“Sorry about all the baggage, Sergey. I’m terrible at making clothing decisions.”
He glances at me in the rear view mirror and shrugs. “You’re a woman.”
I decide not to be insulted by the overt sexism and smile at him instead. “You noticed! Was it my boobs that gave it away?”
His gaze drops briefly to my chest. Then he meets my eyes again. “Yes.”
He puts the car into Drive and pulls off, ending the conversation.
Big-d**k energy, zero sense of humor. Next.
We drive through the city as I ooh and ahh at all the bright lights and big buildings. Beside me on the seat, Mojo snores. We take a turn into the garage of a skyscraper and drive down a twist of empty floors until stopping next to a bank of elevators.
In front of the elevators stands a phalanx of burly dudes in black suits, glarin
