Ben headed toward us with our appetizers, and I grinned, my stomach growling in appreciation at the delicious smell that met my nose.
“Eat first, then I’ll shock you.”
He laughed.
6
ASA
During the limo ride from the restaurant—Ruslan really did seem to have spoiling me in mind—my date was the perfect gentleman. I ran my fingertips along the sleek black leather of the seat at my sides while peeking at Ruslan out of the corner of my eye. Part of me didn’t trust someone this nice. There had to be a flaw.Maybe he was married?
“I hope you enjoy this.” He shot me the type of grin that made me want to smile along with him.
Or maybe I’m a jerk.I nodded. That was likely. The car pulled to a stop at the curb, and he was fast to hop out. Another man opened my door, but Ruslan came around to walk with me toward the front of a classy brick Midtown apartment that rose so high in the air I had trouble looking at the top without getting a crick in my neck. There were balconies on the upper apartments, and one in particular appeared to be lit up in a way that made me think there was a party happening. Was that where we were headed?
“Let’s go.”
“Sure,” I said, and it came out sounding breathless because I still wasn’t quite used to how big everything was in New York City. Part of me would always be a small-town boy from Michigan. We walked inside together, but Ruslan didn’t screw around, moving at a fast clip. The man at the door nodded at us, and I bit the tip of my tongue. If the lobby was any indication of the rest of the building, only people like Ruslan could afford to live here. The wooden floors were high gloss and all the furniture sitting around probably cost as much as the mortgage on a small house.
“Wow.”
He smiled and led me directly to the elevators and inside an open one. The doors tried to close on me, and he held them. Chuckling, I hustled in to stand at his side again.
“Took you long enough,” he teased, and his eyes crinkled in the corners.
“Sorry, I guess I’m just stuck in my head.” I grinned. God, he looked so good dressed up. His dark hair was combed to the side and a fine dusting of stubble had grown out on his jaw—I could almost feel it scraping on my skin. I gave myself a shiver imagining him kissing me.
“It’s okay. You did say you were tired when we left. If you need me to take it slow for you, let me know.” There was an undercurrent in his words that I didn’t miss, and my chest went light and warm.
Smiling, I shrugged. “The best thing I did today was agree to come out with you. You were very good at convincing me. It’s almost like you’re a businessman or something.” I stuck out my tongue at him, then felt stupid, but I couldn’t take it back now.
He snickered and offered me his elbow. “We’re heading upstairs to a party. Please allow me to arrive in style with the most beautiful man at the event.”
My heart fluttered even though that sounded a hell of a lot like a pickup line, but he was staring directly at me in a very sincere way that convinced me to slide my hand around his elbow. “All right. You could’ve just said you wanted a model for your big fancy party.”
His expression slipped close to annoyance. “These people already know me. I don’t need to impress them.”
I gave him a serious amount of side-eye, and he absolutely noticed, according to the smirk that slid across his face. The elevator door opened, and we stepped out into a room that took my breath away, and I’d spent the day running around Ruslan’s mansion.
On the right there was a man in a tuxedo playing on a glossy white baby grand piano. Directly behind him was a wide bar that had clearly been set up for whatever this occasion happened to be. Catering staff in black vests wandered between groups of milling guests. In the center of the room was a circular area with a few steps down, and inside were benches filled with chatting people surrounding a string quartet, which seemed to be playing along with the man on the piano.
“Who lives here?” I whispered.
“I didn’t hear you?” Ruslan leaned closer to me.
I cleared my throat and repeated myself.
He patted my hand. “His name is Miguel Hamilton. I’m not sure you would know of him, but I thought I would introduce you to the man.” He started walking us toward an archway on the left.
“Oh? Uh, okay.”
“Ruslan!” a man called, and we drifted toward an older gentleman, with graying blond hair and a wide, flushed face, who had a glass in his hand. “I want to talk to you about coffee imports! You have that shipping company, right?”
“You have Anatoly’s number. Why don’t you run it by him?”
The man nodded and waved, going back to the group he was already involved with.
A caterer passed us carrying a tray of finger foods—there was some sort of cheese melted in teeny bread bowls. I was almost sad that I was completely stuffed with good food.
