Chapter 26 Episode 26
1657 Words
“I said it in Russian,” I explain. “She pissed me off. I didn’tthink she’d understand, but… I don’t know.”
“You don’t know what?” he presses.
“She looked like she understood. Her face shifted after I saidit. She looked… scared.”
The sight of Belle pale and shocked… it made something inmy chest twitch. At least, until I understood what it trulymeant. I stood there and watched her disappear into her ownthoughts, like she was trying to process what I’d said.
“Maybe she was surprised,” he suggests. “Or scared becauseyou were shouting in another language. Russian isn’t exactlythe love, you know? She was probablyintimidated. I caught another glimpse of her on my way inhere, by the way. She’s a small little thing. Fun size.”
“I didn’t call you in for an office tour,” I snap. The thought ofArslan looking at Belle makes my blood boil. “Did you talk toher?”
He holds up both hands. “Simply making an observation, boss.You’ve laid claim to her. I won’t touch.”
“I haven’t—” I wave him away. “It doesn’t matter. The pointis, I know what it looks like when someone doesn’t understandwhat I’m saying. Belle didn’t look like that.”
“So what are you going to do, then?”
I lean back in my chair. “I’m going to kill two birds with onestone.”
Arslan screws his face up. “What does that mean?”
“It means you’re on call tonight,” I tell him. “Be ready foranything.”
Belle climbs into the back, closes the door, and digs throughher purse for some chapstick before she looks up and realizesI’m sitting in the driver’s seat of the car that was supposed toferry her back to the Zinc.
“What the—Where’s the driver?” she asks.
She inhales sharply and then lunges for the back door. Whenshe pulls on the handle, nothing happens.
“Child locks, Nikolai? Really?” she snaps.
I shrug. “You should always check who’s driving before youclimb into a car. It’s a big city. You can’t afford to be socareless.”
“Let me out.” Her jaw clenches. “I have to get home to Elise.”
“I sent her dinner already. She’s fine.”
“You what? How did you…” She sighs. “Did you talk to her?”
“The maids said she has been in her room all day. I doubt she’sready to talk to you, anyway. You might as well come withme.”
“I’d rather sit alone and eat room service than go anywherewith you.”
Her hazel eyes narrow to slits. “You don’t know a thing aboutthe truth. You wouldn’t know the truth if it slapped you in theface.”
“And you’ll never know the truth with that attitude.”
Her jaw works back and forth. She doesn’t want to ask. It’sobvious she wants to ignore me. But she just can’t fight hercuriosity. “What does that mean?”
“It means conversations over dinner.”
Belle leans forward, carrying her floral scent with her. “Whatdo you want to talk about?”
“Whatever you want to ask,” I answer calmly. We’re only afew inches apart now, her pouty lips pursed in indecision.
I shake my head. “No more answers until you agree.”
She stares at me for a few seconds. Then she lets loose a longsigh and crawls forward between the front seats.
Once she’s settled in the passenger seat, her seatbelt strappedover her chest, she folds her hands in her lap and nods.
I laugh. She may think she is, but she has no f*****g ideawhat’s coming.
Nikolai escorts me through the rather understated front doorsof the restaurant he chose, but the moment the doors open, Itry to skid to a halt.
“I’m not ready,” I say, trying to backpedal out of the room.
“Don’t be so dramatic. You’re fine.”
“No, this place is ‘fine,’” I argue in a whisper. “Look around!It’s a wonderland and I’m wearing business casual. I’m notready for this.”
That is an understatement. I never could have been ready forthis.
I feel like they’re going to charge me just for looking. Themain dining area is a massive glass cube framed in black iron.The walls are Art Deco style mirrors designed to look like sunrays. At the far end of the room is a glass tree with glasslanterns hanging from the fragile branches, and in front of usis a crystal, life-size bear juggling mirrored globes. Every inchof the space is colored and reflective and dripping in detailsthat make the design lover in me want to cry in joy.
But all I can muster is a dumb point-and-grunt at the neareststatue. “Bear.”
“Astute observation, Miss Dowan,” Nikolai drawls.
