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)
Taylor:
I know, hence me not stabbing my fork in his eye.
I’m partway through typing out a plea for forgiveness when another message pops up.
Taylor:
You owe me.
I delete my original reply and type a new one.
Me:
Battery or rechargeable?
Taylor:
Whichever one will make me come. I’m desperate.
I picture the deep groove between her brows when I send my next message.
Me:
Not an attack, but the 3 p.m. lun-din kind of gave it away.
Taylor:
Lun-din?
Me:
Like brunch, but later.
I smile when her reply pops up on my screen.
Taylor:
You’re a dag.
Me:
Says the girl dating guys old enough to be her dad.
My interests pique when her reply isn’t as expected.
Taylor:
He’s only 36. Hardly old enough to be my dad.
Saka is thirty-six, and I could have sworn she said her date was only a couple of years older than her. That would place him in his twenties.
I store away my confusion for a better time when I spot Polina heading my way.
Me:
I need to go. If you need saving, tell Saka I called asking to be picked up.
Taylor:
I’ll be okay. I think. Love you xx
Me:
Love you too xx
I dump my phone into the bottom drawer before I can get in trouble from the boss. Polina stops at my side two seconds later. “Will you be okay for a couple of minutes?” Her tone is a mix of disturbed and cautious. “I should probably fetch a vase for these. I don’t want them to wilt. They didn’t do anything wrong.”
Since she appears unimpressed by Vasily’s grand gesture, I jerk up my chin. Her apartment is above the boutique, so she won’t be gone long, but it could save her from witnessing my shameful response when I’m in the same room as Matvei.
She’d never let me forget it, and let's not mention how she likes playing Cupid as often as I do.
After tipping the delivery man with some notes from the cash register, Polina dumps the floral bouquet onto the counter with a sigh before she heads for the back entrance.
I enter the changing room just as quickly.
I want to forget I owe Matvei more than I could borrow from my father without my mother’s knowledge when I spot him lazing on the studded chaise in the corner of the generous space.
Just like at the strip club, his jacket is removed and tossed over the chaise, the top buttons of his dress shirt are undone, and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows.
He looks delectable enough to eat, and it is the fight of my life to remember he’s not here on a social call.
Too ashamed to admit I lost his money and not convinced he’s here to collect it, I remove the pieces I selected for him from their dust jackets, hang them on a hook next to the floor-to-ceiling mirror, then race back out of the changing room. “If you need any help, please let me know.”
My brisk pace slows when Matvei drawls out in a slow and relaxed tone, “I was informed tailoring was included with all purchases.”
He doesn’t hide his smugness when we lock eyes. He stares straight at me while adjusting the span of his thighs, promptly reminding me that nothing I felt below his belt comes standard.
Desperate to remind myself I can’t be bought, I strive to keep things professional. “If you want me to take your measurements, you need to stand.”
His smile turns crooked at the snappiness of my tone before he does as requested.
His impressive height drastically shrinks the room, so I won’t mention his commanding aura. It announces he isn’t a man used to being turned down. Instead of being frustrated I did precisely that only days ago, he appears amused by it. Perhaps even a little bit challenged.
As I drag a material tape measure across his shoulders, my curiosity gets the better of me. I’m not usually a nosybody, but I need to keep my mouth occupied so it doesn’t blurt out that I’m aware I owe him a ton of money. “What type of function are you attending tonight?”
Matvei waits for our eyes to collide in the mirror before he answers, “An imperative one.”
His aloof tone should harness my interrogation, but what can I say? I don’t back down even when I should. “Is it business related?”
I know it isn’t. My jealousy merely spoke before I could shut it down.
“No.” His one word is clipped. “But that will depend on how she responds to my proposal. I’m notorious for frequent changes of the heart.”
“What man isn’t?” There’s no chance of reeling in my jealousy now that I know his date is female. “Do you often mix business with pleasure?”
I ensure the tape is firm enough around his waist to cause discomfort when he replies, “No. But I’m rarely this beguiled by a client, either.”
The jealousy bombarding me is insane, but it can’t be denied.