I let him pull me to my feet. I used his body to steady myself since my feet forgot how to walk. It was the shoes. The damn heels made me trip and stumble like a newborn calf.
I could die now. Die happy! But a little voice inside my head wanted me to keep living, living just like this.
Chapter 21 – Poppy
The catering staff served a delicious meal. Apparently, the bookstore often hosted high-end events, and there was an industrial kitchen set up in the back. I wanted to melt into the floor when I realized that the staff had likely heard my very vocal compliments to Ivan’s abilities. When they came to clear dishes and bring each course, I lowered my gaze, finding something fascinating in the table’s natural pattern to direct my focus.
“Are you satisfied?” Ivan asked. There was a smooth note to his voice, almost reminiscent of a purr, but not as pronounced.
“It was delicious, but yes, I’m stuffed.” I leaned back in my chair.
He nodded. “Very good. Now, I have a business proposition for you, and you’re going to say yes, because it is in your best interest.”
The hazy satisfaction of good food and rich wine was slapped right out of me. I focused on his smirking face, my eyes going wide. “A business proposition?”
That was never a good thing in the underworld.
“Yes, you’re in a unique place, Poppy. You are undoubtedly my son’s caretaker—”
I bristled at the term but bit my tongue.
“—and you’re living under my house, as my guest.”
“My thanks,” I muttered dryly. Hiscleanhouse, thanks to me. And the fridge was full of proper food, not to mention the meals I busted my behind to make.
“No…I thank you. That is why I am going to make sure your place with us is permanent,” Ivan said, the corner of his mouth tipping up.
I did not like the look on his face. It was diabolical. The kind a villain wore before they revealed their plan.
Oh boy, what now?
“Okay?” I hedged.
Ivan leaned forward, brushing the tips of his fingers over my cheek. His hair fell over his shoulder, creating a dark frame. “My little flower. You don’t have to look frightened. I’m not going to eat you alive.”
But you just did.
The moment I thought about it—again—a rush of heat warmed my cheeks.
Ivan grinned. “What are you thinking about, Poppy?” he teased.
“That you’re taking forever to get to the point,” I snapped to hide my embarrassment. “Make me your offer.”
Ivan’s face hardened. “This was supposed to be romantic.”
His words floored me. Romance? How! How did he think we had any of that? There was potential, sure, but to have a true, intimate connection, we had to like each other. And I was sure that apart from the raging chemistry, we tolerated each other’s presence for the sake of our son.
And this coming from the man who thought love was for stories.
I saw it now. He was doing the things, acting the part. But it was a farce. Because his heart wasn’t in it.
That cold, dead heart probably didn’t beat anyhow.
“But if you want it to be straightforward,” he continued, sitting back in his chair, “here it is. You’ll marry me, take my name, and become a part of our syndicate.”
The very air was stolen from my lungs.
No! Just…no!
