Free The Rule of Luck by Catherine Cerveny

was so close. I could see a smooth expanse of chest through the open-collared shirt he wore, and the blue-black edges of a tattoo. It would be so easy to reach out and see for myself. Dangerous territory, and again I noted how wonderful he smelled. The thought brought me up short as I wondered how badly I stank thanks to my time in the One Gov holding cell. Considering my own disgustingness broke the spell, and I could think again. I glared up at him. “So are we going to eat, or what?”
    “Of course.” He stepped away, pulled out a chair, and motioned for me to sit. “By all means, let’s begin. As you say, I only have one hour to convince you.”
    My stomach had been growling from the moment we’d entered the restaurant. Petriv arched an eyebrow as he took the chair across from me. He moved with a fluid grace I could probably achieve if I had a hundred years of practice.
    “For the record, when I decide to seduce you, you’ll know. I won’t need all this to get the job done.”
    I paused in mid-reach for my water glass. “I didn’t say this was a seduction.”
    “You were thinking it.”
    We were interrupted by our waiter bearing a tray with a soup tureen in its center. Wordlessly, he served up two bowls and set down a basket of warm rye bread. After refilling my water, he left.
    “Listen, Mr. Petriv—”
    “Please, call me Alexei.”
    I tested it out in my head. Alexei . He wanted to make this personal. How personal? Immediately, my imagination assaulted me with a series of hot, intimate thoughts about him that I had absolutely no business having. Hell no. I was not getting into this. “Mr. Petriv, let’s keep this professional. I suspect you came to my shop because you wanted to test me and see if I could handle whatever task you had in mind. I assume I passed, or we wouldn’t be here. I’d appreciate if you’d tell me what’s going on, or I’m going to walk out that door and not look back. I don’t like when people play games with me. After the last few days, I’m at the end of a very short rope.”
    He raised his glass to me in a silent toast, then took a sip before he spoke. “You may not be aware of this, but the contract for the Earth-to-Mars transit link has expired with the current carrier, and it will be re-awarded within the next few weeks. At present, two candidates remain in the running. The current carrier, TransWorld, is one. My organization is backing the other.”
    “So you want to get a foothold on Mars and Venus and spread the Consortium’s influence?” I couldn’t believe I’d just asked a crime lord to tell me his agenda, but I was in too far to stop now.
    “I’m not certain what you’ve heard about me, Ms. Sevigny, but business is business. I acquire. I consolidate. I solve problems.”
    “That’s not what the CN-net says.”
    His expression hardened and I stilled. I had the feeling whatever he said next would be absolutely deadly.
    “The ultimate goals of the Tsarist Consortium are not for you to understand, nor are they up for discussion. I need help. You have the means to give it. Don’t judge what you know nothing about. Have I made myself clear?”
    “Yes. I’m sorry I implied otherwise.” I refused to let him see how he’d shaken me. Instead, I ate my soup with all the unconcern I could muster. Better to concentrate on that than his irritation. The first taste just about killed me, the bitterness was so intense. “What is this?”
    Bland face from Petriv. “It’s called shchi . It’s a Russian soup, typically served as the first course to any meal. Very good, although it may be an acquired taste.”
    I peered into the bowl, spooning its contents. “It tastes like cabbage.” I hated cabbage.
    “That and smetana —a heavy sour cream. The Kremlin’s shchi is the best I’ve tasted.”
    “I think you and I have different ideas about what constitutes good food.” I stirred the soup, dubious. Good thing I hadn’t wasted precious calories on it. I