Page 24 of Agency

“By all means,” the security guard I’d seen in the hotel lounge said, stepping aside with a slight bow and an “after you” wave of his hand. “We apologize for the wait. Mr. Smolensky is just inside.”

“Thank you, gentlemen.” Smiling, I stepped past them with a rolling sway of red-clad hips that I could practically feel their eyes clinging to.

“How much, by the way?” asked the one from the night before.

“Excuse me?” I asked, pausing as I looked back over my shoulder.

“Your price.”

“If you have to ask,” I replied, corner of my mouth turning into the ghost of a teasing smile as I was already continuing on my course for the double doors, “then you can’t afford it, babe.” Fist raised the moment the last word left my ruby red lips, I lightly rapped on Smolensky’s chamber door as I turned my attention away from the guards and directed all my focus to my ultimate goal.

I didn’t see his reaction, and, to be honest, I really didn’t care.

“One moment,” called a man’s soft-spoken voice from the other side, his Russian-accented words almost singsong in the way he said them. “Just freshening uh-hup.”

They hadn’t exactly mentioned singsonging in his dossier.

Well, this would be interesting, at least.

A moment later, the doors were swinging inwards, and a severe-faced man wearing a hand-stitched Italian-cut suit, and not matching his voice at all, was standing in front of me. He was on the shorter side, and, with my three inch heels on I could easily look him in his dark eyes. His thinning hair was salt and pepper, and his faked-tanned jowls sagged in spite of the regular Botox injections the agency knew he received. Overall, though, he looked trim, and seemed to be in relatively good shape.

Of course, looks could easily be deceiving. Just look at me.

“Yvette?” he asked, then stepped back and continued on before I could answer. “Please, please, come in.” He made a gesture reminiscent of his subordinate’s from only moments before, waving me in as he made way for me.

The door closed behind me as I stepped inside, the latch clicking while I held my clutch close to me and looked around the massive bedroom.

And, oh, the bedroom chamber was massive. A California king bed dominated the center of the room like a dictator, and there was easily space for two more of the obscenely large beds between its foot and the doors I’d just stepped through. Instead of a pair of beds, though, was a small dining table set for two, along with an ice bucket stand and an additional food cart. Steel food domes adorned both the cart and the table, and the fragrance of the heavy, decadent foods they contained absolutely filled the room. Stomach grumbling at the luxurious smell, I glanced to where the bottles of both champagne and vodka, complete with the Kremlin printed on the latter’s label, were stuffed down into the ice bucket and just begging to be imbibed.

“So?” Grigori said, touching my shoulder with a soft hand and directing me to turn back and face him. He took a step back and, when he spoke again, the singsong returned to his voice. “Let me have a look at you, my dear.” His eyes traveled up and down me, across my chest, my stomach, down my legs, then back to my eyes. “Very lovely.”

“Thank you, Mr. Smolesnky.”

“Except for,” he began, his voice having lost the singsong and his eyes narrowing, “your shoes.”

“Excuse me?”

“Off.” He nodded to my feet. “Take them off.”

“Oh. Uh, sure.” I immediately stepped out of them and was suddenly looking up into his eyes from a vantage point three inches lower than a moment before. “Better?”

“So much.” He grabbed my hand, insistently but not roughly, and pulled me to his mouth. “Such a beautiful creature,” he said, eyes on mine as he kissed the back of my hand with thin, dry lips. “Such a lovely, lovely creature.”

Ew.

“Thank you,” I said, smiling wide. “You didn’t need to say that. And you’re not half bad yourself.”

Always mix a bit of truth with the lie. Always makes the lie more believable.

“Oh, please,” he said, waving off my compliment, but still smiling. “I am old, disgusting man who now needs to pay for dates.” He nodded to the small table set for two, saying, “Room service arrived with our food and beverage only moments before you. You should eat something, you’re so slight.”

“If you insist,” I said, padding over to the table. In truth, the joke about the granola bar hidden away in my purse hadn’t exactly been a joke. I’d skipped both breakfast and lunch, and I could feel my stomach gnawing away at the rest of my insides.

I know, I know. So ladylike.

“Oh, I do, I do.” Walking two strides faster than me, he arrived at the table before I did and pulled out a chair for me. “Please, sit.”

“Thank you again,” I said, alighting on the seat as he gently guided the chair forward to meet me.