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?