Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 118309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Maksim takes our conversation in a direction I never anticipated. “What happened to the big payout you were recently offered?”
I swallow harshly, my throat drier than a desert.
How does everyone know about the promotion I was offered, but fail to keep abreast of it?
And I wouldn’t exactly call it a big payout. If I had accepted the position, once income tax gobbled up a chunk of it, I would have only had enough to pay off one of my credit cards. My tuition and Grandfather’s medication would have had to wait.
Although I don’t owe Maksim an explanation, I give him one. I’d still be working in the ER if he hadn’t funded the new wing at Myasnikov Private. “I turned down the placement.”
He looks shocked, and his bewilderment jumps onto my face when he says, “So how can you afford to live in the Chrysler building not even half a mile from the hospital?”
The glitziness of his tone is highly inaccurate. Apartments in my building rent in the high six figures a month, but mine is the equivalent of a servant’s quarters. It is cramped, dingy, and damp. I often wonder if the moldy conditions are aggravating my grandfather’s emphysema.
But despite this, it would still be outside my means if my grandparents didn’t have a rent control agreement in place.
Housing in Myasnikov skyrocketed three years, pricing most people out of the built-up areas. Even dumps on the outskirts of town fetch top dollar.
“You do live there, right?”
“Yes,” I reply, talking through the burn of a dry throat. “But it isn’t as glamorous as it sounds.”
With the tension turning awkward too fast for me to save, I’ve never been more grateful for the slow flow of traffic that always impedes the departure lanes of a local airport terminal.
After sliding to my half of the cab, I snatch up my bag, throw open my door with so much urgency the driver has no choice but to stop, and then hightail it out.
“Thank you so much for the ride.”
I slam the door shut before Maksim can vocalize a reply, then suck in a relieved breath like I dodged a bullet I didn’t realize was targeting me until now.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Outside departure gate 27, I crash into Zoya so viciously that I wind myself.
Since I exited Maksim’s chauffeur-driven car at the Pobeda gates, I had to hustle through several other airlines’ drop-off points before arriving at Aeroflot’s terminal.
“I am so sorry I’m late. I—”
Zoya shushes me like she also loathes apologies. “You’re here now, and that’s all that matters.” She steals the last of the air in my lungs with a big hug before inching back and twisting us to face the airline worker at the boarding station. “This is who we were waiting for.”
“Wonderful.” I wonder just how late I am when the air hostess gestures for us to walk down the gangway a second after scanning the paper boarding passes Zoya hands her.
“She didn’t weigh my carry-on,” I whisper to Zoya as we walk side by side.
Since we redeemed credit card points for our flight, we’re not entitled to baggage—not even a carry-on. The rule is one personal item per passenger, such as a purse or a handbag. My carry-on is bigger than a gym bag and weighs over the two-pound limit stipulated on my ticket.
“I wasn’t charged for a checked-in bag either.” Zoya swivels around and walks backward before waggling her brows. “I thought it was because the baggage clerk was a breasts man.”
I laugh when she wiggles her rack from side to side. Her DDs are natural and rarely saw us purchasing our own drinks throughout college.
“If only your tatas could pay off student loans.”
She stops shaking her boobs before raking her teeth over her bottom lip.
“Z…” For one letter it drags out of my mouth for an extremely long time. “What did you do?”
“Nothing,” she denies with a shrug.
I don’t believe a word she speaks. Guilt crosses her features, as apparent as the deceitful flare darting through her impressive eyes.
She huffs at the mothering cock of my brow before announcing, “I got a new job.”
I wait, confident that isn’t the cause of the unease in her tone.
I’m right.
“It is at Le Rouge.”
My eyes bulge as words crack out of my mouth like a whip. “The strip club?”
She shushes me with more than a wave of her hand this time. She clamps it over my mouth.
“Could you say it any louder? The losers in economy missed what you said.”
I can’t answer her since she has my mouth fastened, but the worry blistering through me must speak on my behalf.
“I’ve looked everywhere. No one is hiring.”
When she removes her hand from my mouth with a heavy sigh, I say, “I could ask—”
“No, Nikita. You can’t keep bailing me out.”
“You seem to forget how often you do that for me.”