Alexei requested my presence here tonight without exactly telling me why. When the doors slide open, I’m greeted by gray and white marble floors, along with low, dark furniture. On the dining room table, there are buckets of champagne, wine, and vodka as well as platters of fruit and delicate cuts of meat arranged like art.
Alexei stands near the windows, hands folded behind his back. He turns as I step inside. “You came alone,” he says.
“You told me to.”
A faint smile curves his mouth. “I wondered if you’d bring Adriana. You’ve been pretty close lately.”
I stare at him, over his shit already. “I don’t like her, if that’s what you’re wondering. She’s a good fuck. That’s it.” Even though we don’t have sex anymore, talking in that demeaning way about her may help her stay alive. She didn’t want me to go. She begged me not to leave her alone, but I told her to use the kitchen knife if Erik comes back for revenge while I’m gone.
“Come sit,” he adds.
For a moment, I wonder if this is about the man from the ball the other night. The one who stood beside a woman with eyes that looked a little familiar. But that’s impossible. I push the thought away and realize that there’s someone else in the room. He’s seated at the table, one ankle resting casually over his knee, posture relaxed. Early forties, maybe. Blonde hair brushed back neatly from a striking face that borders on beautiful. High cheekbones. Sharp jaw. Blue eyes that are almost too bright under the recessed lighting. He studies me closely.
“Jude,” Alexei says smoothly. “This is Henrik Sørensen.”
Henrik rises, offering his hand. His grip is cool and firm, lingering a little long for my comfort. “I’ve heard a great deal about you,” he says, his voice soft, faintly accented. Scandinavian, I think.
“Nice to meet you,” I reply, because that’s what’s expected.
“Sit,” Alexei instructs.
I do.
Henrik pours champagne into a narrow flute and hands it to me himself. His fingers brush mine as I take it. “To new partnerships,” he says.
We drink. The conversation begins innocently enough. Markets. Private events. Exclusive sponsorships. Henrik speaks about cultivating talent, protecting investments, and some other shit. Apparently he's an investor who has years of experience in banking. I can't tell if he's still a banker or just an investor now. Honestly, I have no fucking idea what they’re talking about, and I don’t have the faintest idea why the hell Alexei even brought me in the first place.
Every time my glass empties, it’s refilled before I can decline. Champagne becomes vodka. I don’t keep track of how much I drink, and eventually my body feels warmer. Their voices begin to stretch slightly, like they’re traveling ahead of me through a long tunnel.
Henrik laughs at something Alexei says, and the sound makes me nauseous for some reason.
I’m nauseous. What the hell…
I blink. The marble floor beneath my shoes seems farther away than it should be. I set my glass down carefully. “Excuse me,” I murmur, pushing back from the table. I don't know where I'm going, but there must be a bathroom down the hall.
My legs respond half a second too late, and when I stand, the world tilts. My knee bumps the table, rattling the glasses. Alexei doesn’t move to steady me. Henrik does, his hand slipping around my elbow.
“Careful,” he says gently.
My heart begins to pound, fast and heavy. “What did you—” The words feel thick in my mouth.
Alexei waves a lazy hand as if dismissing a server. “Relax,” he says, leaning back into the leather chair. “Have fun, Henrik. I’ll wait until you’re done. Wouldn't want any issues the first time.”
Have fun. First time. What?
What…why are you…
The words scrape down my spine. On the wall in front of Alexei, a massive television flickers to life, high volume blasting through the penthouse. Some late-night talk show with someone laughing on the screen. Ice clinks in his glass as he pours himself another drink. He isn’t leaving. He’s...staying.
My stomach drops so fast it feels like I’ve stepped off a ledge.
What—
Henrik’s fingers close more firmly around my arm. My body follows because it doesn’t seem to understand that it should resist.
“This wasn’t—” I start, but my tongue feels thick, the syllables sticking together.
“You’re safe,” Henrik says quietly, guiding me away from the table. His breath brushes the shell of my ear.