Chapter 11 Alexi
ALEXI
Static crackles through the intercom. Then her voice, cool and measured.
“You’re punctual.”
“Surprised?”
“Disappointed. I had money on you showing up early to prove a point.”
I grin at the camera mounted above the door. “Who says I haven’t been here for an hour?”
Silence.
The door buzzes open.
I take the stairs two at a time, ignoring the elevator. Energy burns through my veins, the same manic buzz I get when I’m close to cracking an impossible system. My fingers drum against my thigh as I climb.
Third floor. Unit 4 B sits at the end of a narrow hallway that smells like someone’s cooking curry.
I knock once.
The door opens.
Everything stops.
Iris stands in the doorway wearing a black slip dress that skims her body like water, elegant and lethal.
Her platinum hair falls loose around her shoulders instead of being pulled back, softening features that are usually sharp enough to cut.
Dark lipstick. Minimal jewelry—just a silver chain at her throat that catches the light.
She’s fucking devastating.
I forget how to speak. Forget how to breathe. My brain—the same brain that processes terabytes of data without breaking a sweat—completely flatlines.
“Are you going to stand there gawking, or are we doing this?”
Her voice snaps me back. I blink, force my expression into something that resembles control.
“Not gawking.” My voice comes out rougher than intended. “Adjusting my expectations.”
“Expectations?” One eyebrow rises. “You expected me to answer the door in sweats?”
“I expected beautiful.” I step closer, deliberately invading the space between us. “I didn’t expect—”
“What?”
Devastating. Disarming. Dangerous in ways that have nothing to do with code.
“—this,” I finish lamely.
Her lips curve into a smile that’s pure victory. “Lost for words, Ivanov? I should mark this date on my calendar.”
“Don’t get cocky.” I recover enough to lean against her doorframe, letting my gaze travel deliberately down her body and back up. “I’m just deciding whether to take you to dinner or skip straight to dessert.”
Color rises in her cheeks.
“Dinner,” she says firmly. “That was the deal.”
“Right.” I straighten, offering my arm like a gentleman instead of a predator. “Shall we?”
The elevator ride down is torture.
She keeps herself on the opposite side of the small space, arms crossed like she’s protecting something precious. I lean against the mirrored wall and watch her reflection instead of staring directly.
Her jaw clenches when she catches me looking.
“This doesn’t change anything,” she says.
“What doesn’t?”
“This.” She waves a hand between us. “One date doesn’t mean I’m calling a truce.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I push off the wall as the doors slide open. “Where’s the fun in a truce?”
My hand finds the small of her back as we cross the lobby. She stiffens but doesn’t pull away.
My Tesla is parked at the curb, and I open the passenger door, and she slides in, the dress riding up just enough to reveal the curve of her thigh.
I take a moment to appreciate the view before rounding to the driver’s side.
“Where are we going?” she asks as I start the engine.
“You’ll see.”
“How original.”
I pull into traffic, one hand on the wheel. The other finds her knee.
She jumps. “What are you—”
“Relax.” My thumb traces slow circles against her skin. “Just getting comfortable.”
“Your hand is on my leg.”
“Observant.” I slide my palm higher, just above her knee. “That Stanford education is really paying off.”
She swats at my wrist. “Keep your hands to yourself.”
“Make me.”
Her fingers wrap around mine, trying to push me away. But her grip lacks conviction, and when I shift my hand just slightly—thumb brushing the inside of her thigh—her breath catches.
“Alexi.”
The way she says my name shoots straight through me.
I glance over. Her pupils are dilated, lips parted. She’s still gripping my wrist, but now it feels less like resistance and more like she’s anchoring herself.
“Tell me to stop.” I flex my fingers, testing. “Say the word and I will.”
She opens her mouth. Closes it. Her eyes dart between my face and the road ahead.
“That’s what I thought.” I return my attention to driving, but keep my hand exactly where it is. “Dinner first, detka. Then we’ll see how much you want me to stop.”
