Page 28 of Cruel Demands

“That must be exhausting.”

“Mostly for the people around me.”

Her smile appears slowly. There’s the bad decision. I see it before she makes it. She pulls out her phone and types something.

“That’s a responsible choice,” I commend her.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” she says flatly. She sends the message, then slips the phone into her coat pocket and lifts her chin. “I’m not promising anything.”

I shrug one shoulder, my bottom lip poking out. “I did not ask you to.”

“I’m serious,” she insists, her eyes sparkling. She thinks I’m playing a game.

“I know.”

“If I change my mind, I leave.”

“Of course. I will arrange the car myself.”

She studies me like she’s searching for the trap. There is one, of course. Me. But she will not see that side tonight.

I gesture toward the door. Taylor walks ahead of me.

Outside, the cold hits hard enough to make her gasp. She wraps her coat tighter around herself and laughs, breath fogging white in front of her. “God, this country is dramatic.” A black car pulls to the curb before I lift a hand. Taylor notices, and her laughter fades. “That was fast. Do you just have cars lurking?”

“Usually.”

“That was supposed to be a joke,” she says, looking up at me, her arms wrapped around her.

“I know.”

She looks from the car to me and studies my face, her brow becoming heavier as, for the first time tonight, real uncertainty crosses her face.

Finally. Good. “You can still go back inside. I think your friend is still waiting for you.”

“Do you want me to?”

“No.”

The answer is too direct. Her cheeks flush deeper from something that is not only cold. “Then don’t pretend to be noble.”

“I’m not being noble.” I open the car door. “I am presenting you with the options.”

“I know my options,” she says, but her voice is hesitant. She looks into the dark interior. Then at me. Then back toward the bar. Snow has started to fall in thin, delicate streaks, catching in her hair and on the shoulders of her coat. Under the streetlight, she looks younger than she did inside. Softer. I almost close the door. Then she gets in.

The driver keeps his eyes forward as I slide in beside her. I shut the door on the city, muffling the sounds of the street and the people.

For a few seconds, neither of us speaks. Taylor stares out the window as the car pulls away, her reflection pale against the glass. “Do I get to know where we’re going?” she asks.

“Yes. My place.”

6

MIKHAIL

A few minutes later, she looks at me. There is no coyness now. No joking shield. Just awareness.

“My place,” I repeat, “where you can have another drink if you want one, water if you are smarter, and a driver home whenever you ask.”