Chapter 18 Zatanna
ZATANNA
I’m sitting alone in a private lounge at Stone & Vale, drinking sparkling water that probably costs more than my weekly grocery budget, trying very hard not to lose my mind.
This is insane.
Completely, objectively insane.
The room I’ve been parked in is elegant in that old-money, aggressively tasteful way. Dark wood. Velvet chairs. A fireplace that crackles softly even though the weather doesn’t remotely require it.
Through the half-open doors at the far end, I can hear the faint murmur of conversation drifting in from the terrace where Aleksei is having dinner with Marina Leston.
His date. The date I arranged. The date I am apparently chaperoning like some deranged combination of assistant, bodyguard, and emotional masochist.
I check my phone for the twentieth time in ten minutes.
Frankie: How’s the new evil empire job going??
I stare at the message, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. I could tell her.
I could text back something completely unhinged like: Oh nothing much, just sitting in a rich-person side room while my terrifying boss goes on a date with a socialite I picked for him after he kissed me in an elevator. lolz.
I snort quietly to myself. Then I delete the half-typed sentence.
No. Absolutely not. Frankie would call immediately, demand details, and probably scream loud enough to crack my screen.
Instead, I type:
Still working. Long night. Tell you later.
She sends back three suspicious emojis and a heart. I lock the phone and drop it into my lap.
The silence creeps in again.
I hate this.
I hate that I’m here. I hate that he insisted.
I hate that some part of me had still rushed home and changed into a black dress that makes me feel like less of a nervous mouse and more like someone who belongs in places like this.
But mostly, I hate that I can’t stop picturing him out there with another woman.
Laughing, maybe. Leaning in. Looking at her the way he looked at me in that elevator.
My stomach twists.
I tell myself this is work. Observation. Strategy. Compatibility assessment. Whatever ridiculous corporate euphemism makes this sting less.
But after another five minutes, I can’t take it anymore.
I stand.
If I’m going to be forced into this ridiculous situation, the least I can do is gather intel.
That sounds much better than I’m about to go spy on my boss because I’m jealous and pathetic.
The terrace doors open without a sound when I slip through them.
Outside, the estate grounds are bathed in soft amber lights.
Stone paths wind through manicured gardens, and beyond them stretches a dark lawn edged by old trees.
The restaurant terrace overlooks all of it, intimate tables tucked between tall planters and flickering lanterns.
I spot them almost immediately.
Aleksei sits with his back half-turned to me, one arm draped over the chair, posture effortless and commanding even at rest. Marina sits across from him in a pale dress that probably cost more than my rent, her posture elegant, her smile polished.
Together, they look… right.
And I think that’s the worst part.
They fit the scene. The wealth, the ease, the aesthetic of it all. She looks like she belongs beside him at galas and charity auctions and whatever terrifying old-money social rituals people like them perform.
I don’t. A heavy feeling settles in my chest.
He inclines his head as she says something. Even from a distance, I can tell he’s being polite. Attentive. Controlled.
And suddenly I don’t want to watch anymore.
Because if I stay here long enough, I’ll start imagining things. Start measuring every gesture. Start hurting myself on details I was never supposed to care about.
I take a step backward. Straight into someone.
I gasp as a tray rattles behind me. Strong hands catch it just before disaster strikes, and I turn with a whispered, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry—”
The waiter gives me a strained smile, but it’s too late.
I already know. I feel it before I see it. I look up.
And across the terrace, Aleksei is watching me.
He saw. Of course, he saw.
Heat floods my face so fast it makes my eyes sting. Marina turns slightly in her chair, following his line of sight, and I want the earth to open up and swallow me whole.
Perfect. Absolutely perfect.
I just got caught spying on my boss’s date like a lunatic.
I mumble another apology to the waiter and back away, heart pounding, humiliation roaring through me as I turn to flee back inside.
I don’t stop until I’m inside the bathroom, the door swinging shut behind me with a hard click.
For one second I just stand there, both hands braced on the marble counter, chest heaving. The room is too bright, too clean, all pale stone and gold fixtures and the quiet hum of hidden ventilation. My reflection in the mirror looks like a woman on the verge of losing it.
My cheeks are burning. My throat aches. I blink hard, but the tears still come, hot and humiliating.
“Oh my god,” I whisper to myself. “Get it together.”
