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“Excellent,” he says. “I appreciate your time this morning, Mr. Nikolayev.”

I’m already halfway out the back door when I hang up, slipping the phone into my pocket.

“I thought you might have a sentimental attachment to it.”

She smiles as she turns to me. “Thank you,” she beams. “Really. I know Pearl is a wreck, but?—”

“Pearl?”

She grins and jerks a thumb at the old Accord. “The car.”

Looks like I was spot on with the sentiment attachment idea.

Then my brow furrows as I look at the old dance bag in her hands.

“What are you doing?”

“I have rehearsals,” she shrugs.

“You also have a brand-new Hermes bag upstairs in your room.”

Brooklyn’s lip catches between her teeth as she glances down and then back up at me. “It’sgorgeous…”

“But?”

She smiles wryly. “What am I supposed to say when my friends ask how I afforded a bag that costs a couple thousand dollars?”

My brow furrows. “The truth, maybe.”

Her face twists. “I…” She looks down.

“What is it,” I ask, stepping closer and lifting her face with a fingertip under her chin.Christ, it takes everything I've got not to kiss this woman every fucking time I touch her.

“This is going to sound terrible,” she says quietly. “And unappreciative, and like I'm such a bitch?—”

“You’re wondering what they’ll say if you tell them you’re living with me, accepting my gifts.”

She nods slowly.

“I'm sorry, that sounds awful?—”

“No, it sounds like reality,” I growl.

She’s right, and I’m pissed at myself that I didn’t even consider that angle.

“It’s just…” She sighs helplessly. “It'll look like I’m screwing the owner of the ballet for gifts, maybe special treatment…”

I arch a brow. “But you’renotscrewing the owner of the ballet.”

“I’m apparently not even allowed totouchhim,” she snaps, a clear edge in her tone that I don’t miss.

“I should have thought of that,” I frown. “The optics, I mean.”

She smiles sadly. “It’s agorgeousbag. I just…”

“Can’t bring it to work without people asking questions.”

She nods.