Chapter 2
The Prey
I’m so sorry, dear, but you need to know the language.”
Rejection number six.
I forced a tight-lipped smile, nodding as if I hadn’t already heard variations of this all day. No matter how much I tried to explain, the answer was always the same. They needed someone local, someone fluent, someone who wouldn’t make their job harder. And honestly? I couldn’t even blame them.
“It’s fine.” I swallowed my frustration. “Have a good day.”
I hesitated. That’s it? Not even a second of consideration? I needed this job—desperately. My fingers curled tighter around my bag strap as I bit back the urge to plead. Instead, I turned on my heel and walked out, head held high despite the burning sting of rejection gnawing at my chest.
Lucky number seven, right?
The bitter cold greeted me the moment I stepped outside.
I shoved my hands into my pockets and limped toward my dorm, my breath disappearing into the icy air almost as quickly as my hopes of finding a decent job.
On the way, I stopped to get my glasses fixed and bought a spare pair of contact lenses, just in case. The extra expense stung, but so did walking into walls.
And to my horror, it started snowing. Nothing could make me prepared for this country.
By the time I reached the dorm, I was tired as fuck. I contemplated skipping dinner, but my stomach growled.
“Everything good, dorogaya?” Alina asked as I slumped into the seat beside her.
My gaze dropped to the food—a bowl of soup and a piece of bread—and my mouth twisted in distaste. “If getting rejected from six places in a row is considered good, then yeah, I’m fucking marvelous.”
I didn’t even feel like eating anymore. Hope had officially packed its bags and left the building. If only I’d taken Russian seriously in high school instead of assuming English would be enough.
“Told ya.” Alina smirked, stirring her coffee. “You can still consider my offer, though.”
I scoffed. “No thanks. You enjoy your shady part-time—I’m fine.”
“Oh, come on, it’s not shady,” she grinned mischievously. “It just offers more.”
I shot her a deadpan look. “More what?”
She leaned in. “See, you just have to dress pretty, sway your hips a little, and they’ll throw money at you.”
Dress pretty and sway my hips? Sure. Because I totally had the grace of a swan and not the coordination of a drunk giraffe.
“You mean a bar dancer?” I chuckled. “No, I’m good.”
“Offer still stands, just in case.” Alina shrugged before turning back to her friends, disappearing into a rapid stream of Russian.
I poked at my soup, contemplating every poor decision that had led me here.
Someone slid onto the bench beside me. A girl with oversized round glasses tucked a newspaper under her arm as she reached for her coffee.
My eyes caught something on the front page.
Employee needed.
My spoon nearly went flying as I lunged for the newspaper, my heart hammering against my ribs. The girl shot me a murderous glare, but I couldn’t care less. With shaking hands, I shoved the paper at Alina, practically vibrating with perseverance.
“Translate this. Now.”
Alina blinked at me, startled, then skimmed the ad. Her expression went from mildly intrigued to utterly shocked.
“Holy shit,” she breathed. “They’re hiring a caretaker... and it offers—fuck!”
I grabbed her arm. “Fuck what?”
Her wide eyes snapped to mine. “Ten… Thousand. Dollars.”
I swear, my soul left my body for a second.
Ten thousand dollars?
My eyebrows shot up so high they nearly disappeared into my hairline.
Alina’s finger trembled as she jabbed at the bottom of the newspaper, as if she’d just discovered the lost treasure of El Dorado.
“The details...!” she squealed, her Russian spilling out in excitement.
I swear my soul temporarily evacuated my body. Ten thousand dollars? There had to be a catch. With trembling hands, I yanked out my phone and dialed the number before common sense could interfere. If I got this job, I’d personally start thanking every god ever worshipped.
The line rang once and twice.
My heart was beating so hard I was fairly certain the entire cafeteria could hear it.
Pick up, pick up, pick up—
“Привет?”
I swallowed hard.
“Am I speaking to Kyle Molotov?”
A long, awkward pause stretched between us. I mentally kicked myself—English, really? Of course, he wouldn’t understand.
I took a deep breath and tried again, my Russian wobbling like a newborn deer.
“Hello, this is Seraphina. I saw the advertisement and wanted to know if this vacancy is available.”
The man’s voice was deep yet polite. “I’ll send you the address, and we can meet to discuss.”
“Oh, yes, yes!”
The call ended, and I stared at my screen, my grin stretching so wide it might’ve split my face in half. I probably looked like an overexcited puppy that just realized it was getting a treat.
But who cared?
I had an interview.
This was happening.
I just had to not fuck it up.