Page 142 of Ruby Mercy

The venue for Leonid’s party is a high-class boutique hotel downtown. Leonid rented out the entire building, so all of the rooms upstairs are up for grabs and only party guests and waitstaff are allowed on the property.

Seeing the stream of guests, the cocktail dresses make sense. Leonid clearly has an atmosphere he’d like to maintain. So much so that he even wants the waitresses to blend in, apparently.

The men are decked out in tuxedos and shoes shiny enough to be blinding. The women on their arms are wearing ballgowns and furs and jewels. I feel like I’m rubbing elbows with royalty. My burgundy dress, even though it comes off the rack, feels like camouflage.

The skirt of the dress is so tight now that the thigh-high slit is stretched to its absolute max around my leg. But still, it’s better than showing up in my penguin clothes.

The text I received with venue details came from an unknown number and didn’t list a separate entrance for staff. After circling the building once and finding every side entrance locked, I finally join the stream of guests and walk through the front doors before I’m late.

“Name, ma’am?” A hotel staff member asks with a wide smile. He does his best to be professional and stare at my face, but I can practically see his eyes fighting to drop down to my cleavage.

God, why did I let a five-year-old convince me to wear this?

“Rayne Garner,” I say so quietly he has to lean in closer to hear. “I’m a waitress.”

The man’s smile withers and he angles himself so no one else in line will be able to read his lips. “Take a right and a left and you’ll find the kitchen. Do not come to the front again unless specifically ordered to do so by Mr. Kozlov.”

Before I sulk away, he finally lets his eyes stray south, an eyebrow cocking up in appreciation. Now that he knows I’m not a rich party guest, my cleavage is fair game, it seems. Maybe Kirill had a point about wearing a uniform at least one size too large.

I follow the man’s directions and end up in the kitchen. Immediately, I’m struck by how odd it is to see women in fancy dresses rushing around a kitchen. You can take the waitress out of the uniform, but you can’t take the hustle out of the waitress.

Natalia waves to me as she carries a tray of hors d'oeuvres into the dining room. She’s in a mid-length sapphire blue dress that matches the blue highlights in her dark hair. Her neckline is more modest, wrapping around her neck but leaving her shoulders exposed. Just like she promised, there's a decent peek of her toned legs. She looks incredible.

There isn’t time to tell her that, though. Before I can even get my bearings in the kitchen, a woman in slacks shoves a tray into my hands and hurries me towards the door.

“Smile, walk around, and push the crab cakes. We have a lot of crab,” she barks.

I barely manage to hold onto the tray and nod. “Okay.”

Then she pushes me out into the dining room.

It’s like I’m Alice dropping through a hole into Wonderland. The overhead chandeliers are dimmed. String lights hanging from the ceiling and the walls illuminate everything, as well as countless candles across the circular tables situated around the room. The tablecloths are white and edged with gold. Tiny gold frames with each guest's name sit in front of wooden chairs.

Leonid wasn’t kidding earlier. He really wants everyone to mingle and reconcile at this party. Almost every guest is standing, circulating from table to table, chatting and laughing.

I pass by one man and woman leaning close together against the wall next to the kitchen. The party has just started and they’ve already paired off? I’d put money on them claiming one of the empty rooms upstairs before the first course is served.

I blow out a nervous breath and hold my chin high.Smile. Walk around. Push the crab cakes.It’s actually nice to have something so simple and straightforward to do.

A group of men in tuxes are laughing five feet to my right. I swing over their direction with a smile. “Would you gentlemen like a crab cake?”

"Does it come with a side of you?" a male voice asks.

It takes me a second to track that the voice isn't actually coming from the men in front of me. It's coming from off to my left.

I turn and then become immobile…

As Sasha Lenin moves towards me.

The last five years have done nothing for his patchy facial hair, though he's filled out through the shoulders. His dark eyes, cold as a snake's, are the exact same, too. He walks towards me with an easy smile on his face and nods in greeting to the men behind me. When he grabs for a crab cake off the tray, he is too busy staring at my chest to look in my eyes.

Does he recognize me? I honestly can't tell. I’m not sure whether that’s better or worse.

The voices around me are a loud buzzing in my ears as panic makes it impossible to process anything beyond the realization that I need to get out of here. Now.

Annoyingly, I find myself obeying one of Kirill's rules: I keep my head down and look at the food still on my tray as I navigate around him.

"Maybe we'll reconnect later," Sasha calls to my back. A chorus of male laughter joins his voice, drowning it out.

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