My eyes snap to him, but he’s not looking at me. He’s smilingeasily at the hostess as she approaches.
“Good to see you, Mr. Zhukova,” she says. “I have your usualtable ready.”
“Your usual table?” I bleat. “You usually come here? Howoften is usual?”
He places a hand on the small of my back, leading me down aseries of small steps into the sunken dining space. Red velvetbooths line the walls and circular tables are arranged in a linein the center of the room.
The hostess directs us to a booth in the back corner. Just abovethe booth is a glass-enclosed shelf of Fabergé eggs and justbelow that is a shelf of intricately painted Russian nestingdolls.
I frown and turn to Nikolai. “This place is Russian.”
He arches a brow and looks at the hostess. “Nichto neprokhodit mimo neye.”
Nothing gets past her, he said. The woman laughs at his jokeand smiles a bit too warmly at him. But Nikolai’s eyes are onme.
I don’t like being the butt of their joke, but I can’t say anythingwithout revealing I know exactly what he said, and this feelslike one of those lies that there’s no coming back from. It’seither double down or die.
So I squash down the jealousy twisting inside of me and moveto slide into the booth.
Just before I do, Nikolai grabs my hand and helps me down.“Thank you,” I say grudgingly.
The hostess leaves a pitcher of water and two glasses on thetable and gives us a minute to peruse the menu.
“Why are we here?” I ask.
“We’re having dinner. And they serve food here.”
“I don’t think anything is ever that simple with you,” I mutter.
“Eto potomu, chto ty nichego ne znayesh’,” he sighs.
That’s because you know nothing.
He’s testing me. Trying to frustrate me into cracking. Whyhe’s playing these mind games with me, I have no idea.Honestly, I’m starting to think he just likes it.
“If you want to have a conversation with me, you’ll have tospeak English.”
“What if I don’t want to have a conversation?”
“Then you’re a liar,” I snap. “I came here because youpromised me answers.”
My heart leaps. I’d be wise to keep my mouth shut and not aska single thing. Ignorance is bliss, right? But Nikolai Zhukovais too enticing. I want to know all there is to know about him.
“Okay. Who is the man who was in your office today?”
“Does the annoyance have a name?”
“His name is Giorgos Simatou. He is a Greek businessman.”
“What was he doing there?”
“What kind of business?” I grit out, already tired of this backand forth.
He smirks. “Are there different kinds? We are pooling ourresources to make more money. That’s business, in a nutshell.”
“You’ve seen my hotel and my offices,” Nikolai says. “Whenit comes to resources, I have all of them.”
I groan. “Are you going to tell me a single useful thing?”
“Not if I can help it.”
I throw my hands up in disgust and flop back in my seat just asa waitress approaches. She gives me a wary look like shethinks I don’t belong here—duh; that makes two of us, babe—but quickly slides a pleasant smile into place.
“What can I start you off with, Mr. Zhukova?” she asks.
Nikolai doesn’t hesitate. “We’ll start with the khinkali. Make ittwo orders. For the entree, I’ll have the boeuf à la stroganoffand she will have the kulebyaka. Do you like caviar, Belle?”he asks as he folds his menu and hands it to the waitress. Hedoesn’t wait for my response as he adds, “We’ll do the vodkaand caviar tasting, as well.”
Without so much as another glance in my direction, thewaitress nods and goes to submit our order.
“I could have ordered for myself,” I say when she’s gone.
“Could you?” he asks. “The menu is in Russian.”
I roll my eyes. “What is kulebyaka, anyway?”
“I don’t even like fish,” I snap.
“That’s because you’ve never had good fish. You’re from thecenter of the country. Jell-O molds and potatoes with lots ofketchup is more your speed.”
“You’re a know-it-all, you know that?”
“Is that an official question?” he smirks. “Either way, theanswer is ‘yes.’ But only because I do know everything.”
I shake my head. “You don’t know everything. I bet youthought I would show up to work for you and roll over the wayeveryone else did.”
“That might be true. But I much prefer the way you chose toroll over.”
- Writer
