“You meant exactly what you said.” Dimitri’s voice doesn’t rise, doesn’t sharpen. It simply states fact. “Leave.”
It isn’t a suggestion.
The man leaves, practically tripping over his own feet in his hurry to put distance between us.
Silence settles between us, thick and humming. My pulse roars in my ears. I should say something. Thank him, maybe. Apologize for the disruption. Anything.
Dimitri’s gaze shifts to me, and I feel it everywhere.
He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t soften. He looks at me the way someone might assess a blueprint—cataloging details, measuring angles, deciding whether something is worth the trouble. His eyes track from my face down to where my fingers grip the tablet, lingering for a beat on the way my dress curves over my hips, the fabric pulled taut across my thighs, then back up again.
My breath catches. I hate that he notices. Hate more that I notice him noticing.
“You shouldn’t be alone in rooms like this,” he says finally.
My throat tightens. “I’m working.”
“You look too young to be working at a place like this.”
The certainty in his voice makes my stomach drop. How does he know?
“I’m twenty next month,” I reply, lifting my chin. It’s a stupid thing to argue about. I know it even as the words leave my mouth.
Something flickers across his expression. “That doesn’t make you less of a target.”
“I can handle myself.”
“Clearly.”
The word lands, cutting. My cheeks burn. I want to snap back, to prove I’m not some helpless intern who needs rescuing, but the truth is I froze the second that man cornered me. I was two seconds from panic, and we both know it.
Dimitri tilts his head slightly, studying me. “What’s your name?”
I hesitate. Giving my name feels dangerous in a way I can’t articulate. “Janice.”
“Janice.” He repeats it like he’s testing the weight of it. His accent curls around the syllables, turning them into something unfamiliar. “You should stay closer to your supervisor, Janice. Men here don’t respect boundaries unless someone enforces them.”
“You’re the one enforcing them?”
The question comes out sharper than I intend. His eyes narrow, just slightly, and for a second I think I’ve miscalculated. Pushed too hard. Said the wrong thing to the wrong person.
Then his mouth shifts. It’s not quite a smile, but close enough to feel like victory.
“Today I am,” he says quietly. “Don’t make me regret it.”
He steps past me, moving back toward the windows where another conversation is already forming. I watch him go, heart still racing, hands trembling around the tablet. The space where he stood feels suddenly cold, emptied of whatever presence he carries with him.
I don’t move for a full minute, rooted to the spot, pulse hammering against my ribs.
By the time Marissa finds me ten minutes later, I’ve managed to stop shaking. Barely.
“Do you know who you were talking to?” Marissa’s voice is carefully neutral, but her eyes are sharp.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Some businessman who thought I was—”
“Not him. The other one. Dimitri Rudenko.”
Oh.
