20. Taylor #2
I look at the containers scattered across the table.
Food is the one thing that might warm my cold heart right now.
I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I saw it.
I hang my coat and walk into the kitchen.
There’s nowhere to sit without joining them, so I pick up a container and eat from it while leaning my hip against the counter.
Petyr smiles faintly, as if this proves something.
I pour myself a shot of vodka. Anya raises an eyebrow.
“Do not.”
“I did not say anything.”
“You were thinking it.”
“I was thinking you are becoming Russian.”
I shoot the vodka and close my eyes as the warmth settles into my stomach.
For several minutes, they talk around me.
Anya tells a story about one of her professors losing an argument with a projector.
Petyr complains about some new departmental policy.
I eat two dumplings and begin to relax. I almost forget the page.
Then Anya asks, “Why were you there so late?”
I should say “Work.” I should joke that I’m developing a sleep and stress disorder all in one, a real wonderkid. I should ask Anya about her professor again. Instead, I say, “I found something strange tonight.”
Anya’s expression changes. Petyr’s does not, but his attention sharpens. “What kind of strange?” he asks.
“Vendor paperwork. There was a page mixed into it that did not belong there.”
Petyr reaches for his drink. “What page?”
“I don’t know. It listed Lyubertsy. A permit number, maybe. Something marked transferred. Six pending.”
Neither of them says anything. I continue because their silence makes stopping feel worse. “And Orlov Transport.” Petyr’s hand stops halfway to his glass. “You know it.”
Petyr sets down his glass. “Orlov Transport is a large freight company.”
“That’s it?”
“That is enough.”
“No, it’s a company with a website. That’s nothing.”
“Taylor.”
I point at him. “Don’t do the thing where men say my name like that instead of answering me. I have had enough of that tonight.”
Anya covers a smile with her hand. Petyr doesn’t. “There are rumors,” he says.
“What rumors?”
“The kind people repeat quietly.”
“Very informative.”
“Orlov owns freight companies. Warehouses. Distribution contracts. He knows politicians. Businessmen. People who do not appear in newspapers.”
“So does every billionaire.”
“I did not say he was a billionaire.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“I am saying that if you saw his name in Korolev’s office, I would forget that you saw it.”
I stare at him. “Mikhail took the page.”
Petyr’s expression changes. “He saw you with it?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“That it was placed there by mistake.”
Petyr laughs once under his breath. He rubs a hand over his jaw. “Did you ask him about Orlov?”
“Yes,” I say. Petyr closes his eyes briefly. “Oh, please.”
“Do not ask him again.”
“Why?”
“Because if it is nothing, you gain nothing by asking. And if it is something, you really do not want the answer.”
“You sound ridiculous. Everyone sounds ridiculous tonight.”
“Then maybe listen when everyone is telling you the same thing.”
I set the container on the counter. “You don’t know anything about Mikhail.”
“I know enough.”
“No, you know rumors about a transport company.”
“I looked him up after you got the internship.”
My stomach tightens. “You looked up my boss?”
“You were excited about the position. I wanted to know who you were working for. I saw his picture.”
I already know what’s coming. I look toward Anya.
Petyr sees me do it, considers, and decides he doesn’t care. “The guy from the bar, Taylor? Really?”
Anya slowly turns toward me. I close my eyes. “Petyr.”
“Fucking your boss is dumb under normal circumstances. With Korolev, it is really, really dumb. Men like Korolev do not pursue women because they respect them.”
I laugh without humor. “And men like you warn women because you do?”
“I am warning you because you are in this country alone, and every important person you know in this country seems to be connected to that office and him somehow.”
“I know my own life.”
“Do you?”
Something in me snaps. “Yes, Petyr. I do.”
“Then act like it.”
Anya rises halfway from her chair. “Both of you—”
“No.” I look at him. “You do not get to come into my apartment, announce who I have slept with, and then lecture me about men like you own me.”
The silence that follows is ugly.
“I care about you,” he says.
“You barely know me.”
Anya looks down at the table. I feel a flicker of guilt, but not enough to take it back.
Petyr picks up his coat. “I know enough.”
“You just like green eyes and tan skin.”
His mouth tightens. “And you like Korolev for his heart, I suppose.”
I look toward the door.
Petyr follows my gaze. His jaw works once, then he nods. “All right.”
Anya stands. “Petyr—”
“No.” He picks up the unopened bottle he brought, thinks better of it, and leaves it on the counter.
“She wants me to go.” He walks to the door.
Before opening it, he looks back at me. “Whatever you found tonight, do not go looking for more.” I fold my arms. “And do not ask Korolev about Orlov again.”
Then he leaves. The lock clicks behind him. Anya and I stand in the kitchen listening to his footsteps fade down the stairwell. She turns toward me slowly. “You slept with Mikhail Korolev?”
I sigh and throw the food container into the trash. “That’s what you got from that conversation?”
“It was a very complicated conversation.”
I stare at the table. Lyubertsy. Orlov Transport. Six pending. Mikhail asking whether I photographed the page. Mikhail telling me I’m safe when I never asked.
Anya studies my face. “Are you going to keep looking?”
“No.” I stare at the table. The page comes back to me with perfect clarity. Transferred. Held. Cleared. “Maybe. I don’t know,” I say.
She groans.
I reach for the vodka.