Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106159 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106159 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Polina’s laugh is genuine this time, as is the heat on her cheeks when Matvei’s accent reaches her ears. I’m still struggling to place his origin. His dark hair convinced me he was Mediterranean, but the perfect features of his face and the light coloring of his eyes pushed me off the scent.
“Touché.” After settling her giggles, Polina gets down to business. “Is there anything we can help you with?”
Matvei dips his chin before returning his eyes to me. I wish he wouldn’t. Eye contact isn’t a necessity of mine, but you wouldn’t know that for how hot his watch makes me. I’m about to be a puddle on the floor. “I’m after a suit. I have a function this evening that I didn’t consider when I packed for this trip. I like a classic cut, but since it is a social affair, I don’t want the stuffiness of my work suits.”
When I remain quiet, silenced by horniness, Polina twists her lips. “Hmm… We had that spring collection come in last week. Do you think we could find something suitable in there?”
I nonchalantly shrug. “Probably.”
When she glares at me, I realize she is giving me an in with the man she assumes is a stranger. “Why don’t you check while I get our customer settled in the fitting room for you?” She shoves me toward the storeroom before showing Matvei where the fitting room is. “With the tight time restraints, we can only do basic tailoring, but any is better than none.”
After drawing closed the curtains that’ll hide Matvei from people milling about on the sidewalk, Polina joins me in the storeroom. She doesn’t enter all the way. It’s located too close to the basement for her not to freak out, but she has no issues butting her shoulder on the doorjamb and issuing me a silent interrogation.
“What?” I eventually murmur when her stare becomes too much to bear.
She mentally assesses me for a temperature before asking, “Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m fine.”
She scoffs at my assurance. “Are you sure? Because you’d usually be apologizing for the drool on our customer's shoes by now. Did you see him?” She waves her hand in the direction of the dressing room. “He’s—”
“Married,” I interrupt, a lie my only defense. “And you know how I feel about married men.”
“He is?” She stands tall, then shifts on her feet to face the dressing room. “I didn’t see a ring.”
I select several outfits that we keep off the main floor—so they won’t be stolen from the rack outside of business hours—while saying, “Because you were too busy fawning over his Magenta coat.”
Her eyes snap back to me. “That collection is exclusive to billionaires willing to pay the multimillion-dollar lawsuit Magenta will throw at them for a breach of contract. No offense to either of us, but why would he shop here if he’s a billionaire?”
As my shoulders hunch forward, the bell above the door chimes again.
Polina’s words rush out of her mouth as she makes a beeline for the door. “While taking his measurements, see if you can find out who went against Magenta and lived to tell the tale. If we could gain access to her exclusives before anyone else, we might pull ourselves out of the trench threatening to bury us.”
I love that she includes me in her money woes even while knowing I have a trust fund big enough to keep her boutique open for centuries. She doesn’t want the cheap, straightforward route to success. She works hard for everything she has, so why is she being fooled by a snake like Vasily Cabanow?
When I realize he’d have less chance of pulling the wool over her eyes if I told the truth, I fold four dust jackets over my arm, then veer for the front of the store instead of the dressing room.
I call Vasily a rat under my breath when I realize we’re not being run off our feet this late in the afternoon by customers with money to burn. It is a man who’d look a gift horse in the mouth.
A geeky teen from the local florist is dropping off a floral bouquet bigger than the massive chip on Vasily’s shoulder.
He can afford to splurge since he’s spending money that doesn’t belong to him.
As Polina signs the received slip, my phone buzzes, announcing I have a text message.
I pull it out quickly and glance down at the screen.
Taylor:
I thought we agreed to keep today’s date between us?
I cringe when I open the image attached to her message. Most intimate meal dates for two only have two place settings.
Taylor’s has three.
Hating that she’s upset with me, I am honest.
Me:
I needed time to think without a grumpy dragon breathing down my neck. He also had me worried about you.
It feels like forever before her reply pops up.