The tension thickens during the drive, neither of us speaking. My hand stays on her thigh, a possessive weight she doesn’t shake off. Her breathing shifts—shallow, controlled, like she’s calculating every breath.
I pull up to Sorellina, and the valet is already moving toward us.
“Italian?” She eyes the restaurant’s elegant facade. “Predictable.”
“You prefer what? Fast food?”
“I prefer not being manipulated into dates by stalkers.”
I round the car, open her door. “And yet here you are.”
She takes my offered hand, standing in one fluid motion that brings her inches from my chest. “One dinner. Then you leave me alone.”
“Sure.” I don’t release her hand. “That’s exactly what’ll happen.”
The hostess greets us with practiced warmth, leading us to a corner table with dim lighting and enough privacy to feel dangerous. Iris slides into her seat, crossing her legs so the dress shifts higher.
I sit across from her, studying the menu without really seeing it.
“Stop staring,” she says without looking up from her own menu.
“Can’t help it. You wore that dress on purpose.”
“Maybe I dress like this every night.”
“Liar.” I set down the menu. “You dressed for me. Wanted to see if you could throw me off my game.”
Her eyes lift, meeting mine. “Did it work?”
“Completely.”
That surprises her—the honesty. Her mask slips just enough to show curiosity underneath.
The waiter appears. I order wine without asking her preference, and she bristles.
“Presumptuous.”
“You would’ve ordered the same thing.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Pinot Noir. ‘09 vintage if they have it. You mentioned it in an email three months ago to a client.”
Color drains from her face. “You read my—”
“All of them.” I lean back, casual. “Your correspondence is fascinating. Very professional. Except when you’re annoyed. Then you get creative with your syntax.”
“That’s a violation of—”
“Says the woman who dumped our entire server architecture online last week?”
Her jaw sets. “That was different.”
“How?”
“You deserved it.”
“And you don’t deserve me knowing how you take your wine?” I tilt my head. “Fair’s fair, detka.”
“What does that mean?”
“What?”
“Detka.” She pronounces it carefully, the Russian syllables slightly wrong on her tongue. “You keep calling me that.”
I pick up my water glass, buying time. “It’s an endearment.”
“I gathered. What kind?”
“Similar to baby.”
Her expression shifts—surprise bleeding into something warmer before she catches herself. “You’re calling me baby?”
“Problem?”
“It’s...” She stops, fingers fidgeting with her napkin. “Presumptuous.”
“Everything about this is presumptuous.” I set down the glass. “But you haven’t told me to stop.”
“I’m telling you now.”
“No, you’re not.” I lean forward, elbows on the table. “You’re asking what it means because you liked hearing it. Wanted to know if I meant it affectionately or condescendingly.”
“And which is it?”
“Both.” I watch her process that. “You’re brilliant and infuriating in equal measure. Baby seems appropriate.”
The waiter returns with wine, performing the tasting ritual. I nod approval without breaking eye contact with Iris.
She waits until he leaves before speaking. “I have a name.”
“Iris.” I test it, letting each letter roll off my tongue. “Goddess of the rainbow. Messenger between gods and mortals. Fitting, considering you spend your life between digital and physical worlds.”
“You researched Greek mythology?”
“I researched everything about you.” I pour wine into her glass, then mine. “Your dissertation on quantum encryption. Your high school chess championship. That coffee shop in Providence you worked at during undergrad.”
She goes very still. “Why?”
“Because you’re the first person to challenge me in years.” The admission comes easier than expected. “Everyone else is predictable. You’re not.”
“So, I’m what? A puzzle to solve?”
“No.” I lift my glass. “You’re the puzzle I don’t want to solve. Just want to keep playing.”
Her fingers wrap around her wine glass, but she doesn’t drink. “That’s the most honest thing you’ve said all night.”
“I’m always honest with you.”
“You’re a criminal who makes a living from deception.”
“Not with you.” I take a sip, letting the wine settle. “Never with you, detka.”
She flinches at the endearment but doesn’t correct me this time.