Perhaps We Should Meet

I didn’t stop touching the necklace for the entire limo ride—of course Misha booked a limo—to the party venue. Every time Misha glanced over and saw my thumb stroking one side of it, he grinned and kissed the top of my head. He looked amazing in his suit, which had a jacquard texture and a lapel with a soft edge, not the rigid fold that was the only kind of suit I’d ever seen. Is it shallow that I felt a little thrill at being seen next to him?

We pulled up to the University Club, a blocky building that didn’t immediately impress in the way the Sigma reception’s towering skyscraper had.

The interior more than made up for it.

The lobby was all marble, floors in white tile and wide columns in a sort of deep green. The Greek revival theme continued into the decor with reliefs, statues, and paintings everywhere, along with displays of the club’s history. I didn’t have an opportunity to peruse, though—we checked in, had our coats taken, and were immediately ushered down the hall into an atmospheric wood-paneled room set up for mingling and cocktails.

Only a few people had arrived at the party’s official start time, but Adrian was among them, waiting for us.

He looked both of us over critically, like he was making sure we passed muster. His eyes flickered when he saw my dress and I felt a little guilty—I hadn’t thought about him recognizing it, too. But he didn’t say anything. Like Misha, he was dressed to the nines, but in a more classical suit, not a thread out of place. I didn’t want to spend enough time looking at him to be noticed, so I turned to his date instead.

I recognized the woman from the Sigma event, especially since she wore another beautifully embellished gown layered in cascading red beads. Adrian introduced her as Evie Singh, and she tossed her expertly mussed updo before offering us an aloof smile. “Pleasure,” she said, shaking Misha’s hand and then mine. I made note of the order. I didn’t know much about this sort of event, but everything about this venue rang of venerable tradition. I would have to figure it out as I went.

Adrian glanced around at the sparsely populated room. “People won’t really start showing up for another ten or twenty minutes, then this place will be swarming with them,” he said. “Let me show you the—” He paused with a glance at me, then at Misha, and visibly changed course. “You should go upstairs and see the library,” he said. “While you have a chance.” I must have visibly perked up because his eyes landed back on me, and he gestured down another hallway where we would presumably find the stairs.

“Sounds fun,” Misha said casually, though I recognized it as his “party” voice, not real nonchalance. He tilted his head at me. “Shall we?”

“Sure,” I agreed, and we arranged to meet back up soon to be introduced around. Misha and I made our way up the stairs and as soon as we stepped into the library, I couldn’t help it: I gasped.

The room was packed with books, not just wall to wall but two floors on every wall, with little ladders and catwalks everywhere. The ceilings were vaulted and adorned with paintings and golden giltwork, and elegant reading tables stood between the stacks. The effect was somehow both grand and cozy, and I let go of Misha’s arm to take a few rushed steps up to the nearest shelves. “This is incredible,” I breathed. “This must be how Belle felt when she saw the Beast’s library.”

Misha caught up and watched me gaze at the spines with a rueful smile. “He knows what you like.”

“He does. That’s why he sent me here with you,” I said, pecking him on the cheek.

He grimaced. “Okay, yes, that was very good spin. Ten brownie points for you.”

I ran my fingers along the spine of a Shakespeare folio that was definitely at least a hundred years old and shelved next to a Brooke Shields autobiography. When I glanced back at Misha, he was gazing up at the books, bobbing his knee idly. I reached for his hand. “You okay?”

He looked down at me, surprised, but only for a second. “A little nervous,” he admitted. “I do not know American businessmen like I know Russian ones.”

“Do you think they’re very different?” I asked.

“Some,” he said with a shrug. “And anyway, all those meetings with Russia’s rich old men? I wasn’t trying to charm them. I was trying to piss them off,” he said, shooting me a grin and a wink, but it didn’t entirely reach his eyes.

I squeezed his hand. “You had to know the rules to know how to break them,” I pointed out. He chuckled at that, not the laugh I wanted but his shoulders eased a little.

We wandered the library, and even Misha was impressed to stumble onto a copy of Pushkin’s poetry in the original Russian. More people began to trickle in as the time ticked down, and soon enough we had to return to the cocktails. To Adrian.

I was glad we’d had a minute to absorb the grand venue because Adrian hadn’t been kidding, the party rooms were now buzzing with people laughing and glasses clinking. We accepted champagne glasses from a server as we rejoined Adrian and Evie and he began shopping us around the room.

I couldn’t think of a better word for it; Adrian kept guiding us from one wealthy investor to the next. He was almost scarily efficient at it, always gracious and never warm. Evie, too, walked a fine line of being terminally unimpressed, but still interested in talking to these people. She had a way of making you feel like you were part of her “too cool for this” club that impressed me and irked me at the same time.

Like at the alumni reception, everyone immediately recognized Misha’s last name, even if they hadn’t attended his speech at the summit. Unlike that party, Misha was much more up-to-date on the sorts of questions they had about Russia and his nerves disappeared almost immediately.

But for me? It was exhausting. Most of the conversations were short: a greeting, a brief exchange on something topical, and then moving on before I could get any kind of read on anyone.

A few people, chosen for reasons I couldn’t guess, got longer visits. One was an investment banker from China and I noticed Adrian’s stance open, his hand sliding into his suit pocket. Evie, too, softened, her arms crossed less severely, less like a buffer.

Misha didn’t catch it.

I felt his arm tug at me as he turned, expecting to be rushed on to the next greeting. I felt a sliver of panic as Adrian’s eyes narrowed. I tugged Misha back and he looked at me, confused. “You don’t need to wave down the server, I’ll get another glass later,” I said quickly. His eyes cleared a half a second later and he smiled charmingly at Ms. Whoever-She-Was.

