The Master (7 page)

“L
isten up, folks, the final is next Monday at seven sharp,” Ms. Gillespie, my econ instructor, told the class. She was a tall,
graying brunette, with a no-nonsense demeanor. “And yes, I know it’s cutting into your holiday break. Take it up with the active hurricane season.”

Three classes this fall had been cancelled due to tropical storms; with each storm, my apartment had taken on water like a sinking ship—just as it had last night.

After no sleep, an early morning run, and a hard day of work, I’d had to drag myself to class. Despite my windfall, I’d been coerced by Mrs. Abernathy to clean her mansion. When
I’d tried to quit, she’d told me she would report me to Immigration if I wasn’t there. My no-undue-attention rule forced me to show.

“We’ll spend tonight and Friday reviewing,” Ms. Gillespie said. “So let’s get started. I’m going to give you terms that might be on the exam. Define them and
imagine real-world scenarios.”

Luckily this was a lower-level econ course. I’d done all the heavy lifting for my degree in my first two years; all that remained was this last straggler class.

I took out my notebook and pen, determined to focus on this—and not on the Russian. For the past two days, I’d tried to put him from my mind, as he’d so easily done with
me.

Ms. Gillespie started writing on the board, and I dutifully scribbled my definitions.

I stifled a chuckle, earning a look from a few of my classmates, among them two guys who’d asked me out. Unfortunately, I’d had to turn them down, but their interest had puzzled me;
I always showed up to class in to-the-knee cutoffs, old 5K T-shirts, no makeup, and my hair plaited into two braids. I wore clunky running shoes and usually reeked of Pine-Sol. A far cry from a
glamorous escort.

Edward had targeted me to improve his. I’d signed any document my lawyer husband had put in front of me, unknowingly transferring my home and my inheritance of millions to him. But he
couldn’t get my family’s beach, the prize he’d truly been after.

As long as I remained alive, his mobility had flat-lined.

I was increasing mine by continuing my education at this community college. Heart in throat, I’d enrolled, using the fake ID I’d bought from a source near the Texas border. If I ever
reclaimed my life, maybe I could figure out a way to transfer all my stray credits back to my ritzy private college in Jacksonville.

Completing my coursework had become the holy grail to me. On her deathbed, my mother had begged me for two vows: to break up with Edward and to finish college.

I’d only given her one vow. She’d used her last breaths to say, “Run from that evil man!” Phase one of my life plan was to complete my credits to atone for not listening
to her. I was one exam away.

So why was I thinking about Sevastyan more than my class? At least he hadn’t blown the whistle about my theft. Hey, he’d specified no amount for my tip! And how valuable could that
money clip be?

I’d been nervous about him ratting me out, which pissed me off. I was a closer; if something went unresolved, that meant I didn’t have the power to settle it and could assign no
endpoint.

This unsettled feeling sucked. I already had enough loose ends in my life.

I’d talked to Ivanna several times since that night. She went way back with Anthony, the owner of Elite Escorts, so she would have heard if Sevastyan complained. So far, the Russian
hadn’t contacted Anthony about my heist—nor had he booked me.

Ivanna had told me, “Don’t take it personally, Cat! It happens to the best of us.”

I didn’t even
want
to see Sevastyan again. At all. Not whatsoever.

“You need to get back out there. Come in and talk to Anthony. Sign on officially. He’s a schmuck, but they all are.”

“I was thinking about heading out of town for a while.”

“Nonsense! I’ll let you take a break, but then we’ll get you back in the saddle. You can’t let yourself get down about Sevastyan. He wasn’t even in the realm of
possibility.”

Then she’d related all the gossip she’d learned about his dating life from her friends at sister agencies. He only booked one escort at a time, and he always overpaid. He was never
cruel to his dates—though he wasn’t particularly kind either. He hired a new girl every other night, but never for parties or events. Then he just took a famous actress or model.

