Chapter 14 Bastian
BASTIAN
con·tam·i·na·tion: /k?n?tam??nāSH(?)n/: noun
I lose myself in work for a while, long enough for the sun to march across the sky and settle down beneath the horizon. It’s only when a calendar reminder dings on my computer that I look up from the papers scattered across my desk.
“Blyat’,” I snarl—then I blink. I haven’t cursed in Russian in almost a decade. I thought I’d purged myself of that habit. Grimacing, I snatch up the phone and dial Patricia.
She answers immediately. “Yes, sir?”
“Two things. First, make sure my uninvited guest has left the building. I don’t want anyone to talk to him—just make sure he gets the fuck out of here. Second, what’s this item on my calendar? I don’t remember putting that there.”
“We spoke about it yesterday, sir. The limited partners are gathering at Coruscant for a wine presentation from the Olympus sommelier team. You’re supposed to join them. Your date confirmed that she’ll be ready to be picked up in twenty-five minutes, outside of—”
“Date?” I interrupt. “What date?”
“Ms. Francesca Morrow, sir. I believe you met her when you hosted the dinner for the ballerinas of the Joffrey Ballet last month. She seemed very eager for tonight.”
This time, I manage to restrain myself to saying Blyat’ in my head instead of out loud.
But fuck, this is not what I want to be doing right now.
Wining and dining investors, making sure they’re all pleased as punch with our progress, that they keep signing the checks I need to make my dreams into a reality—it’s sickening, groveling work, but someone has to do it.
A date, though? That can’t possibly be necessary. The thought of charming this ballerina makes me sick to my stomach.
I stand, fix my cuffs, and do my best to shake off the residue of Aleksei’s visit. But the air still reeks of menthol and his words linger in the air right along with the smoke: Everything decays eventually.
Through my office window, I can see into the cubicle area.
Most of the staff have gone home, but as I watch, a familiar head bobs along the row and turns the corner.
Eliana’s copper hair turns fiery red under the fluorescent lights.
I see someone catch her attention and she smiles, hazel eyes flash as she returns the greeting, and—
Everything decays eventually.
She’s decaying. I’m decaying. We’re all fucking decaying and trying to pretend we’re not.
Before I fully realize what I’m doing, I’m storming out of my office and barking into the phone to Patricia, “Call and cancel my date. Tell her something came up. Lie if you have to—I don’t give a shit.”
“Uh, sir?”
“I’m bringing someone else.”
“Should I—”
But I’m already hanging up and continuing my stride toward the cubicles. Eliana is turning away from her conversation as I approach. She almost screams when she turns to find me nearly on top of her.
“Jesus! You need a bell or something. Like a cat.”
“Get your coat,” I order.
“Excuse me?”
“Your coat. You’re coming with me.”
She blinks, confusion clear on her face. “Coming with you where?”
“Investor wine tasting at Coruscant.”
“I’m not dressed for—”
“You’re fine.” She’s more than fine, actually. The black skirt and silk blouse she’s wearing are perfectly appropriate. Less appropriate are the thoughts I find myself having of teasing down the zipper of that skirt and seeing what color her panties are underneath. My money’s on black.
She looks back at my office, then at me, clearly trying to figure out my angle. “Is this a work thing?”
“Everything’s a work thing.”
“That’s not an answer.”
I could tell her about the investors, how having my lead project manager there would actually be beneficial.
I could make this about business, keep it clean and professional.
Instead, I hear myself saying, “My date canceled. I need someone who can talk about Project Olympus without boring everyone to death and looking half-decent while they do it.”
Her smile curdles. “Flattering, as always. You truly have the gift of gab.”
“Can you just not be difficult for five fucking minutes?”
She stiffens, but then bends past me to grab her coat from the back of her chair, and, fuck, the smell of her strawberry shampoo is light years better to my nose than Aleksei’s godforsaken fucking cigarettes.
She pulls it halfway on, then stops. “There are nicer ways to ask someone to do things, you know.”
Obviously, she’s right. But Aleksei’s visit has me all fucked-up and manners are the last thing I feel like remembering. “Are you coming or not? Keep in mind that I’m not really asking.”
Eventually, she sighs, and I know I’ve won. “Fine,” she says. “But I’m getting hazard pay for this.”
“You’re already getting eleven thousand dollars a day. That is hazard pay.”
She shudders as she finishes zipping up her coat. “Clearly, you’ve never been to a wine tasting with venture capitalists. They’re like vampires, but worse. At least vampires have the decency to kill you quickly.”
Despite everything, I feel my mouth drift toward a smile. “Sounds like you have experience.”
“I’ve been your project manager for two years, Mr. Hale. I’ve seen things. Terrible things. Most of them were your fault.”
We fall in step as we walk toward the elevator together.
“By the way,” she says as we press the button and wait, “you have something on your cuff.”
I look down, and sure enough, there’s a smudge of truffle dirt on my white shirt. Contamination from Aleksei’s gift. The past bleeding into the present.
“Don’t worry about it,” I mutter.
She gives me a strange look but doesn’t comment.
The elevator arrives, and we step inside. As the doors close, I catch our reflection in the polished steel. She looks impossibly small beside me. But the jut of her hip, the clench of her jaw—there’s fire there. We both keep our eyes forward. For some reason, that feels safer.
“So,” she says as we descend, “any particular reason you’re bringing me instead of, what was her name? Svetlana? Tatiana? Something else that sounds like a Bond villain?”
“Her name was Francesca.”
“You never disappoint, Bastian.”
“Likewise.”
Gawking, Eliana turns to look at me fully. “Was that a compliment, or do my ears deceive me?”
“An observation, nothing more.”
“From Bastian Hale, that’s basically a marriage proposal. Someone play the bridal march.”
The elevator opens before I can respond, probably for the best. But as we walk toward the parking garage, I can’t help but feel that something fundamental has shifted.
Something cosmic, tectonic, something huge.
Aleksei’s visit has cracked something open in me, some carefully maintained barrier between past and present.
And Eliana Hunter, of all fucking people on the planet, is walking right through the gap.
Everything decays eventually, little brother.
Not if I can help it.