“Apologies, she was complimenting the champagne so much earlier I wanted to get her a second taste now that her glass is empty,” he said smoothly, and the woman practically melted at his gallantry.

When we did finally step away, he kissed my temple. “Nice save, moya umnitsa,” he murmured into my ear. “Spasibo.” Adrian glanced back at us and I couldn’t quite read the expression that flashed on his face, before he reverted to his habitual neutrality.

As the cocktail hour—actually ninety minutes—continued, the conversations got longer, more focused on people asking Misha questions about his presentation or about Russia in general. These he entertained easily and watching him was satisfying. I thought about the outwardly carefree persona I’d first met all those months ago. That Misha was still there, and I never wanted him gone. But now he was rounded out by…direction, I guess. Drive.

If it was exciting to be seen with him, it was captivating to witness him coming into his own.

When cocktails finally gave way to dinner, I was immediately relieved. The gauntlet was done. Dinner at a single table would be more my speed; I could take my time to figure out who was who and how they fit together.

We were seated at Sophia Calloway’s own table, with Adrian, Evie, a cousin of Adrian’s, and a couple of other c-suite members. They were all intent on enjoying themselves, or at least being seen enjoying themselves, which made conversation easy. When I was called on by Mrs. Calloway to talk about myself a little, I gave my usual speech about my plans after college, and was gratified that she seemed genuinely interested in my business interests. I was still relieved when the spotlight moved elsewhere, but not a single unpleasant inner voice hassled me about my performance.

The evening came to a soft ending after a dessert-and-coffee course and people started dispersing by nine o’clock, far earlier than the Sigma alumni party. But I guess with a much higher ratio of septuagenarians to twenty-somethings, people were less interested in dancing after dinner. And, frankly, I didn’t mind. I was tired.

I popped into the ladies’ room while Misha called our limo back, looking at myself in the mirror critically on my way back out. I looked a bit strange to myself. Not like I was wearing a mask—like I was just a slightly different me, one that could fit into a space like this, at least for one night.

When I stepped out of the bathroom, I was focused on my purse, where I was depositing my lipstick, and I almost bumped right into someone.

Adrian.

“Finally. I told you not to—” He halted mid-sentence when he looked down and saw me.

I blinked up at him for a second before stepping back awkwardly. “Sorry,” I said.

He pulled his hand from his pocket and straightened his tie unnecessarily. “It’s fine.”

We stood in silence, and it took me a moment to work out why I wasn’t just leaving. “Adrian…thank you,” I said. If it were anyone else, I might have reached for his hand, or put mine on his shoulder, but I didn’t.

He cocked his head at me, studying me in that way he did. “I owed you both an apology,” he said stiffly. “And it cost me nothing, really.”

“Still,” I insisted, meeting his gaze. “I appreciate it. We both do.”

For a moment, his austere expression softened. “You did well. My mother was very complimentary.”

I flushed. “Thanks.”

“But I think…” He said, then paused. The softness went away. “I think I’m going to avoid seeing you around,” he said, a decisive note to it. “This is…difficult.”

I nodded. What else could I do? “Of course,” I said.

“Did you call the car?” A voice came from behind me, Evie, of course. She stepped up to Adrian, not taking his arm or sparing me a glance. It reminded me of when Chloe clocks out from work, going from barista to off-duty before you can blink.

I caught Adrian’s eye once more and waved, moving to the main lobby to find Misha, who was waiting for me patiently. He lit up when he saw me and thoughts of Adrian melted away. “Ready to go?” He asked, holding out his hand.

“Extremely,” I said, grasping his hand in mine.

“Good,” he said, tucking me into his side as he walked me to the door. “I told the driver we’re stopping at McDonald’s on the way to the hotel. You barely touched dinner.”

I nuzzled into his arm. “Slushayus,” I chirped, yes sir, in playful obedience. His smile crooked up into a grin.

“Oh, I like that one a lot,” he murmured into my ear. “Save it for the hotel.”

I laughed.

The whole night, I’d felt like we were totally in sync. Running off the fumes of cautious optimism and trying to get the most out of our time together, however long it would end up being.

The plan after, as I understood it, was for Misha to reach out to his father the following Wednesday, ensuring there was time for word of the summit to reach him. Then, Misha would arrange a call—I was startled at the idea of having to schedule a meeting to talk to one’s own parent—and present his case, thoroughly and formally.

And then we would know, one way or another.

So you can probably imagine my surprise when Monday evening rolled by and I answered my doorbell to find Konstantin Viktorovich Sokolov standing on my doorstep, flanked by a massive bodyguard. “Dobryy vecher,” he said with a familiar smile, like the one Misha wore at the dinner party but with a knife’s edge to it. “You are Miss Emma Reeves, yes? I thought perhaps we should meet.”

Author’s Note

B-Side Track: Frank Sinatra – Luck Be A Lady Tonight

There is TOO MUCH in this chapter for me to even begin commenting on. Misha and Emma finding their footing? Adrian’s feelings? Konstantin arrives?! I cannot. That’s why no bonus content.

FUN FACT:

I have another (unpublished) book that features a member of the University Club, but almost 150 years before the events of this book! The actual club location was different back then, though. The current location really isn’t that impressive-looking on the outside, but I highly recommend poking around photos of the place on the inside, it’s lovely. Especially the library 💕 (Though the aforementioned unpublished character would hate it. He likes the stuffy little library in the 1885 location.)

Okay, level with me. When you saw the chapter title did you guess who it would be?