Page 20 of His Prince

“Georgiy isn’t around much. He’s a busy man. Don’t take it personally.”

“I won’t,” I say as Casey stares down at me, looking cynical. But he bites his tongue. I don’t need him discouraging any of this.

We move inside, passing by Nina who is vacuuming a very ornate, dull-looking rug, one I plan on rolling up and stashing in the attic, replacing it with something far more colorful. Not that I say that. No, I plan on doing what I want. When I want.

Gael leads me down a hallway and up some stairs. At the end is a door that’s locked. It’s the first one I’ve seen with akeypad.

At least there’s some kind of security here, I think as Gael punches in a number that I memorize as he goes. I would usually bet that they change it often, but honestly, with the way I’ve seen things run here, I’m not sure.

It’s almost as if Mikhail wants someone to come in and end it all.

To take it all away.

I don’t understand it.

Casey eyes me, and I give him a subtle nod to keep that number locked in his head as well. As my eyes slide away from him, the door swings open and I’m greeted with a small space, piled high with documents, three computers situated on a rickety desk, and a man who I assume is Ivan behind it all. His dark hair is messy, his glasses sitting slightly crooked on his face, and his shirt is slightly stained and buttoned up wrong.

Casey sighs when he sees Ivan, but Ivan disregards him completely.

“Why you interrupt me at work? I’m a very busy man,” he says, his Russian accent incredibly heavy.

Gael looks back at me and then starts speaking rapidly in Russian.

I don’t like this, not knowing what is being said, and make a note to figure out how to become more fluent in this language.

Finally, they stop talking and Ivan looks at me, adjusting his glasses.

“Well, go on. I’m busy. Very busy,” he says, and I clear my throat, deciding not to mince words.

“Could I borrow some of your men for projects I’ve started?”

Ivan blinks at me and scoffs. “Do what you want, little man. Now leave me. I’m busy.”

“So you’ve said,” I murmur, and Casey smirks at me.

I shrug, and he winks at me.

“Thank you, Ivan. I’ll make you cake.”

“I hate cake,” he says.

I scramble slightly. “What about something Russian?—”

“I hate Russia.”

I’m taken aback, a laugh nearly bubbling out of my throat. This is so absurd.

“What the hell?” Casey murmurs, and I finally blurt the first thing on my mind.

“Snickerdoodles.”

“I’ve never had a doodle. But I am intrigued.” He pauses and pushes his glasses up his nose. “Now go.”

We shuffle out, Gael leaning against the wall waiting for us and Casey running a hand down his face.

“Snickerdoodles?” Casey asks, and I shrug.

“Everyone loves those, especially mine.”