“We agreed on eleven!” I burst into the room where Volsky had gone. “You chose the time for the interview yourself and…” I fall silent, feeling my throat dry up. “Damn,” I whisper a moment later, trying not to look at his bare torso. He’s perfect—no dried-up muscles, but with clear oblique muscles and a light strip of hair from his navel down to the towel over his hips. “They haven’t called me a devil yet,” Volsky answers with a hoarse voice. “Usually I hear: ‘Oh my God!’ By order of the editorial office, I have three interviews to conduct. Nothing strange—except one of my interviewees turns out to be a mysterious businessman from St. Petersburg, a handsome billionaire: Yaroslav Volsky—the man who once destroyed my life and sent the closest person to me to jail. This is a standalone story, a single-volume book.