of NASA’s laughable physical fitness test with Yuri and Mikhail. He was the only one who would contact him on his cell this afternoon. What was wrong?
He fished his phone out of his pocket. A number he didn’t recognize from Irkutsk stared up at him.
Just before it rolled to voicemail, he swiped to answer. “Hello?”
“President Puchkov. I apologize for the delay in my response.”
Sergey blinked. “Oleg Ostrovsky?” He didn’t apologize away Oleg’s delay, or let him off the hook. This was the phone call he’d been desperate for, almost as much as Sasha’s.
“Have you already forgotten me?”
“I thought you were going to call me back sooner.”
Oleg hummed. “Well, Mr. President, you have to understand. You’re not theonlyone who is courting my interests in Russia’s future.”
Weapons moving across Russia, through Siberia. From Norilsk to Krasnoyarsk toIrkutsk, where Oleg had his base of operation, his diamond mines and his metals conglomeration. Moroshkin, his influence like a virus that couldn’t be stopped, an infection that was murdering the heart and soul of Russia.
“I doubt anyone else trying to court you is interested at all in protecting Russia’s future.”
“I’m a businessman, Mr. President. I had to do my due diligence.”
Sergey closed his eyes. His lips thinned.
“However,” Oleg said carefully. “I am in agreement with you. There are many Russian futures, but only a handful are worthwhile. What you offer, Sergey, is one of those. So, I would like to take you up on your offer. I will loan you your billions, and I will take ownership of the shares of RusCom and Russian One.”
For a hot half second, Sergey wanted to snap that the deal was off the table, that it was too late, that he’d found a different oligarch to deal with.
But he hadn’t. Most were in jail, their assets locked up in overseas accounts, the money they’d stolen from Russia forever gone. The rest looked down on him like something they scraped off the bottom of their Berluti shoes.
Oleg, young, bright, wheeling and dealing Oleg. Smart enough to play the game but not get caught in the crossfire, in the corruption purge. He was the only ally Sergey had left.
“I’m about to board a flight to Moscow. Shall we finalize everything this afternoon? I’ll take a car straight to the Kremlin when I land. I have the funds ready to transfer today.”
“I… will see you when you arrive, Oleg.”
“Oh, and, Mr. President?”
He hummed, capping his pen.
