“Is this selective mutism going to be a recurring thing?”
Her lips purse into a hard, flat line, and she flips open the dark leather menu. She says nothing.
I bite back a grin.This could be fun.
“Fair enough. Oksana ordered the clothes,” I keep talking, nodding to the server when he brings over our waters. “I assumed the dress you were in the other night was more your dad’s preference. If you want skimpier, we can do skimpier. Not like you didn’t look good.”
Every limb in her body stiffens more and more with every word. I can see it working.
“The audience definitely thought so,” I add.
And there—
“You’re being crass. What’s wrong with you? I thought you were supposed to be—” Janella bursts, spluttering. Those big, sad eyes of hers are bright and ablaze. It’s glorious. “Isn’t the whole point of this that you’re supposed to be different? You wanted to play the white knight, didn’t you?”
“So, let me,” I say.
“What do youwantfrom me?” she asks, her voice a harsh whisper.
My eyes roll. “For you to have dinner with me. That implies conversation. Some small-talk, at the very least.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” she snaps. “I’m here, I signed the stupid papers, I’m—”
“Acting like a spooked chihuahua,” I cut in.
I swear I see her eyes flash. It sends a dose of adrenaline coursing through my veins, thrilling me.
“Are you calling me a bitch?”
“The opposite, actually.”
“And what’s the opposite of a bitch?” Janella demands.
“Something like a wet cat?” I suggest.
“That doesn’t even make sense,” she argues, pausing to sip at her water. “A chihuahua is a dog breed. A cat is a different animal. So, which one is it? Why am I an animal at all? Because I’m skittish around a man who bought me, and has effectively abducted me? I don’t think I’m the crazy one here, pal.”
I chortle. “Pal?”
She gives a peeved sniff in response. Then says, “I can tell that you’re trying to goad me, by the way.”
“Well, do you have any other suggestions to get you to unclench?”
“Crass,” she repeats, more sass than venom this time.
My lips curl, and I clink my glass against hers.
“Trust me, Janella,” I drawl. “I’m guilty of worse sins.”
To my surprise, despite the color in her cheeks, she meets my gaze head-on.
“Okay. Tell me about them,” she invites. “If this is going to be my world, too, then I deserve to know about it. Don’t I?”
Oh, she can be ballsy.
I cock an eyebrow.
“Fine,” I allow, a challenge in my eyes. “What do you know about the bratva?”
