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My eyebrows furrow, and I sit up on the long sofa I’d been lying on. It’s near the front of the office. “Seriously, have you bugged my office?”
He chuckles. “Not yet, but if you turn around, you’ll see a nice little camera in the hall.” I do as he says. It takes me a moment, but I spot it and flip him the middle finger—another laugh. I cling to it like it might be the last time I can embrace it.
“Now that you’re sitting up, go to the top floor, I have a surprise for you.”
My stomach sinks. “You’re not here, are you?” I don’t want The Lion or any of his followers seeing us. I don’t want to give The Lion the satisfaction of giving him what he wants—his son.
“Don’t sound so disappointed to see me. But no, I’m not.” His tone drops on the last note. It’s killing us both being unable to be there for one another.
“It better be good then because this sofa is comfy,” I say, getting up and trying my best to push away the ambush of thoughts. I have to take one step forward at a time, I remind myself.
I press the phone to my ear and lock the office behind me. “Also, shouldn’t you be working?”
“I’m in my office. I had my assistant block out thirty minutes of my day so I could talk with you.”
My heart flutters because I know how much thirty minutes of this man’s schedule can cost.
“How’s your mom doing?” I ask.
A pause. Dmitri never spoke about his mother much. Layla and I had met her a few times, and we’d only witnessed the start of what Dmitri called her ‘episodes’.
“She’s good,” he replies. Not that Dmitri would ever admit it, but I’m certain it sculpted him in scarring ways. Most likely even the reason he loathes his father so much.
I step into the elevator, and press for the highest level where the rooftop bar is. I stand next to a lady in corporate wear. She gives me the once over, and her gaze lands on my white sneakers. Since moving to New York, I was prone to wearing my cashmere sweater shirts, jeans, and sneakers. I’d put my hair into a messy bun today, which seems to be the trifecta for this judgmental woman. It’s not that I didn’t look professional, but perhaps different to the members from her office.
“Do you want me to evict her company from the third floor?” Dmitri asks.
“What? No!” I whisper shout. The woman gives me a once over again before the doors open, and she steps out. I look up at the camera. “You know it’s kind of stalkerish that you have access to this entire building.”
“I’ve come to rather enjoy watching you,” he admits. “Wouldn’t most women consider it as devotion?”
I shake my head as I step out onto the rooftop bar. It’s beautiful and divided by the main restaurant with wooden floors, deep furnishings, and a bar that extends onto the balcony. The place is busy, as expected, around lunch. It’s the first time I’ve been up here despite receiving high recommendations since moving in.
“Welcome, Miss Lane; we have your table ready,” a hostess says with a big smile and insinuates I follow her.
“Have I told you how much I hate surprises?” I lecture.
“I know. Why do you think I used to jump out at you all the time in college?”
I can’t help but smile, recalling how much I despised him for doing that.
The hostess pulls out a chair. A spicey margarita is waiting with a variation of tapas and a singular red rose in the middle of the table. It’s positioned at the edge of the restaurant for privacy but close enough to the balcony to enjoy the view of the city.
“Thank you,” I say, taking my seat and staring at the variety of food. When I look at other people’s tables, I notice the majority of them have main meals, and very few have anything close to this.
“If there’s anything else you require, please let me know.” The hostess offers another polite smile and walks away.
“Is it to your liking?” Dmitri asks.
“Yes, but maybe there’s something wrong with it because no one else has ordered any of this.”
“Why would they? It’s not on the menu. They made what I told them to make. These are your favorites, are they not?”
I swallow hard as I look at each dish—a variety I love, with minimal meat but the majority with chili. “Stalker,” I whisper into the phone. It stirs the unsettling feeling of the person standing outside my window yesterday. I push it down, trying to embrace the moment of now. I know Dmitri wouldn’t agree with me still trying to fight the majority of this on my own, but I’d been doing it for so many years now that I didn’t want to become a further burden than I’d already become.
“Remember when we used to play that game when we would drink together at the local campus bar? Or the one slightly outside of town?” Dmitri asks.
I take a bite of the broccolini and all but moan. “You mean fuck, marry, kill?”
