Chapter Two - Dimitri
The event drags on for another hour, but I barely register it.
I move through the necessary conversations with practiced ease—nodding at the right moments, offering noncommittal responses that could mean anything or nothing, letting men twice my age believe they’ve gained ground when they haven’t moved an inch.
Patterson slinks back eventually, nursing his bruised ego with expensive scotch and avoiding my gaze entirely. Smart man. For once.
The entire time, I’m aware of where she is.
The intern. Janice.
She stays near the periphery, tablet clutched like a shield, watching everything with those too-perceptive eyes.
She doesn’t belong here. Everything about her screams outsider—the cheap dress that pulls tight across generous hips and strains at the seams over the full curve of her chest, the way she holds herself like she’s trying to take up less space, the nervous habit of tucking hair behind her ear when someone passes too close.
Nineteen years old. Twenty next month, she’d said, chin lifted in defiance that would have been charming if it weren’t so dangerously naive.
I shouldn’t have intervened. Shouldn’t have noticed her at all.
Men like Patterson are everywhere in this city, testing boundaries, seeing what they can take. Usually I don’t care. The world is full of women who learn to navigate predators or get eaten alive. Natural selection dressed in Armani suits.
So why did I cross the room the second I saw Patterson corner her?
I turn the question over in my mind, searching for logic that isn’t there.
She isn’t my responsibility. Isn’t my concern.
She’s an intern at some consulting firm I’ll probably never deal with directly, and in three months she’ll disappear back to wherever she came from, one more casualty of a city that chews up idealists and spits out cynics.
I should forget her.
I watch her leave with her supervisor—Marissa Carmichael, sharp and competent, the kind of woman who knows when to keep her mouth shut—and something tightens in my chest when Janice glances back.
Our eyes meet across the room, and for a second I see the exact moment she realizes I’ve been tracking her movements.
Then she’s gone.
I drain my glass, set it on a nearby table, and return to the conversation I’d been ignoring.
Felix sidles up beside me ten minutes later, pale blue eyes missing nothing. “You intervened.”
“Patterson was being Patterson.”
“You don’t usually care.”
I don’t answer. Felix is my cousin, my strategist, and far too observant for comfort. If anyone is going to notice a crack in my armor, it’s Felix.
“She’s young,” Felix says quietly. “Reckless too, from the way she looked at you. You know better.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
I turn to face him fully. “Drop it.”
Felix holds my gaze for a long moment, then nods once. “Dropped.”
It isn’t. We both know it. Felix will file this away, catalog it alongside every other detail he collects about the people in my orbit.
I don’t fault him for it. In our world, information is the only currency that matters.
Still, when I return to my office that night, I find myself pulling up Carmichael’s consulting firm on my computer. Scrolling through staff profiles. Looking for her name.
She isn’t listed. Of course she isn’t; she’s an intern. Temporary and irrelevant.
I close the browser and pour myself a drink I don’t finish.
***
Three days pass before I see her again.
I tell myself it’s coincidence. I have a site walkthrough scheduled at the Williamsburg property, a new acquisition that’s already drawing protest from community groups who don’t understand that progress requires sacrifice. The building is half gutted.
My project manager, Mitchell, is competent but unimaginative. I don’t need imagination. I need someone who follows orders and doesn’t ask questions about where the money comes from.
“We’re on schedule,” Mitchell says, leading me through the first floor. “Demo finished last week, permits cleared for the next phase. I’ve got the subcontractors lined up, and—”
“Who else is here?”
Mitchell blinks. “Sir?”
“The walkthrough. You scheduled it for this morning. Who else did you invite?”
“Just the usual: city inspector, the consulting firm handling community outreach, environmental assessment team.” Mitchell checks his tablet. “Carmichael’s group sent someone. Intern, I think. They wanted to observe the process, document compliance.”
Of course they did.
I keep my expression neutral, scanning the gutted space with practiced disinterest. Exposed beams overhead, concrete floors stripped bare, the smell of dust and old wood and something chemical I can’t name.
Light filters through windows still waiting for replacement, casting shadows across debris piles stacked along the walls.
I arranged this. Called Mitchell yesterday, suggested he invite Carmichael’s firm for transparency’s sake. Made it sound like good PR, community relations, the kind of performative openness that looks good in reports.
Mitchell bought it. He always does.
I hear her before I see her. “So you’re demolishing the original structure entirely?”
The voice is familiar: curious, pointed, laced with skepticism that isn’t quite hidden. I turn, and there she is.
Janice stands near the far corner, speaking with the environmental assessor.
She’s dressed differently today—jeans that hug the generous swell of her hips and thighs, a button-down shirt that gapes slightly between buttons over the curve of her breasts, work boots that look borrowed.
Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and she’s taking notes on the same tablet she’d clutched at the event.
She looks up, catches my gaze, and freezes.
I watch the exact moment recognition hits. Her spine straightens, color rising in her cheeks, and her fingers tighten around the tablet.
I shouldn’t feel satisfied by her reaction. I do anyway. “Excuse me,” I say to Mitchell, and cross the room.
The assessor notices me first, stepping aside immediately. “Mr. Rudenko. We were just discussing the preservation requirements.”
“I’ll handle it.” I don’t look at the man. My attention stays fixed on Janice, who’s doing an admirable job of pretending she isn’t rattled. “You’re with Carmichael’s firm.”
It isn’t a question.
“Yes.” Her voice is steadier than I expect. “I’m documenting the site preparation process. Making sure everything aligns with the community impact assessment.”
“So, does it?”
