Chapter 9
BOGDAN
Lincoln has put a laughing face beneath the photograph.
Klim lays his phone beside mine on the desk, along with the account records he brought upstairs. The image is a copy of the post about Tessa, shared under the DJ's name. I look at the little symbol, then at her face in the picture.
She was happy when she walked out of that bathroom. I remember wanting to follow her back to the party and find another reason to keep her beside me.
I turn the picture toward Klim.
“Where is he tonight?”
“I'll find out.”
He doesn't reach for the phone yet. Across the desk, Kirill pulls the other chair closer, its wooden leg scraping against the floor. He's already seen what I saw.
“First, the account,” Klim says.
I sit back. From my chair, the nearest chandelier's upper branches are visible through the smoked glass.
Downstairs, the women are finishing photographs for Thursday's costume showcase.
Tessa said she'd be done by seven. I've had a table set in the private box, and the kitchen is keeping our dinner warm.
I want Lincoln here before she comes upstairs.
Klim opens the records to an entry marked with Sunday's date.
Fern has supplied the account history after two days of requests.
The name attached to the upload belongs to her shared production login, used for work on several autumn events.
Her own staff and outside vendors have been using the same details.
“Can you put her behind the screen when it went up?” I ask.
“Not from this. She says she didn't post it. She can't tell me who did.”
I run a finger along the edge of the page. The stone beneath my hand is cold. Fern stood in my fitting room on Sunday, using the picture to sell someone else's dress while Tessa tried to keep a client. I believe she'd enjoy being responsible. That doesn't give me proof.
Klim shows me Fern's confirmation that the post is down.
He's saved the files and the account records.
She's changed the password and signed the other users out.
I read it through, then return to Lincoln's copy.
Taking down the first post hasn't reached the people who saved it. Her face is still beneath his name.
“Keep the copies together,” I tell Klim. “Find out who supplied the photograph. I want that answer as well as the person who posted it.”
Klim gathers the pages. The paper catches briefly against my ring before I lift my hand.
Kirill waits until the folder is closed.
“The men are talking about you.”
“They often do.”
“About her, then. They see you leave your business to collect her. They see her come down from your private rooms holding your hand. Now this picture is being passed around.” He glances at the phone. “Someone will see how much of your evening he can take with one insult.”
I stop reaching for my glass.
Kirill watches my hand. On Thursday he wanted the women protected by a hired security company. Tonight I'm resenting the time he's taking because I've arranged dinner for Tessa. He doesn't have to ask how I intended to spend the evening. I've made it obvious.
“Is that what you're doing?” I ask.
“I'm telling you before someone less loyal proves it.”
For a moment I want him out of my office. He has no idea what she sounded like in the car after the shooting, or how pleased she was when her client kept the dress. All he sees is the time I give her.
Then I look at Lincoln's name again. I've already asked Klim to find him.
I pick up the glass and drink. The rye burns at the back of my tongue, sharp enough to make me slow down before I answer. Kirill keeps his hands on his knees, waiting for the part he knows I won't enjoy saying.
“Tessa is under my protection. Her friend too. That isn't open to discussion among the captains.”
“I've told them.”
“Tell them again if they need it. My orders at the depots still stand. If any man decides I'm too busy to notice him doing less, bring him here.”
Kirill nods. There's no pleasure in his face at having made his point. I trust him more for that, even while I'm considering how satisfying it would be to throw his chair through the glass.
He takes the freight papers from his coat.
They're the reason he came before Klim showed us the picture.
I pull them toward me, and for the next few minutes we finish the work I nearly abandoned.
Two signatures, a disputed collection I send back for checking, tomorrow's departure sheet.
Nothing on the page needs Lincoln's opinion.
By the time Kirill puts the papers away, the anger has settled into something I can use.
Klim picks up his phone. “And Lincoln?”
A knock comes before I answer. Tessa opens the door at my invitation, carrying a folded velvet cloak over one arm. Her black dress has a narrow silver belt, and a pointed hat hangs from two fingers. She looks at the men, then at the untouched chair beside my desk.
“Am I early?”
I stand. “You're finished?”
“Unless you want a turn in the hat.”
I take the cloak from her. It's heavier than I expect, still warm along the fold where she held it. With the cloak out of the way, she leans up to kiss my cheek. Kirill gets to his feet before she draws back.
Her greeting makes me want to keep her here with the door shut and my phone turned off. I settle for laying the cloak over the sofa, where it won't crease, then bringing her beside me.
She's already seen Klim's screen.
“Oh, for fuck's sake.” Her shoulders drop. “He's still sharing it?”
Klim looks to me. I nod, and he hands her the phone.
Tessa reads the name above her own picture. She doesn't enlarge it. After a few seconds she turns the screen down against her palm, looking at the back of the case while she works her lower lip between her teeth.
“Did you find out where the first post came from?”
I give her the answer myself. “Fern's shared work login. Several people had it. We've saved what she sent us, and the password's been changed. We don't have the person yet.”
She lifts her eyes to mine. “Fern must've hated handing that over.”
“She had reasons to cooperate.”
I can withdraw my venues from her future bookings. I can make every easy arrangement she relies on require a different room and a different owner. I want the answer before I decide what to take from her.
