Page 51 of Cruel Demands

As we walk, she explains, “The governor’s senior staff occupies the offices along the outer corridor. You will not enter any closed office without permission, and you will not repeat anything you overhear. You may be asked to deliver documents, prepare meeting rooms, or assist with events. If you do not understand an instruction, ask me before improvising.”

“Yes.”

“You are studying political science and Russian?”

“Double major.”

“Useful.”

The approval in that one word releases a small knot between my shoulders.

“I thought you were going to fire me,” I admit.

Viktoriya glances sideways at me. “I cannot fire you.”

“Oh.”

“I can recommend it.”

The knot returns. Her mouth twitches. It takes me a second to realize she’s teasing.

“You have that Russian sarcasm,” I say.

“What Russian sarcasm?”

“The kind where I can’t tell if you’re joking until I’ve already reconsidered my entire life.”

“You are thinking of a governor. I am only an office monkey.”

She stops in front of a plain wooden desk already burdened with stacks of paper. It’s bordered by three other desks, two empty and one occupied by a man typing with two fingers while speaking quietly into a telephone.

He’s probably in his late twenties, lean, with sandy-brown hair falling untidily over his forehead and an open face made sharper by a crooked nose. His sleeves are rolled to his elbows, and his tie is already loose.

“This will be yours. You may leave your bag beneath it.” She points to the man, who waves awkwardly. “That is Dimitri. We call him Dima.”

I lower my purse to the floor. “I really am sorry.”

Viktoriya holds up one hand, silencing me without looking unkind. “You have already apologized. Repeating it will not make you less late.”

“Late on your first day?” Dima asks, leaning back in his chair and looking up with a faint smirk.

“Yes, and she will be punished for it,” Viktoriya says firmly, smoothing the A-line skirt of her navy dress.

“Of course. They must. I am surprised they let her stay,” he volleys.

Viktoriya gives him a look, and her mouth softens at one corner. The smile he gives her back is small and private, and their attraction is so obvious that witnessing it feels almost intrusive.

“I am too,” I sigh, plopping down into my chair.

“The day is still young. The big boss could still fire you. Come, I will introduce you. We will tell him you were late and ask if he thinks you should be permitted to stay,” Viktoriya chirps, waving me up.

“I don’t want to bother him.”

“I am only joking. He is not very friendly, and I guarantee you he has not noticed you were late. He probably does not even know you were supposed to be here. I am just going to show you around. Come, let me show you where we keep the office snacks.” She waves her hand at me again, and I follow gratefully, feeling a little tension leave my shoulders. Maybe I can make it through today, after all.

She leads me into a small office kitchen with carpeted flooring that deadens our steps and ceilings low enough that I think I could jump and touch them. A table occupies most of the room, large enough for four people if they are comfortable knocking knees. A refrigerator and microwave sit in one corner beside a sink and narrow counter. On the counter is a basket of snacks and a stack of bottled drinks.

“Take as many as you like,” Viktoriya says.