Illusions

1. lunch

Roman's POV

"Sir, you have another call from Mr. Kennedy."

"Tell him I'm out," I sigh, picking up my phone and wallet, "for lunch, see you, Natalie."

Natalie, my secretary, sighs and goes back to her desk to tell Anthony Kennedy that I'm not available to speak for the third day in a row. She returns a couple of minutes later.

"Sir, this isn't going to work," she says while leaving me documents to look through, "he's catching on."

"It'll work, Natalie," I wave her off and make my way out of my office and towards the elevator, "and tell James to get my car, please."

She nods and goes to call him. 

I shrug my jacket off and roll the sleeves of my white button-up up as I get into the elevator. 

As I'm walking toward the desk, James brings my Mercedes E 350 around. 

"Mr. Sokolov, you're low on gas," he says as he gets out and holds the door for me, "also, I put my seat setting in there on the second one, which still leaves an extra, but I just wanted to tell you."

I roll my eyes.

"James, I know you've had it in there for four months," I tell him, and the blood drains from his face, "it's fine, you and I are the only people who drive this car, I would have appreciated it if you told me earlier though."

He scratches the back of his head and nods, quickly walking away to avoid more embarrassment. 

I start driving to Angela's, my favorite restaurant in the city, taking the long way on purpose to hopefully avoid Mr. Kennedy's second call of the day; he usually makes it twenty minutes after the first.

"Incoming call from Natalie Secretary."

I groan but pick up knowing that she only calls me during lunch in emergencies. 

"What is it, Natalie?"

She pauses before speaking. 

"Mr. Kennedy's here, sir, you should come back."

I mute myself and mumble an array of curses in Russian and English. 

"I'll be back after picking up lunch," I say flatly, "ask him if he wants anything from Angela's."

She pauses and asks.

"He said he's good," she says quickly, "um, but you should probably hurry back, sir."

"I'll do my best."

I end the call before she can say more and call Angela's, asking them to have my regular order ready for when I get there. Once I get there, Julia, the owner's daughter, is waiting with my order in her hands. I pull up to her and roll down the window. 

"Hi, Mr. Sokolov," she says, with fear in her voice, "how are you?"

I don't understand why she's afraid of me.

"I'm good, Julia," I say, trying not to scare her even more, "I'm doing well, how are you and your mother doing?"

"Um, we're good," she shrugs and holds my order out for me to grab, "we charged your card for 30 dollars for the pasta and breadsticks. Have a nice day, Mr. Sokolov."

I reach forward and grab the food from her.

"Great, you have a good one as well, Julia."

She nods and I drive away, opting for the long route back to the office.