I’m beelining over toward the cameramen when I bump into someone. The man turns around. He’s close to Valerian’s age. But nowhere near as attractive. He’s bald and has a long beard. Shame all his hair is growing in the wrong place.
“And who might you be, sweetheart?” The man scans my body. His eyes lighten.
I’m not sure how I feel about other men calling mesweetheart.Valerian got there first.
“I’m Joy.” I flash him a smile. And then spots fill my vision. I’m losing composure again.
I hold onto the man’s shoulder, stabilizing myself. He’s the only semi-hard surface I can find in the middle of the lobby.
“Wow.” The man snakes his arm around me. “Careful. Looks like someone’s had too much to drink.”
“No, I’m good.”
“I can smell it in your breath, sweetheart. A small thing like you should be staying clear of that stuff.”
A small thing.
People have names.
But he doesn’t seem to think so. He’s more fascinated with my chest. He doesn’t wanna know my name. He wants to know what my bra size is.
He looks like he wants to measure himself and find out.
“Why haven’t I seen you before?” He’s still staring at my cleavage. “I definitely wouldn’t forget seeing a woman like you.”
I crane my neck, making sure the press are still over in the corner.
Either the woman’s cold, or she’s buttoning up her jacket because it’s time for her to leave. She has to stay. At least have a couple more drinks. She’s my ticket out of this place.
And I need to get out. Especially after seeing Valerian strangle a man last night.
He has enemies. Igor’s men could be swarming the city for all I care. It doesn’t matter. Something weird’s going on. Galina is terrified of Valerian. What did he do to her?
And how did Igor’s mother die?
I can’t stick around. It’s clear Valerian’s still emotionally unavailable, hung up over what happened to her. All of her stuff is still here in the house. Her skincare. All her books. For all I know, I’m wearing her dress.
“How long have you been working for Valerian, just out of curiosity?”
“Hm,” says the man, scratching his bald head. “Now that’s a question. Maybe twenty-so years. Why?”
“Have you ever met any other… women?”
The man smirks. “None as beautiful as you.”
That doesn’t exactly answer my question.
“No.” I shake the comment off. “I don’t mean it like that. I’m asking because?—”
The man grabs my hand, zeroing in on the wedding ringer.
“Who’s the lucky guy?”
“He’s… not here right now.”
“Good.” The man grabs my hand harder. “Because he’s not very lucky tonight. Shall we go somewhere more private? I want to talk. Alone. And I can barely hear myself think in this place.”
Obviously, he doesn’t want to talk. But I do.