I will force you in any way! Vanya leaned forward.

She quickly looked around. But unfortunately there were no people nearby.

- It's my brother's money, whore! He grabbed her hand and pulled her towards him. - Tell me right away, what needs to be done with you so that you transfer half of it to me? What?!

He held his hands tightly, shouting threats. She tried to break free, but realized that she still couldn’t compete with a man. Although he is dumb, he has more physical strength.

Why are you silent? Not so brave anymore?

And the next moment, when his grip loosened, she released her hand and her fist slammed into the man's nose. Vanya howled, releasing Alice from his grasp, and helplessly pressing his palms to his nose, from which blood was gushing. He cursed every time he looked at his bloodied hands. He threw an angry glance in her direction, and this served as an impulse. Alice took off running.

With trembling hands, she inserted the key into the lock, opened it and ran into the apartment. She slammed the door, touching the brown metal with her palms.

Freak.

Quietly thrown into space. I touched the buttons of my coat and threw off the thing. She leaned back against the door and slid to the floor. She bent her knees and rested her head on them.

I wanted to cry and my eyes already cut the first tears. But most importantly, I didn't want to give up. Ready to go all the way. Days to study the principles of work and structure of the enterprise. Find a way to calm down my husband's crazy family. And revenge. Find the one who fired and make him pay.

Without raising her head, she felt for her pack and lighter on the bedside table. She swept everything to the floor and the objects fell dully at her feet. She found everything by touch and with nervous hands took out a cigarette. The click of a burgundy lighter, a saving puff. Again she drove the lump out of her throat with the help of thick cigarette smoke.

“We need to buy a barrel,” she muttered, exhaling smoke into the semi-darkness of the hallway.

The silence of the apartment lulled, but drove away at the same time. Alice sat comfortably on her coat and stretched out her legs. She buried her head in the metal and for a second it seemed that there was someone behind the door. A new, deep puff, but it did not help to get rid of the feeling that someone was wandering behind him. In the entrance, on the other side of the door, someone is clearly there.

"It's just paranoia, Alice," she told herself, looking at the fire of her cigarette. - Paranoia ... Or some neighbor.

She sadly added and stood up. Leaning on the bedside table and clutching a cigarette in her teeth, she casually kicked off her boots and trudged into the living room, inhaling smoke as she went. She tossed her cigarette butt into the ashtray and lay down on the couch.

More than a month has passed since that day. And life went on, but the picture was gloomy.

A soft knock on the door knocked him out of his thoughts. Alice jumped up and tensed. Perhaps all this was heard, and hallucinations were drawn against the background of confusion and depression. But the knock came again and now made him shudder. I remembered that Sergei invited a friend on a date, and his candidacy was swept aside immediately. And they solved all the problems in the office.

She stood up, trying to calm her pounding heart, to calm down. Heck. Yes, in the end to think that this neighbor came for salt.

Trying to make a noiseless step, she went to the door and looked through the peephole.

She took a deep breath and leaned back against the wall. I gave myself a few seconds to stop shaking. Then she clicked the lock and opened the door. The man in the long black coat smiled weakly as he took his hands out of his pockets.

You scared the hell out of me ... And what are you doing on the threshold of my apartment?

She looked at her father from under her brows, catching her frightened breath.

I came without your mother, - threw in an excuse.

“I don’t care,” the door almost slammed shut, but it crashed into a man’s palm.

Alice ... - he quickly corrected himself, holding the door. - We need to talk. Let me in.

For a long time she harbored a grudge against this person and avoided contact, but she considered the loss in his gaze. She knows the loss.

She exhaled tiredly and opened the door wider, inviting her father into the apartment with a gesture.

He boldly stepped over the threshold and looked around with interest.

Tea or coffee? She closed the door behind him. - Shall we dance?

“You don’t know how,” he began to unbutton his coat. You refused to go to the dance. Do you remember?

“The tango of oil paints looks better,” she explained admiringly. But I went to clubs. Do you remember?

“They don’t dance in clubs,” he took off his coat and hung it on a hook. - They only move strangely after the fifth glass of a supposedly non-alcoholic cocktail. That's what I remember.

She stifled a chuckle as she remembered her father picking her up from the club. Then everything was different. Time seemed easy and carefree.

Someone said that your daughter a little rest in the club. By the way, who was it?

“Guard,” he said in a half-whisper, taking off his shoes.

He narrowed his eyes at the scattered shoes and coats on the floor.

This is a creative order - quickly explained and went to the kitchen.

She turned on the electric kettle, took out a cup and a jar of instant coffee. She nervously waited for the kettle to make a loud click and the red lights go out. Surprisingly, the conversation started right away. Right from the doorstep. And she wanted to talk. Perhaps seclusion affected, which changed locations from an office to an apartment, and vice versa.

Expected click.

And in the living room there is still that creative order, - the father's verdict was heard behind him.

She smiled and put a cup of coffee and a sugar bowl on the table.

Well, why did you come?

Apparently, to drink coffee, and then invite you to a restaurant, - approached, but cautiously. - Do you agree?

In any case, something needs to be reported, right?

He straightened the collar of his white shirt and pushed back the wooden chair. He sat down at the table and opened the sugar bowl.

How are you? He gave Alice a sad look.

“Don’t look like that,” she commented irritably. - I'm fine. I am healthy and positive.

“But apparently the positive is not enough to remove the empty bottles and cigarette butts lying around in the living room,” dad calmly retorted.

You're Mr. Obvious. Yes, I suck, but I will continue to play.

He nodded as if he got exactly what he came for and took a sip from his cup. Sitting down in a chair in his own way, he examined every detail of the interior and sipped a drink. Once again he looked inquiringly at his daughter, and Alice said that she would go to get dressed, at the same time answering a question about the restaurant.

I couldn’t even remember the last time I visited a restaurant in the company of my father. It was probably before marriage. Convulsively understood that she needed this campaign. Just like her dad needed. It was a good deal for both parties.

She opened the closet, from which clothes fell habitually. She dropped her gaze to the trouser suits and wandered over to the hanging, perfectly ironed dresses.

A wave of the hand in the manner of a magician and a black fitted dress were destined to decorate this evening. The artist's fingers pointed exactly at him. She took off her clothes and walked into the bathroom. Shower, hair, outfit and other set of standard actions took a long time. But she was in no hurry.

Measured out black stripes on the upper eyelids and painted over the eyelashes. There was a hard knock on the door of the room.

Alisa Alexandrovna, I apologize if the patronymic does not suit you, but I will not allow you to change it, - dad sarcastically uttered every word. – Will you soon or will the restaurants have time to close?

She laughed softly, tossed the mascara at the sink, and left the bathroom.

Go.