I’d wondered why a guy like that would need to hire escorts at all, then thought back to his script. I couldn’t shake the feeling that he didn’t like to be touched. So why had
he let me? I’d climbed him like a jungle gym.

Today Ivanna was supposed to get a callback with even more dirty laundry—so I’d turned off my phone and gone about my job and school.

I’d decided three things about him:

His nastiness was directly proportional to his obscene wealth. (Why? When I’d been rich, I’d always been nice.)

He’d affected me exponentially more than I’d affected him. (I was merely
what five thousand had bought him in Miami.
)

No one should be that sexy. (Yesterday, I’d gotten off while fantasizing about giving him a BBBJ. Then I’d been disgusted with myself, blaming my run for making me horny.)

Though I’d sworn to Ivanna that I had no further interest in him, I’d broken down today, slipping off my cleaning gloves to Google him on Mrs. Abernathy’s computer.

Between laundry cycles, I’d learned that he’d grown up in Siberia, but had gotten a business degree in record time from Oxford. He had two brothers. His net worth fluctuated between
nine hundred million and just over a billion, depending on how the market was doing.

Though only thirty-one, he was a powerful politician—a member of the State Duma, or something. There were rumors of a
mafiya
connection. Maybe I was only attracted to criminals? The
thought depressed me. At least his business dealings focused on real estate and government contracts all around the world.

In almost every picture of him, he’d been flashing a movie-star smile, with a tall blond beauty on his arm.

Why had I tortured myself researching him? I’d never see Maksimilian Sevastyan again. Would never know his touch again.

Good riddance.

Once class was over, I hefted my backpack, dreading the long bus ride home. All I wanted to do was microwave a can of soup, soak in my spackled tub for a decade, and
not
think about
Sevastyan. Or how he’d be booking a new girl tonight.

Which I didn’t care about.

As I waited at the bus stop, I turned on my phone. It beeped like crazy. Eight messages from Ivanna?

Mierda!
The only reason she’d call that much was if the icy Russian had ratted me out! With a shaking hand, I dialed her. “Uh, hey?”

“Sevastyan’s been calling Anthony like mad! Apparently, he is one scary-sounding man.”

Why now? I’d thought I was in the clear! “I know. Listen, I can explain—”

“I had to do some quick thinking since Anthony didn’t know he’d hired you yet. By the way, if he asks, you were an independent, a platinum-level producer out of
Tampa.”

If you say so.

“Anyway, the Russian wants you to return to the Seltane. Now.”

Maybe the money clip had sentimental value? A gift from an ex-lover?

“Oh, Cat, he wants to book you! Do you know what this means? You’re the first girl ever to get a callback.”

“Wait,
book
me?”

“
Da
, for tonight. Anthony was calling me, and I was calling you. And when Anthony couldn’t confirm you . . . well, let’s just say that Maksimilian Sevastyan is used to
getting what he wants.”

You have no idea.

“The man kept offering more and more money. Finally he demanded to buy your personal number. Anthony just called me for it.”

“Which you would never give him, right?”

At that moment, I got a text chime from a strange number:
waiting

“Ivanna, we talked about this! There are boundaries.”

“We did talk about your number, about changing it. I held out for longer than even I would’ve expected, but when Anthony told me Sevastyan offered ten thousand, I caved. We’re
to split half. There’s twenty-five hundred for you at the agency.”
More
money? “By the way, Anthony thinks your vagina is full of rainbows—and dollar signs. Aside
from the Russian, you’ve gotten requests online! He wants your ‘upskirt magic’ working on other clients.”

I didn’t have magic. Sevastyan simply wanted his money back, or his clip. Or he planned to punish me for stealing from him. Maybe with a crop? “What else did you tell Anthony about
me?”

“Nothing else. Mainly because I know so little. Other than the fact that you scrub toilets for a living—which might cool a billionaire’s ardor, if that got back to him. Cat,
listen to me. I think you could
land
Sevastyan, so I’m going to do everything I can to help you, and then you’ll take care of me forever.”

