Page 49 of The Dancer and the Grumpy Billionaire

Ibought a burner phone and shared the number with only two people – Roman and Katharine. The latter calls me now, as I pace the halls of a hospital in Pennsylvania.

“Did you get her?” Katharine asks on the other end of the line.

“Yes,” I say, and I can hear the tension still in my voice. “She was shot in the leg. Lost a lot of blood but she’s in surgery now.”

“Thank God!” she says with a heavy exhale.

“That pretty much sums it up,” I say. “But we’re not out of this yet.”

“I know.”

“I’m so sorry, Katharine, for quitting like this. I loved working for Senator Jennings…and for you.”

“I get it,” she says. “And we got good intel on Baranov and Gusev out of it, so thanks for that. Enzo will be a fucking hero if we can take those assholes down. They’re both major threats to U.S. security.”

As we are talking, a doctor comes into the hallway to look for me. I tell Katharine I need to run.

“Good luck, Vasily,” she says.

I thank her again and hang up as I approach the doctor.

“How is she?” I ask.

“Stable in recovery,” he says. “The bullet did pretty extensive muscular damage to her right calf before lodging itself in her bone. We dislodged the bullet and got the bleeding under control. It is likely she will need further reconstructive surgery to rebuild the muscle. Right now, she’s at high risk for infection and tissue death, and she will surely require many months of rehabilitation.”

“A long process,” I say. “She is a dancer…”

His expression becomes sympathetic. “It is unlikely she will dance again. At least not professionally.”

“Does she know?” I ask.

“Not yet.”

I nod, feeling sick at the idea of never seeing Gigi dance again. Suddenly, I wish I had gone to every single show, every single night, just to take in the sight of her on that stage.

A nurse comes out to lead me to Gigi’s room.

“She’ll be groggy for a while, and we’ll just need to observe her vitals for a while as the anesthesia wears off. Then we’ll keep her on antibiotics for twenty-four hours or so.”

I nod as I walk to where she sleeps, her long hair in a neat braid over her shoulder. She is pale, with dark circles under her eyes. Even so, she is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.

There is a chair next to the bed and I take it, weary and exhausted. It has been a long forty-eight hours, planning how we would get Gigi away from her captors. The last twelve hours were the worst, with no communication, and then a rapid update, including the knowledge that Gigi had been shot and was losing a lot of blood.

It takes about a half hour before Gigi starts to stir and oh, when she does…

She opens her eyes, blinking a few times as if trying to focus. Her focus moves to our hands, clasped together at her side, and then moves to me. To my face. Tears trail down her face and she smiles and laughs and closes her eyes again.

“Are you okay?” I ask quietly.

“I knew,” she says quietly, her eyes still closed. “I knew it was you.”

“Holding your hand?” I ask.

“No,” she says, still laugh-crying. “You came for me.”

“Yes. Well, I sent much tougher guys for you. But yes.”

“Thank you.”

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