I grip the edge of the sink tighter. What the hell is wrong with me?
I came here to do a job. I arranged the date. I followed him out like some jealous idiot. Then I got caught staring at him with another woman like I had any right to care.
A tear slips free. I wipe it away angrily, but that only makes more threaten to fall. I laugh once, sharp and shaky, because this is ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.
And then the bathroom door opens behind me.
I freeze, as I catch sight of the intruder in the mirror.
Aleksei.
He closes the door quietly behind him, his gaze fixed on me, dark and unreadable. For a second I’m too surprised to move. Then I spin around, my pulse stuttering all over again.
“What are you doing here?” It comes out breathless, wrecked.
He doesn’t answer right away. He just looks at me. At the tears I’m clearly trying and failing to hide. At the way my hands are trembling.
I swallow hard and shake my head. “I’m sorry,” I say, the words tripping over each other. “I didn’t mean to, I just—I wasn’t—I only came out because—” My voice breaks.
Mortifying.
I drag in a breath and try again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt your date.”
The last word sounds bitter even to my own ears.
His expression changes at that. Something in him tightens visibly. Then he crosses the room.
Before I can think, before I can step back, his hand is at my waist and the other is cupping my jaw, tipping my face up. My breath catches hard.
And then his mouth is on mine.
It isn’t gentle.
It’s hot and immediate and hungry, like he’s been holding himself back for hours and finally stopped trying. My back hits the bathroom counter with a soft thud, the marble cool against my hips, and he crowds in close, sealing me there with the hard line of his body.
I make a startled sound against his lips, but it melts into a moan almost instantly.
He kisses me like he means to erase every other thought in my head. Deep, filthy, unapologetic. His tongue slides into my mouth, and I clutch at his jacket, fingers twisting in the fabric as if I need something to hold onto.
“Aleksei—”
He kisses me again before I can say anything else, one hand sliding from my jaw into my hair, fisting it lightly, tipping my head exactly where he wants it. The angle makes the kiss even deeper, dirtier. My knees go weak.
His other hand grips my hip, then skims up the side of my dress, fingers splaying over my waist before sliding lower again, dragging fire everywhere they touch.
“Watching me with her,” he murmurs against my mouth, voice rough. “Is that what upset you?”
I can’t answer. Not honestly.
He takes my silence for what it is and kisses me harder.
My body arches into his before I can stop myself.
He’s everywhere. The scent of him, the weight of him, the rough scrape of his jaw against my skin as his mouth leaves mine and trails down to my throat.
I gasp as he bites lightly at the sensitive spot below my ear, and his hand tightens on my waist like he likes hearing me fall apart.
“I should go back out there,” he says, low and dangerous against my neck.
But he doesn’t move.
Instead, he presses his thigh between my legs, and I suck in a sharp breath as the friction hits exactly where I need it. Heat flashes through me so hard it’s almost painful. My hands slide up into his hair, ruining it, not caring.
“You came in here instead,” I whisper.
He lifts his head. His eyes are dark, burning, fixed on my mouth.
“Yes.”
Then he kisses me again, and this time there’s no hesitation left in either of us.
He pins me to the counter with one hand braced beside my hip, the other sliding down between us. His fingers skim the hem of my dress, then push higher, gathering the fabric, his knuckles brushing the inside of my thigh. My whole body jolts.
“Tell me to stop,” he says, voice raw.
But the hand on my thigh keeps moving.
He doesn’t want me to stop him. He wants permission to ruin me.
My head tips back against the mirror as his fingers reach the top of my stocking and then find bare skin above it. I’m already shaking.
“I’m not going to tell you that,” I breathe.
Something like satisfaction flashes in his face. “Good.”
His hand slides higher, and when his fingertips brush the thin fabric between my legs, I nearly cry out.
“Fuck,” he mutters, forehead dropping briefly to mine. “You’re soaked.”
The words are filthy. So is the way he says them, like he’s half furious and half obsessed with it.
My cheeks burn, but I don’t deny it. I can’t. Not when I’m trembling under his hand, not when every nerve in my body is screaming for more.
His fingers press against me through my panties, slow and deliberate, and I gasp, hips lifting helplessly into the touch. The pressure is just enough to make me crazy, not enough to satisfy.
“Aleksei, please…”