“I’m not going, Ivanna.” And walk into a trap?

While she blustered, I texted Sevastyan:
no dice, querido. have plans xoxo mwah

He wrote back an instant later:
this isn’t a request

The man thought to intimidate
me
? He’d have to do better than this! Gritting my teeth, I texted:
the money’s gone. regret nothing

He replied:
then you’ll be needing more

There was only one way to meet this problem. Head on. I hung up on Ivanna’s tirade and dialed the Russian’s number. I opened with: “What’s your game,
Sevastyan?”

“What do you think it is?”

Ay, his voice. My lids nearly closed. Then I remembered what a dick this guy was. “I think you’re pissed, and you want to teach me a lesson.”

“You did steal from me,” he said. “I had to buy a new money clip yesterday.”

“I procured a well-earned tip.” I could hear ice clinking in a glass. Having a cocktail while waiting for his cocktease?

“I would think the pleasure I gave you—three times—was its own tip.”

“Then by that reasoning, you shouldn’t have to pay for it at all,
pendejo
.”

“I looked that word up. Not very nice of you to call me an asshole. Twice. I think you’re the first woman in my adult life who’s refused to fawn over me. Right now, you sound
as if you could take me or leave me.”

“Guess which way I’m leaning,
Ruso
.”

He chuckled at that. The sound was warm and rumbling, seeming to stroke me from the inside. What had happened to the icy Russian?

“Come over, Cat, and I’ll make you glad you did.”

Maybe he
had
liked sex with me that much? Had I thrown one over on the billionaire? Didn’t mean I would let him off the hook. He’d treated me like shit, left me hanging for
two days, then barged into my life with all the finesse of a tidal wave. “Couldn’t find a tall blonde? I thought that was what you really wanted.” What if he
hadn’t
waited a day to request another girl? What if he’d screwed someone last night, intending to switch back to me? “Or maybe you booked one last night to fill your quota?”

“I didn’t book another date.”

It worried me how much that relieved me.

“No one is more surprised by these developments than I am. I told you I never reverse myself. Yet I have concerning you.”

My heart raced. I
had
affected him just as much as he had me.

“It seems you know me better than I know myself; you were one hundred percent certain I’d call. Here I am.” His voice had grown huskier. “Now, tell me you wouldn’t
want a repeat.”

Merely thinking about him got me wet. “That’s all you want?”

“
All
I want?” He sounded amused. “A repeat would be a lot to hope for, no?”

What if he got all ice-cold again? Would it matter if he paid me as well as before?

Yes. He’d hurt me.

Even worse, what if he
didn’t
get ice-cold?
Que Dios me ayude.
God help me.

I did a quick risk/reward analysis. Risk: erosion of self-worth and possible infatuation. Reward: more money, and therefore more security. I’d be closer to a new identity. Great sex
wasn’t
un
welcome.

I just couldn’t allow myself to get caught up in him. I would put up a wall between us, keeping him at a distance.

Logistics . . . Getting from my apartment to the Seltane took nearly an hour. I’d cleaned today; no way I could forgo a shower. “I can’t be there until nine, and I can’t
stay very long. Not that this is a problem with you.” I laughed. “A nanosecond after you nut, you’ll be wondering what I’m still doing there. I’ll start reaching for
my clothes as soon as your balls tighten. It’ll be like a fire drill.”

He murmured, “
Amazing,
” as if he were a safari guide encountering an unknown creature. “Now you ridicule me?”

“Only because you make it so easy.”

“Where have you been that your own agency can’t get in touch with you?”

“Here and there. If you wanted to see me, you should’ve scheduled. Why, you could’ve booked me when I was with you Monday night! Oh, but you were too busy being rude as
hell.”

As if I hadn’t spoken, he said, “You were out on another date?”

Surely I imagined that subtle hint of jealousy in his tone. “Remember our no-personal-questions rule?”

Silence. Had I pushed too hard?

“I want you here in the next fifteen minutes,” he finally said. “How much will it cost?”