“I got you out of there before they did anything to you,” he says simply, but it’s hard to tell if he’s being honest or just feeding me the line he’s supposed to.
“Oh.” I take another bite of my food, the churning in my stomach not getting any better, but not getting any worse either. “Well, thank you,” I say with a forced smile before glancing around at the barely furnished room. Whoever decorated has no sense of style. I tug up on the strap of my dress, feeling self-conscious. There’s such a difference between being all dolled up at night and being dressed the same under the harsh light of day.
“Thank you for breakfast, too, I guess. My head is killing me.” I take a sip of my water. “You got an Advil or something on you, Mr...”
Not eager to give his name, he reaches a hand down into his breast pocket and pulls out a pill, placing it on the edge of my plate. But aside from the fact I’m accepting some unknown drug from a stranger, I also notice for the first time that he has two holsters strapped beneath his bulky arms, attached to a dark leather harness that blends with his attire almost seamlessly.
“Mikhail,” he says at last, after taking a moment to think it over. “What is your name?” he asks in return, but it’s strange that he doesn’t already know it, if he’s working for Mr. Gallego.
What’s happening in my life right now? The fact that he doesn’t know my name or seem to even know Mr. Gallego... It’s wrong. Something’s fishy about this.
And worse, I can’t seem to get that weird dream out of my head. I can even smell that weird scent that’s completely unfamiliar to me, see the smoke rising from a gun.
“Why am I being held here?” I ask, ignoring his own request.
“For your own good,” he says simply, darkly, that gaze of his unwavering. “Why were you with those men last night, Allie?” he says, apparently knowing my name after all. Or at least my nickname with friends.
“Who wouldn’t go out for a free meal and drinks when their boss offers them the chance?” I say like it’s the most obvious answer in the world, and it is. I have ambitions, after all, and sucking up to my boss might be the quickest way to success. They all think I’m just some dumb blonde, so I have to show them every chance I get that I’m not dumb, and I’m not even a real blonde.
Something about my answer seems to bother this strange man, Mikhail. His brows furrow.
“One of these men last night was your boss, Allie?” he asks, but that short-form of my name sounds so strange upon his accented voice. “Are you telling me they didn’t just pick you up at some bar, ply you with drinks, and take you to their penthouse?”
“Ew, no. I’m not a bar skank,” I say. “What’s all this about, anyways? I’m already going to have to do damage control at the office if anyone finds out about this, so if we could just keep it quiet, I’d appreciate that, Mikhail.” I give him a smile, my hand pushing out over top of the table, reaching out for his touch.
It’s been a long time since I’ve found myself curious about a guy I just met, but Mikhail... he’s definitely tall, dark, and handsome, and mysterious to boot. I wouldn’t mind getting to know him better, see what makes him tick...
He studies me a while with that penetrating gaze of his, the kind of look that makes me feel naked, and not just because I’m still wearing the slinky dress from last night. No, this is a powerful man who can see right through me, to the depths of my being. All the questions? It’s like he knows the answers to them all but is just confirming them. Sometimes because they’re too ludicrous for him to buy at face value, other times because he just wants to be absolutely certain.
“How many people at the office know you went out with your boss last night?” he asks me, his voice getting even grimmer, more serious.
“A few... We left right from the office, and then he took me to my place to get changed. I mean, it was just whoever was working late on a Friday night. Well, and his secretary, because I’m pretty sure she knows everything.”
The answer doesn’t surprise him, as I knew it wouldn’t, but it troubles him. That much is clear.
He lifts an arm, runs his hand back over his sleek, dark hair and casts his gaze down to my food, still not finished.
“Eat up. You will need all you can get. You were out for a very long time, thanks to what they slipped you. And if you don’t eat, the nausea you feel now will be nothing compared to what’s to come,” he explains casually, standing up from the table again, looming over me.
What have they slipped me?