12. Nat

The last week has been interesting. The investigation into the mayor is taking shape nicely. Thanks to the emails provided by Margana, I have a fair idea of what the mayor and his associates are up to. However, while the emails hint at many things, there isn't much in the way of conclusive proof.

Nothing that would stand up in court at least.

Micky did some further digging into Uriov, despite me asking him not to. He says I worry too much and nobody is better than him. I'm not sure I believe him but the information he's passed on so far paints a grim picture.

It seems the charitable foundation the mayor has been much lauded for is nothing but a front for trafficking women and children. While some of the vulnerable people who reach out for help do receive assistance, many end up in far worse straits.

From what Micky has found out, the younger women are screened out and once processed are moved to a holding center in a different city. From there, it gets murky. He tells me the website Uriov has built on the Dark Web has been experiencing significant issues since it went live.

Someone hacked it, apparently. Not him, he assured me.

I can't decide whether to be grateful for Micky's help or terrified that somehow this will all come crashing down on our heads. Micky seems to think he's invincible, but I'm not so sure.

At the end of the day, he's just a 20-something man-child who lives in his mom's basement, even if he does have a genius-level IQ.

Tonight the mayor is hosting a fund-raising gala for his charitable foundation. The rich and powerful will all be in attendance, and I will be there watching them.

Since the mayor is a publicity whore, he's been very magnanimous about handing out press passes. My editor secured passes for me and a cameraman.

On the face of it, I'll be writing a puff piece on the mayor and his philanthropic activities. He's even agreed to do a short interview after the main event, where he answers some questions I submitted earlier this week.

I'm hoping attending the gala gives me a chance to see the mayor in action and find out who he rubs shoulders with. While someone like Uriov is unlikely to be there, I figure there will be other people he associates with.

The roads around the Civic Center are grid-locked. Expensive cars are double-parked everywhere, with photographers camped outside the main entrance, eagerly awaiting a sighting of a famous actress rumored to be attending this evening's revelry.

My Uber drops me off a block away. Already I'm wishing I'd worn flats not heels. I don't mind walking across a bar in heels, but while the shoes I chose to match my midnight blue dress sparkle prettily, they aren't exactly comfortable.

James, the photographer, is meeting me there. I suppose I should be grateful all I have in my purse is my phone and a small notebook. He has to lug his camera around.

I make my way to the main entrance, murmuring a few ‘hellos' to people I know. There are several large, hulking security guards with earpieces around the perimeter of the building. For a charity gala, the mayor seems overly concerned about people crashing the event.

The man-mountain in charge of checking peoples' IDs spends several long moments deciding whether to let me in.

"I'm interviewing the mayor later," I tell him impatiently. "He'll be pissed if you don't let me in."

The guy's face is expressionless. He stares at my pass one more time and then grunts. I take that as an invitation to walk past him and this time he doesn't stop me.

Once inside, I follow the well-dressed men and women dressed in tuxes and evening dresses as they head for the main hall. I feel a bit out of place, even though my dress is gorgeous.

Jane offered to be my plus-one, as she adores this kind of thing, but I told her James was my plus-one. And besides, she's got a date with some dude she met in a cafe. This is their third date, so I'm crossing my fingers for her. The girl deserves to meet a nice guy after her last serious relationship ended when he cheated on her.

A string quartet plays as I walk into the hall. A guy in a uniform hands me a glass of champagne and I take a beat to look around and get my bearings.

On the far side, there is a raised dais. To the left, there are tables full of items donated for the silent auction. Things like luxury vacations, artwork, a dinner date with a famous celebrity, and many more things people are happy to bid obscene amounts of money on.

I can already tell that some bidders are going to be relieved of significant sums of money before the evening ends.

"Does a vacation in Bermuda sound appealing?" a deep voice asks over my shoulder, causing me to jump and spill some of my champagne. "Because I'm happy to bid on it for you if so."

I gasp when he grabs my wrist, takes my glass, and licks a few stray drops of champagne from my trembling fingers.

"Delicious," he murmurs. The way he says the words is so fucking dirty. My body reacts immediately and I can barely breathe. Heat licks over my skin, causing my cheeks to glow, even though the room is air-conditioned.

"I'd get bored on a beach vacation," I manage to cough out once my heart stops trying to punch its way out of my chest.

"I promise you won't be bored with me." I have a feeling he's right.

"You have a high opinion of yourself Mr…?" It occurs to me I don't know his name. We've spoken twice, well almost twice - the first time, in the bar, just after Rick… doesn't really count - yet I know nothing about him.

"Max. And you are?"

"Natalya, but everyone calls me Nat."

"Natalya…" The way my name rolls off his lips is positively sexual. We're not facing each other and I'm glad about that. I'm not sure I can look him in the eye right now.

"Well it's nice to meet you again," I start to say, desperate to get away from this man before he turns me into a puddle of lust, but he takes my arm gently and leads me toward the bar.

"Let me get you a drink," he purrs. "It's only fair seeing as how I spilled your champagne."

"It's OK, I don't like champagne anyway."

He nods at the bartender, who approaches immediately.

"What would you like to drink, Natalya?"

"Vodka and soda with a dash of lime, please." This will be my first and last drink of the night. Something to settle my nerves and loosen me up. Because God knows I need it right now. Every nerve is strung tighter than a bow.

And him standing so close to me is not helping.

"A glass of Macallan for me."

The bartender pours our drinks and sets them on the polished maple counter. I gulp my drink down, enjoying the burn of the vodka as it slides down my throat. This is when I should be working the room, checking who the mayor is schmoozing with, and making notes. I'm also supposed to meet James, to discuss the interview we're doing later, but so far, all I've done is drool over a ridiculously handsome man.

I'm caught in a forcefield so powerful it feels like I'll never escape. Max is a sun and I am a small planet stuck in an endless rotational orbit.

I almost lost my mind when we met at the restaurant last week. It was all I could do to tear myself away before I did something stupid, like suggest we go back to my apartment and get to know each other better.

In bed.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Jane and Amanda would be thrilled to hear my vagina has officially come out of retirement. They've been pushing me for months to just sleep with someone - anyone - to break my extended dry spell.

In their unprofessional opinion, it's time I moved on from the disaster known as Rick. My friends say it wasn't my fault. He was charming and fooled everyone. I was just unlucky.

I'm not sure I agree with them, but they are right about one thing. I do need to move on.

Is this the guy to help me erase my bad memories of Rick?

The way he fills out his tux suggests he might be.