Ustinov had refused to take no for an answer when he invited her to come to this place this evening. He proclaimed that he was entertaining his team, celebrating the imminent approval of the project. In the spirit of teamwork, the SEC team leader should be his guest of honor. Goldman was not sure if the smooth-talking Russian was trying to flatter her, trying to curry her favor for her thumbs-up on the project, or doing all he could to get into her pants. It didn’t take keen observation skills to see that Ustinov was a man continually on the make.

Well, whichever it was, Goldman realized one thing was certain. She was ravenous. She had eaten lunch that day out of the snack machine in the OptiMarx break room and couldn’t remember when she had last had breakfast. She grabbed a loaf of bread from the cloth-covered basket at the center of the table and ripped off a generous piece. She dipped it into the silver dish of olive oil and took a bite, chewing slowly, allowing the rich taste to fill her mouth.

“How is it, Miss Goldman?” Ustinov inquired.

“This bread is great. Never had better.”

“This bread is shit!” he snorted. “Now, back in Russia we have bread. The best bread in the world. Bread to die for. You have never tasted such wonderful bread.”

Goldman swallowed before she offered her pointed comment. “Is that the reason the babushkas in Moscow wait in line for days? Because the bread is so wonderful?”

Marina Nosovitskaya choked on her own piece, while those nearby who overheard the short exchange howled with laughter. Ustinov turned beet-red and shifted his attention to refilling Nosovitskaya’s wineglass and leering into the deep valley between her breasts.

Despite her misgivings, Catherine soon relaxed, aided more than somewhat by the wine Ustinov kept pouring into her glass. The meal was excellent and the company, save for Ustinov, quite convivial. Maybe this had not been a bad thing after all. She had broken the ice with the OptiMarx team now. The good food, the ceaseless wine, the talk of the project and business in general soon cast a rosy glow on everyone around the table.

Even Ustinov warmed up a bit, losing some of his swagger. He reminded Goldman of a puppy, yipping about playfully, demanding to be the center of attention and to be petted. Somehow, he managed to alternate his attentions between the beautiful blond Russian and Catherine Goldman. She assumed he was being polite to her because of her position. Nosovitskaya had her outclassed on looks.