“That’s worse! Matvei, that is so much worse. Susan Oglethorpe is a WASP. Do you know what a WASP does when she sees something? She files it away into a little manila folder labeled Future Ammunition and pulls it out at the most diabolical possible moment. Susan is friends with every wife of every partner at Raymond’s firm! By next week, the only thing anyone on the Upper East Side is going to be talking about is Cassandra Snyder’s hand-job buffet at The Crispin Hotel.”
He cups my face. His palms are warm, even now. “Dikarka, you have to breathe. If you don’t, you’ll pass out. Not that I mind giving you mouth-to-mouth, but I think you’d agree that the timing is less than ideal.”
I breathe. Well, it’s more of a snotty, teary sniffle, but oxygen goes in and carbon dioxide goes out, so we’l
