Instead, he glances around the place again, looking over Roland’s latest project like he has all the time in the world.
I fight the urge to sigh as I pull my phone out. “What’s your number?”
His eyes settle on me immediately, almost looking startled at the question, before schooling his expression with a slight smirk. “Are you always this direct with customers?”
“You’re not a customer yet,” I remind him, gesturing vaguely with my phone. “It’s for your service ticket. I need your name and number in case I have to contact you.”
My no-nonsense answer doesn’t seem like what he wanted to hear, but he nods anyway and takes a few steps closer until he’s right in front of me, holding his hand out.
“Alright…let me.”
His sudden proximity makes me pause, almost instinctively wanting to pull back. But I stand my ground, glancing between him and my phone.
Feeling like it’s some kind of surrender, I sigh and hand the phone over. I keep my eyes on him closely.
Once again, he looks pleased by this, and his thumbs move across the screen with ease.
My stomach does a slight flip as his cologne hits me, cutting through the lingering paint fumes. It’s rich and annoyingly appealing.
“It’s Sergey, by the way,” he murmurs before handing the phone back and not pulling away. His gaze lingers on me while his lips tug upward again. “I look forward to having a Katya original done.”
My eyes narrow at him slightly. “I said I’d take a look, but I haven’t made any promises yet. Again, you’re a pending customer. And Kat is fine.”
“Alright then, Kat,” he muses, showing no signs of refraining from getting under my skin. “And if I were a customer already?”
“Then I’d tell you to stop hovering,” I return, surprising even myself by being so upfront with him.
Sergey’s grin lingers, putting his hands back in his pockets. “That’s a little harsh, don’t you think?”
“There are many other harsh things I could say instead to get the point across.”
He cocks a brow at me again, like I’ve caught him off guard. Then he chuckles. “You don’t pull your punches.”
“No, I don’t,” I murmur, finding myself feeling more and more annoyed by his lingering. Something flutters in my chest at being this close to him, but I force myself to shove it down again. “Why would I?”
He hums. “Most women do.”
“I don’t belong in a box with a label, like most don’t.”
“True,” he concedes with something else in his gaze now. “Still, you seem like a rare breed.”
“Rare doesn’t mean easy.”
This stops him, even if for just a moment. That flicker of surprise moves through his eyes again, almost like he’s not used to anyone pushing back or shutting him down.
Good…let him sit with that.
I’ve seen too many men like him in this city. The ones who think they can smooth-talk their way out of anything, assuming their expensive lifestyle will get them out of everything. The type who assumes they’re doing you a favor by noticing your existence. Like their presence is a gift in itself.
As attractive as he is, I don’t feel like getting ensnared with someone like him. I sure as hell don’t want to give him any kind of satisfaction.
His charm might work on someone else, but I wasn’t raised the way he seems to expect. I’m not a pushover.
After a moment of silence lingers between us, the corners of his lips pull slightly tighter, and he allows that nonchalance to return.
“Alright then…I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I hate the way his voice makes something in me squirm.
