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“What’s your stance on ice cream?” He’s still got his hands tucked into his pockets while controlling the pace of our walk. I don’t know how he looks so cool, even during summer.
“Hmm, ice cream,” I say. “My stance is that I like it.”
He laughs, more relaxed than usual. Some of his thick brown hair even waves in the breeze coming from the passing cars. “How would you like to get some right now?”
“Ice cream is good any time. Any time is ice cream time.” Giddy because this day is going so well, I grin at him, but then frown. “I’m not sure you’re the ice cream type though.”
“What does that mean?”
“You don’t seem like the kind of person who’s in to pastel flavors, jimmies, and foofy sauce.”
“Everybody’s got a bit of a kid in them.”
“You?” I laugh. “You were a kid once upon a time? I get the impression that you were born such a serious man.”
Once again, I think I’ve said the wrong thing, because his gaze goes dark, and he fixes his gaze straight ahead of us.
“You never know about a person,” he says.
That’s when I clam up, because he’s right. If he knew everything about me, he might not want to take me anywhere. I can guarantee my family and friends would feel that way if they ever found out about the secret I’m trying so hard to keep by earning this money.
When we enter the ice cream parlor, blushing pink lights, stained glass lamps, and quirky decorations greet us. Cage orders for me, of course—a banana split. He gets a frozen hot chocolate for him.
Meanwhile, the customers stare at him. He’s that magnetic, towering over everyone else, a strong, designer-suited giant among mortals.
A few men also look at me, but I think it’s the dress. At any rate, Cage glares at them and they stop.
He leads me to a table while carrying our treats, but before we get there, a male voice calls out to him.
“Cage Bryant!”
There’s the trace of an accent—Russian?—and an older man dressed in an impeccable suit comes over to shake Cage’s hand.
“Mr. Vasiliev.” Cage seems genuinely glad to see him. “I had no idea you’re in town.”
“We only just arrived.” The man is all kinds of wealthy, from his striped silk tie to his diamond cuff links to his steel and gold watch. His silver hair is styled in what I’d guess is a $500 haircut, and he also holds himself with a sort of old-school, refined air, almost as if he walked out of another century. “My grandchildren—they insisted we have frozen hot chocolate during our visit. I see you had the same idea.”
Cage lifts his dessert to the man, then says, “Indeed. Are you here on business or pleasure?”
“It is business that brings me here most unexpectedly.”
Mr. Vasiliev’s attention turns to me. He’s curious about who I am, and my adrenaline kicks in, making my mind race.
Is this man an important business associate? More importantly, is he savvy enough to know an escort when he sees one? I mean, I’m sure not dressed like a colleague, so he won’t mistake me for that. I’m dressed as if Cage and I might be on a date...
Mr. Vasiliev bows to me, and I extend my hand, still trying to think fast. He cordially kisses the back of it.
“And who might you be?” he asks.
The words are out of my mouth before I can take them back.
“I’m Karini,” I say. “Cage’s girlfriend.”