26. Kat

26

People often say that everything looks better in the morning.

Those people are liars.

After Nik stormed away from the car, leaving me behind, completely naked and alone, I took a moment to reassess my approach to our peculiar situation.

I returned to my room in the penthouse after donning my dress. Nik was nowhere to be found.

Hours later, the cold anger and disappointment in his eyes at my poorly calculated move are still fresh in my mind.

After calling A.J. and washing up, I eagerly welcomed the deep numbness that a whole night of sleep promised, hoping the old saying would prove true. Perhaps everything would look better in the morning.

The warm sunlight brushes against my face, forcefully waking me up, and I groan as I sit up.

The events of the night before rush to the forefront of my mind, almost as if they had never left it. They may very well never have, considering how restless and pointless my attempts at sleeping had been.

There's no point in lying to myself, denying what I know is true.

I wish I could take last night back and do everything differently.

If only I possessed the power to go back in time and never mention to Nik anything about renegotiating the terms of our deal. I wish I could go back and not tarnish the moment with calculations and scheming. And not only because, as it turned out, the whole thing was a fiasco that set me back instead of forwarding my goals of rebalancing the power scale between us. But mainly because the moment had been extraordinary. Nik has kept me at arm's length since our true identities were revealed, but something snapped within him last night, pushing him to show me his hand. He revealed a vulnerable side I hadn't seen before. Now, I regret ruining his attempt at letting me in—even if just by an inch—with machinations and plotting.

It didn't make things any better that it happened not even twenty-four hours after Nik tenderly soothed and comforted me through my terrible nightmare episode.

If only things did look better this morning…

If only I could spend the rest of the day under these soft and crisp Egyptian cotton sheets, wallowing in my misery… But that would accomplish nothing. It wouldn't make anything better. I made a mess, and now I have to clean it up—simple as that. There's no point in crying over spilled milk. As I've learned long ago, no one will save me. Nobody is going to clean up my messes.

So I get dressed. I put on my makeup. I do my hair. I go through the motions as I think, analyzing my options.

Perhaps not everything looks better in the morning, but I believe there's truth to a different saying—where there's a will, there's a way. And I'm willing to work to fix my mess with Nik.

Serendipitously, my phone pings just then.

I put down my hairbrush and pick up the cell phone once I see it's a text from A.J. When I called her last night looking for a shoulder to cry on, she told me there was still nothing but radio silence from the stronzo. I was relieved to hear this since lately, it seems like whenever something goes wrong, then everything else does as well. Plus, this reprieve allows A.J. to pursue Camilla's lead in peace, which she badly needs now that she's working our angle solo, courtesy of my angry Russian.

Despite everything on her plate, A.J. immediately noticed something was off with me. After filling her in and sharing my latest blunder, I asked her for a favor. I told her about the museum gala's surveillance feeds and how our little heist ruined the internal footage. I asked her to try to work her magic on it, and she promised she would try.

Mere hours after our phone call, her message is unexpected but welcome.

I couldn't sleep last night. You might have a point about my Diet Coke "addiction", as you like to put it. I'm still working on your surveillance videos, but I thought I'd share what I have so far.

A video follows her text. I click on it, and after a moment, I identify it as footage from the metal detectors at the museum's entrance. I pause the video and make sure to reply to her message before I forget to do it.

You're the best! I owe you one.

A.J.'s response comes right away.

After this mess with the stronzo, it was the least I could do. Besides, bitch, please. After all these years, who the hell is keeping track of who owes whom what?

With a smile, I send her a heart emoji, promising to catch up with her later.

I grab my phone and search for Nik, hoping he is at his office. But as I pass the kitchen, the scent of freshly baked muffins beckons me. So, I decide to grab a plate and fill it with some of the homemade goods.

Full plate in hand, I walk around the penthouse, hoping to run into Dmitri. I could use his insight into Nik's mood this morning—plus a little advice on correcting my mistake. Unfortunately, he's nowhere to be found, so I head to Nik's office, wondering if he is even there. For all I know, he might not even be home.

The door is closed, so I knock on it, thinking it would probably be a bad idea to barge in unannounced if he's in there working.

Nik's voice reaches me after a moment. "Come in."

Hesitantly, I do. I push the door open and walk into the room. Nik sits behind his desk, bent over a stack of papers with a pen in his left hand. He's wearing a royal blue sweater, and his sleeves are rolled up, exposing his forearms. With his other hand, the Russian props up his head. He doesn't look up when I enter.

"You're left-handed," I remark dumbly.

Finally looking up from his work, Nik shoots me a look that tells me I'm a very unwelcome interruption. "What are you doing here?" he asks, not bothering with pleasantries.

"I bring a peace offering." Even though I feel less confident than usual, I smile at him.

"Muffins. From my own kitchen. Be still, my heart," he says, sarcasm dripping from every word.

"Oh, no, that's not what I meant. I mean, I do believe that food is often the way to a man's heart, but I brought the muffins because I haven't eaten yet, and I figured maybe you haven't, either. But my peace offering is something else." I pull my phone from my pocket and wave it in front of his face.

Nik raises his eyebrows and puts down his pen. "I'm listening."

So I explain to him that last night I asked A.J. to look at the museum's internal security feeds, hoping she could recover some of the footage damaged by the device I used during the Flame of Mir's heist.

"She got back to me this morning," I say. "She hasn't been able to save all of it. Well, not yet, anyway. But she sent me what she's been able to salvage so far. Would you like to see it? I can probably aircast it on your TV."

Nik gets up from his chair to sit on the couch facing the TV, motioning for me to sit beside him. I put A.J.'s video on the screen before sitting down.

