When I look up at him, he’s smiling at me. Yet his voice is a possessive growl.
“Mine.”
The money for the pay raise lands in my bank account later that day, with an inappropriate emoji.
Asshole.
14
NINA
“When is Mr. Crimelord arriving?”
“I don’t think he’s here yet.”
We’re in the ballroom of The Regal, a ridiculously glitzy hotel filled with gold accents and waiters maneuvering through the crowd in three-piece suits. The event is supposedly to network with donors, but judging from the pumping music and the free-flowing champagne, it’s more of a party.
There’s a lot of Russian being spoken, which has me on edge. The last time I saw Art’s family was the worst day of my life.
“Well, there’s gotta be some eye candy at this event, and your date is it.” Lily flips a hand through her red hair and pouts her lips.
I grit my teeth and resist my instinct to tell her to back off.
I don’t want Art, so I have no right to scare anyone else away from him. Even if the other day in the stairwell did confuse things… It doesn’t mean anything. I can’t trust him. I can’t let him in.
“I don’t think it counts as a date. He’s my ex.”
We grab another glass of champagne from the waiter. Alcohol is the only way to calm my nerves when I know that Art could make a sudden appearance from nowhere.
As if on cue, Lily’s blue eyes go wide just as I’m about to take a sip.
A huge hand closes around my waist. I don’t even have to look up to know it’s him. I can smell his sharp cologne and recognize the firm but gentle pressure of his touch in an instant.
But I turn to him anyway, my breath catching in my throat as I meet his eyes. One blue, one hazel. Cool crystal and autumn leaves.
“Hi, Nenoka.” Art gives me that lopsided grin that warms me all the way through. His hand on my waist is reassuring and firm.
“Hi.” My greeting comes out more as a sigh as I drink him in. He cuts an imposing figure, easily the tallest man in the room, his tousled golden hair catching the light. I resist the urge to trace my hand over his jaw. I’m getting carried away, but he looks so damn good.
Art’s tie is the exact shade of forest green that he chose for my dress. The package arrived this morning, a giant white box filled with champagne-colored tissue paper that Ava thought was magical as we opened it. Reluctantly, as I ran the liquid silk of the emerald green dress through my fingers, I let myself admit that Art does have taste. And that he somehow knows my size.
This is probably the nicest thing I’ve ever worn. I don’t even want to think about how much it cost.
“Oh. OH. This is a date date. Am I third-wheeling?” Lily’s voice cuts through and I step away from Art. With a growl, he tightens his grip on my waist.
“You are,” he says. At the same moment as I say: “This is not a date date. This is my ex tormenting me for unknown reasons.”
Art bends down so that his lips brush my ear. “You didn’t seem too tormented yesterday,” he whispers. My face flushes as I remember our encounter in the stairwell.
I don’t like risk. I don’t like danger. But Art makes me crave all of those things.
Lily narrows her eyes at my reddening face and the intimate position as Art holds me close to his side. “What is this? You guys are what, fake dating? For shady mafia reasons?”
“There is nothing fake about this,” Art cuts in smoothly. “And it’s the Bratva. Do I look Italian to you?”
Lily holds her hands up. “No need to be so defensive, Mr Crimelord. Thank you for the pay raise and the free massages.”
He turns to me, a bemused smile spreading across his face. “You told your friend I was in the mafia?”