“I don’t know yet. I just got here.”
“Then perhaps you should observe instead of interrogating my staff.”
Her jaw tightens. “I wasn’t interrogating. I was asking questions. That’s how observation works.”
I tilt my head, studying her. She’s nervous—I can see it in the way her knuckles have gone white around the tablet, the quick flutter of her pulse visible at her throat—but she isn’t backing down. Interesting.
“What’s your background?” I ask.
“Urban development concentration.”
“So no practical experience.”
“Not yet.”
“Then you’re learning theory while watching other people build. Useful.” I let the word carry just enough dismissal to sting.
Her eyes flash. “More useful than tearing down historical architecture to build luxury condos no one in this neighborhood can afford.”
There it is. The spark I’d sensed at the event, buried under politeness and self-preservation. She has opinions. Strong ones. Apparently she’s reckless enough to voice them directly to my face.
I should shut her down. Should remind her that she’s here as a courtesy, that her firm’s involvement is cosmetic at best, that nothing she documents will change a single decision I make.
Instead, I say, “Walk with me.”
She hesitates. “I’m supposed to stay with the assessment team.”
“Walk. With. Me.”
Janice glances toward the assessor, who’s suddenly very interested in his clipboard, then back to me. I watch her weigh the options, see the moment she decides that refusing would be worse than complying.
She follows.
I lead her deeper into the building, away from the others. Our footsteps echo against bare concrete, punctuated by distant hammering from the floor above. Dust motes drift through shafts of sunlight, and the air tastes stale, undisturbed.
“You think I’m destroying something valuable,” I say without preamble.
“I think you’re destroying something that could be valuable. There’s a difference.”
“Is there?”
“Yes.” She stops walking, forcing me to turn and face her. “This building has history. Character. It’s been part of this community for eighty years. You could restore it, preserve the facade, integrate it into whatever you’re building instead of erasing it completely.”
“At triple the cost and half the efficiency.”
“Is efficiency the only thing that matters?”
“In my world? Yes.”
Janice shakes her head. “That’s bleak.”
“That’s reality.” I take a step closer, watching her pupils dilate.
She doesn’t back away, though I can see the impulse flicker across her face.
“You want to save a building. I want to house three hundred families and generate revenue that keeps this entire project afloat. Which serves the community better?”
“The families you’re housing won’t be from this community. We both know that.”
She’s smart. Too smart.
“You’ve done your research,” I say.
“I always do my research.”
“What else did you find?”
“That you’re very good at making things look legitimate on paper while the reality is considerably less… altruistic.”
The accusation should irritate me. It doesn’t. She’s right, and we both know it. What surprises me is her willingness to say it out loud, here, when she has no power and no protection.
“You’re either very brave or very stupid,” I say quietly.
“Can’t I be both?”
Her mouth curves slightly—not quite a smile, something sharper—and I feel the pull again. Stronger this time. Dangerous.
I let my gaze drop deliberately, tracking the way her shirt pulls tight across her chest with each breath, the soft curve of her waist where the fabric bunches slightly, the generous flare of her hips in denim that looks worn soft.
She’s all curves and softness, the kind of body that belongs in paintings, not boardrooms. The kind of body I want to—
I cut the thought off before it finishes forming.
“You should return to your team,” I say, voice carefully neutral. “Before they wonder where you’ve gone.”
Janice blinks, clearly thrown by the dismissal. “That’s it? You’re not going to, I don’t know, threaten me? Kick me off the site?”
“Should I?”
“I just implied you’re running a semi-legitimate gentrification scheme.”
“You didn’t imply. You stated it outright.” I allow myself a small smile. “You’re not wrong, and I respect accuracy. Even when it’s inconvenient.”
She stares at me, trying to reconcile whatever image she’d built in her head with the man standing in front of her. I can see the gears turning, questions forming behind her eyes.
“Why did you help me?” she asks suddenly. “At the event. You didn’t know me. You didn’t owe me anything.”
“I didn’t like the way Patterson was looking at you.”
“Why would you care?”
Good question. One I don’t have a satisfactory answer for.
“I don’t,” I lie. “Consider it a momentary lapse in judgment.”
Her expression shutters. “Right. Of course.”
She turns to leave, and I watch the sway of her hips as she walks away, the way her shirt pulls tight across her lower back. Full curves that belong in a different era, soft where the women in my world are sharp and angular. There’s something compelling about it. About her.
I’ve already crossed a line by arranging this walkthrough. I knew exactly who Carmichael’s firm would send, knew exactly when she’d arrive. The transparency excuse was flimsy at best, and if Felix were here, he’d call it what it is: manufactured proximity.
I don’t do things without reason. Every action serves a purpose, advances a goal, eliminates a threat or secures an asset.
So what is Janice?
She reaches the doorway, pauses, glances back. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re as indifferent as you pretend to be.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Am I?”
She leaves before I can answer.
I stand alone in the gutted space, surrounded by the bones of something that used to matter to someone, and realize I’ve made a mistake.
I should have let Patterson have her. Should have looked away, let the city teach her the same lesson it teaches everyone eventually. Instead, I’d intervened. Had drawn attention to her. Had made her visible not just to myself, but to anyone watching me.
People are always watching me.
Mitchell appears in the doorway, tablet in hand. “Sir? The inspector is ready for your signature.”
“Give me a minute.”
“Of course.”
Alone again, I pull out my phone and open a message to Felix.
Background check on Janice Woods. Carmichael’s consulting firm. I want to know everything.
The response comes thirty seconds later.
Already done. I’ll send the file tonight.