Page 19 of Royal Bargain
I tap lightly on the club’s front door. It’s technically closed—daylight hours don’t exactly draw in the crowds—but a few moments later, the lock clicks and the heavy door creaks open.
Aleksey Mikhailov stands there in a fitted slate-gray button-down, sleeves rolled up, looking like he just stepped off the cover of GQ. His sharp features soften into something warmer when he sees me.
“There’s my girl,” he says with a smile, stepping forward to pull me into a hug. He kisses both cheeks—gentle, familiar, and oddly comforting. “Look at you. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re trying to avoid paparazzi.”
I snort softly. “Liam’s orders. He practically had a meltdown over the idea of my going out in broad daylight.”
Aleksey raises an eyebrow at Shane. “You must be the watchdog.”
Shane stiffens slightly. “Just here to make sure she gets in and out safely.”
“Good.” Aleksey nods. “Then you can wait by the bar while Annika and I handle business.”
He doesn’t wait for a reply, just gestures me inside and leads me past the empty stage and silent dance floor, toward a private lounge area tucked behind thick velvet curtains. The club smellsfaintly of citrus cleaner and the ghost of last night’s perfume—glamour on pause, waiting for the music to start again.
I sink into the plush booth seat and finally shrug out of the ridiculous trench coat, tossing the wig and sunglasses beside me.
“You look like you’re about to rob a thrift store,” Aleksey quips, settling across from me.
“Don’t start,” I warn him. But I’m smiling, just a little.
The silence that follows is surprisingly comfortable. The kind you only get with someone who’s known you long enough to understand when not to fill it. Aleksey leans back in the booth, watching me with that unreadable expression of his—the one that says he’s about to ask something personal, whether I like it or not.
“You sure you’re ready for this?” he asks.
I blink. “The meeting?”
He gives a slight nod. “The meeting. The career. The spotlight. All of it. You’ve been living in Liam’s shadow the past few weeks, whether you want to admit it or not. Just making sure you’re stepping into this for the right reasons.”
My mouth feels dry. “That’s exactly why I’m here, “I snap. “This meeting is the first thing I’ve done formyselfin a long time.”
Aleksey’s eyes soften and he reaches out to place a hand on my arm. “I get it. I’m not trying to bash this, just want to make sure you know what you’re doing.”
I nod and he brushes a strand of hair from my face. “You’ve been through it lately, Annushka. I want to make sure you’re not throwing yourself at the first open door just because you’re desperate to run.”
When he calls me by that nickname, it cracks something in me. He’s the only person who still uses it. I feel a sudden surge of gratitude. Aleksey has always been there for me, even whenI was an awkward teenager with a notebook full of half-finished lyrics and dreams that were way too big for our father’s empire.
“I’m not running,” I promise him. “I’m trying to make something of myself. And I want to do it on my own. Even if I fail, I fail on my own terms.
Aleksey smiles slowly. “Then I’ll stand behind you. You know that, yeah?”
My chest tightens. “Yeah. I know.”
Just then, the curtain rustles and a crisp voice cuts through the moment.
“Annika Volkov?”
I look up, jaw dropping. There she is. In the flesh.
Ingrid Gunnerson.
Poised, powerful, and dressed like she walked straight off the set of someMad Mentype show in her tailored pantsuit. Her platinum blonde hair is slicked back into a low chignon, and her pale blue eyes sweep over me with calculating interest.
“Let’s see what you’ve got.”
This woman, I decide within five seconds, is not the type of woman you waste time lying to.
She moves like she owns the room. Her confidence isn’t loud or flashy, just there, stitched into the seams of her fitted cream blazer and the sharp click of her heels against the floor. Why throw around theatrics when every glance, every word, is clearly measured, and intentional.
