Page 17 of The Dancer and the Grumpy Billionaire

The black SUV is easy to find, looming in a parking space across the street. The two men are both in it, both staring at something in the rearview mirror. I look down the street and there it is. Another car with two men in it. One is looking at this phone, but one has binoculars.

Pointed right at this very window.

I jump back from the window, running for my phone and texting Roman.

Gigi:There are men watching the apartment

Roman:Aware

Roman:Stay put and stay back.

Of course, I have never been a very good listener. Never good at taking orders outside of the ballet studio, so I go right back to the window, watching as things unfold.

Alexei slowly pulls out of the space, casually making his way down the road with both of my protectors inside. The men in thesedan take the bait, waiting only a few seconds before pulling out to follow. I wait and wait for what seems like half an hour, almost giving up until I see the SUV return, parking in another open space on the street. Both men get out, carrying fast food bags and drinks. They act like they haven’t a care in the world, laughing and talking as they walk across the street and into the building.

A moment later, the sedan returns, the two men focused on the front door. Alexei must have walked around the building, because he approaches from the rear of the car, making both men jump when he raps on the window. The driver rolls the window down and they talk, Alexei looking huge and menacing even from my vantage point four stories above. The exchange of words lasts only a couple of minutes, and then the driver holds up a card of some sort. Alexei snatches it from his hands and shoves it in his pocket. He bangs his large hand on top of the car and steps out of the way. The car pulls out and makes its way down the street.

He watches them go before pulling out his phone to make a call. Roman reemerges and they slide into the SUV to eat their lunch.

Me? My heart is racing too fast, my stomach in a knot. I text Roman to ask who those men were. He tells me not to worry about it.

I pace the apartment, trying to puzzle things out. Who were the men in that car? Police? If so, it was very bold of Alexei to approach them directly. Was that a business card Alexei took from the driver? Was it a badge?

I am not naïve. I have been told my whole life that my father is a military leader in Russia, but military leaders don’t see their wives graphically and gruesomely murdered in their own beds. Military leaders don’t assure nearly 24-7 surveillance on their adult daughters when they live halfway around the world. I havelearned not to ask too many questions. I do not want to know the truth of what my father is, and ignorance seems safer anyway. I assume that my father is closer to a mob boss, the leader of some kind of organized crime ring. It has nothing to do with me, though, and as I pace, I rage. I rage because I just want to live my life outside of my father’s control.

I want so much more than this life, where I feel like a circus animal in a cage.

CHAPTER 8

Vasily

It is after seven when we finally finish for the day. Enzo stays back to review everything we just discussed as Katharine and I file out of the conference room.

Her phone pings and she smirks before texting something in reply. When she looks up at me, she says, “I love it when Simon causes The Demon distress. The other day, he had a massive blow-out on Damon’s suit jacket. Today, Simon insists on watchingBlueyover and over again and Damon says he thinks he might throw the iPad through the window.”

I stare at her blankly. “I have no idea what a blowout is, or a Bluey, but I do like the idea of causing Senator Wentworth distress.”

She rolls her eyes. “Have you never been around a human child, Vasily?”

“Not really, no.”

Katharine gawks at me and then just shakes her head. “All right, well go home and look them up as your homework for tomorrow. The fate of our foreign policy platform depends on it.”

“I doubt that very much,” I say. “See you tomorrow.”

“Yep, yep,” she chirps, looking back down at her phone. “Oh, hey Vasily?”

I turn back. “Yes?”

“What ever happened with that girl you saw abducted? Anything?”

“Oh. A misunderstanding, apparently.”

Her brows furrow. “I’m sorry? What the fuck kind ofmisunderstandinginvolves a woman screaming for help inside a vehicle and a bystander getting a gun shoved in his chest?”

Well, when she puts itthatway, I feel a little stupid for not asking more questions.

“She is okay,” I say. “She actually lives in my building. I saw her.”

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