Tessa gives Klim his phone back. “Thank you for getting it off the page.”
“We'll keep the records,” he says.
Kirill says good evening to her on his way out. She returns it, moving her hat so he can pass without catching the brim. He looks at me once at the door. I let him go without supplying the satisfaction of another argument.
Klim stays beside the desk.
“I can have Lincoln's location shortly.”
Tessa looks from him to me. “Were you going to see him?”
“I wanted him to explain why he thinks this is funny.”
Her mouth presses closed. I expect her to defend the man, to tell me he's harmless or that he didn't mean it. She looks tired of him instead, which is easier to bear until I realize how often he's probably made her feel that way.
“He'll love knowing he got you angry,” she says. “Then he'll tell everyone he had a meeting with you. I'll still have the photograph, and he'll have something new to talk about.”
I could give him a reason to keep his mouth closed. The thought is immediate and appealing. I look at her face while it passes through me, at the faint mark her hat has left across her forehead.
She got dressed for photographs this afternoon. She finished early for dinner. Lincoln has managed to put himself in the room without leaving wherever he's drinking.
Tessa catches my hand.
“I wanted tonight with you. He's not worth spoiling it.”
Her fingers fit between mine, warm against the cold edge of my ring. I don't want her worrying about whether he'll retaliate or how she'll explain another ugly story to Peggy. I want her looking across a table at me, with the little smile she had when she came through the door.
Klim waits for an answer. He won't interpret her request as my decision.
“Leave Lincoln for tonight,” I say. “The account inquiry continues.”
He nods, takes the folder and closes the door behind him.
Tessa moves closer, her hat brushing the desk. “You're annoyed.”
“I wanted to hear him apologize.”
“He's terrible at it.” She sets the hat beside my phone. “He once told me he was sorry I didn't understand how busy he was.”
I look down at her. “Were you waiting for him?”
“At a restaurant. In heels I couldn't walk home in.” She lifts one shoulder. “Peggy came instead. We ordered dessert on his reservation.”
The detail stays with me after her smile returns. I picture her watching a restaurant door, trying to decide when waiting has become foolish. She shouldn't have had to make that calculation while a man congratulated himself on being wanted.
I draw her against me and kiss her. For the first time since Klim put that phone on my desk, I stop seeing the photograph.
Her hand settles at the back of my neck, and her hips press against mine.
My cock hardens against her as I deepen the kiss.
Then her hat slips off the stone behind her, and she laughs into my mouth.
I catch it by the brim before it reaches the floor.
“You're useful,” she says.
I hand it back. “Come and eat.”
“The cloak first. Peggy needs it downstairs.”
I lift it from the sofa. Tessa takes my free hand as we leave the office, and I let my phone stay on the desk. Klim knows where we'll be.
At the bottom of the stairs, the main room smells of fresh paint from a pair of wooden grave markers drying beside the dismantled photo set. Beyond them, Peggy is folding a black backdrop while Ethan lowers a lighting stand. His jacket is off, the sleeves of his shirt pushed above his elbows.
He takes the far corner when Peggy's fold starts to drag, lifting it clear of the floor. She says something I can't hear over the music. He laughs and folds toward her, making the cloth small enough to fit into its bag.
Tessa sees them and smiles before calling Peggy's name.
I carry the cloak into the side corridor, where Matvei stands beside the fitting-room door.
A wardrobe rack waits against the wall with its wheels locked.
The clear passage leads past the reserve store to the turn for the service wing.
From here I can see the corner, but not the rear loading door beyond it.
Peggy follows with the folded backdrop. Ethan rolls a case behind her, keeping one hand on a lighting stand strapped across its top.
“Put that one on the end,” Peggy tells me, pointing to an empty hanger. “The lining needs to hang straight.”
I lift the cloak onto it. Tessa smooths the shoulder beside my hand, then turns the hanger so the hem clears the wheel.
Ethan stops his case at the corridor turn and checks the sheet clipped to its handle. Peggy leans over to read it with him. I see Fern's company heading above the Thursday job at Bellquay Rooms, followed by a collection time for the equipment.
Ethan folds the top of the sheet back beneath the clip. Matvei checks with the guard at the loading end before waving him through with the case. He has a booked collection, the same as the other vendors clearing their equipment. Peggy walks beside him, holding the backdrop bag away from the wheels.
It's ordinary work in a corridor I've spent too many nights thinking about. The ceiling light shows the scuffs along the wall where racks have caught the paint. Farther down, Ethan angles the case around the turn, with Peggy guiding the stand clear of the doorframe.
Tessa slides her hand up my sleeve.
“They're going to be unbearable by October.”
“Peggy looks happy.”
“She is.” Tessa watches them disappear around the corner. “I like seeing it.”
Matvei remains beside the fitting room, listening to his radio. “Peggy's with her escort,” he tells me.
The corridor is clear again. I take Tessa's hand before she can find another piece of work to carry.
“Your dinner's waiting.”
She comes willingly, leaving the hat on the rack beside the cloak. At the stairs she looks back at me, smiling as though she's been waiting for me to catch up all evening.
Before we reach the landing, her thumb brushes over my knuckles. I turn her hand in mine and lift it to my mouth. I've kept her dinner waiting while I thought about another man, and I intend to spend the rest of the evening making her glad she came.