It's obvious that we all can't enter the office. Sasha would find it hard to wedge himself in the room solo."I'll bring the paperwork to you," my mom says, her face flushing. She hurries to gather it up, dropping sheets on the floor, kneeling to retrieve them again. Her anxiety is putting my own nerves on edge.Sasha crosses his arms over his broad chest. The gold cufflinks on his suit jacket glint in the lights. Suddenly, I'm reminded of the gun."You look pale," he says. "Do I frighten you, ptichka?""No. And stop calling me that. I have a name.""Forgive me," he chuckles dryly. "I forget the names of people I don't need to remember."Fuming at his brazen comment, I bite my tongue."Here we are!" Mom blurts. Handing the stack to Sasha, she links her fingers at her waist like she's waiting for a compliment. I hate this whole situation. But above all, I hate the amount of hope Mom's gaze betrays when she looks at Sasha. I want to shake her, to yell at her, and to ask if this place me
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