"Are those the metal detectors by the front entrance?" Nik asks, growing a little interested. I nod in response.

We watch countless people come and go, walking through the large metal detectors and making small talk with the security guards stationed there. Men empty their pockets into plastic trays that get scanned, and the same happens with women's purses and clutches.

Eventually, I spot myself on the screen, watching as I walk up to the security guard—a young man in his early twenties—and smile at him. I chat him up, playfully slapping his arm, and he turns red like the Flame of Mir. His unconcealed pleasure is clear in his coy smile, and my past self walks past the metal detectors without getting scanned or having her evening bag's contents checked.

Nik scoffs. "I should've known," he says.

I shrug in response. "A.J.'s device would've set off the alarm. We didn't have time to figure out a way to conceal it so I could walk through the metal detectors. I had to make use of the resources available to me."

"Oh, and you did. If I recall correctly," he retorts. I consider challenging his hypocritical words and attitude, but after what happened between us last night, I let it go instead.

Soon, we spot Nik on the screen. He walks through the metal detector. The young guard approaches him, asking him to empty his pockets. Nik merely glances at the man before an older guard comes along. Familiar with Nik, this man waives him on before turning to the younger man and chastising him.

I snort. "Oh, you're one to talk."

"It's different," he says.

"Oh, really? And why's that?"

"For starters, I wasn't there to commit grand larceny," he points out.

"Well, he didn't know that."

"He did, though. The guard knew who I was."

"All the more reason to frisk you thoroughly, then. It's what I would've done if I had known who you were."

"If memory serves me, you did. Very thoroughly," he adds smoothly.

I shoot him a look, surprised. Nik's eyes are still guarded, but they have a definite mischievous glint. They're at least twenty degrees warmer than the arctic ice I saw in them in the limousine.

"You and I have a different recollection of that night, then. I remember your very fine attire being almost completely undisturbed throughout our rendezvous. The same couldn't be said about myself, of course," I tease, wondering how he'll react to my attempt at levity.

To my surprise, he chuckles. "And yet," he says, eyes glued to the screen, "you managed to keep my diamond hidden the entire time. Was it in your purse?"

"Oh, come on, that's too obvious. That's the first place anyone would look if they learned it was missing before I got away."

"Where, then?"

I tear my eyes from the TV and find him staring at me. With a smile, I share, "Hidden pocket in my dress. Right here." I tap the spot between my breasts.

"Clever," he says, an amused smile curving his beautiful lips. He's always so breathtaking when he smiles.

"When your attentions started to focus there, I almost panicked, thinking you'd spot it and I'd be caught red-handed. That was when I decided to strip for you so you wouldn't get too close and so I could carefully put my dress away."

Nik laughs loudly. "Impressive improvisation skills." He smirks. I shrug in response, grinning back at him.

We gaze at the screen, but I'm relieved to detect the faint ghost of a smile on his face. A moment later, we watch Dmitri go through the metal detectors without any of our shenanigans. He places his wallet, phone, pack of gum, and car keys in the little plastic tray. After it's scanned, he retrieves his items before leaving the area.

We also spot Vladmir. He empties his pockets into the tray. Once again, nothing in them is interesting at all. I grow bored watching him pick up his cell phone, lanyard with keys, and a money clip.

I'm disappointed that my peace offering to Nik is so dull when we see McGuire on the screen. Nik immediately straightens up next to me on the couch. We observe with interest as the man empties his pockets. The Irish mobster throws his phone, leather wallet, pack of cigarettes, lighter and fountain pen in the plastic tray. Shortly after him, we see the guy who Nik indicated as McGuire's right-hand man go through the same process. His pockets' contents aren't much more interesting—nothing but a phone, wallet, plastic lighter and wired headphones.

With a sigh, I say, "I'm sorry. This is disappointing. I didn't watch the whole thing before bringing it to you. I honestly thought it was going to be more helpful than this."

Nik shakes his head. "No, this is great. It's another piece of the puzzle."

"You don't have to be nice. It's useless. It didn't tell us anything new."

"I'm not trying to be nice. And it gave us brand-new information. We now know what McGuire and Connor had with them the night Maxim was killed."

"So what? It's not like they were carrying anything unusual."

"True, but we could have something on the murder weapon. Connor might've used his headphones wires to strangle Maxim."

"Or he might've been killed with a weapon of opportunity," I point out, shrugging. "We haven't learned anything conclusive."

Nik shakes his head again. "No, I know McGuire well. There's just no way he'd leave it to chance. He wouldn't come to the party intending to kill Maxim without the means to carry out the act at hand. He wouldn't count on just finding something lying around."

"You might be right," I concede.

After thinking for a moment, I want to add that maybe we need to approach this whole mystery in a better way. I'm not so sure we should be solely focusing on McGuire. Perhaps it'd be wise to consider other options. But after last night, I can't bring myself to say it now that Nik's mood has improved. He's much more excited than I thought this video would make him. I don't want to make this feeling disappear just yet, not when I angered him last night after he showed me kindness the day before.

Instead, I hesitantly place my hand over his as it lies stretched out over the couch's leather. "Nik, I'm so sorry about last night. I wish I could go back and do it differently. I don't know how much this means to you, but please know that I deeply regret it."

I half expect Nik to ask if my apology means I'll be giving up on my plan to try to wrestle control from him through sex. I dread the prospect since I am unprepared to answer that question. To my relief, he doesn't ask it. He just looks at me, his eyes carefully studying my face.

Nik remains quiet for so long that I start to worry he won't even acknowledge my apology. Eventually, though, he nods. Surprising me, he asks, "Do you want to get out of here? There's something I'd like to show you."