“You meant what?” I ask.
Roman’s gaze shifts to the waiter’s face, then back to mine. He’s evaluating. The temperature at the table drops so much I half expect to see the still water freeze.
“Let me ask you this,” I say. “Do you recommend the salad to all of the guests?”
The waiter laughs nervously. The right move would be to apologize as quickly as possible, then scamper off with his tail between his legs. He doesn’t.
“Well, I?—”
Roman cuts him off. “Or only to the ones you think should be on a diet?” His tone is scary calm.
My pulse jumps. “Roman?—”
The waiter’s smug smile finally falters. He glances around, as if suddenly aware of his situation. “Mr. Barinov, sir, I didn’t mean?—”
Roman lifts a hand, stopping him. Still polite, still controlled. But his eyes are cold and narrowed like shards of green glass.
“You spoke out of turn,” he says. “And you insulted my companion.”
The waiter swallows hard.
“I’m fine,” I say. “Really.”
“You will apologize. Now.”
Another hard swallow. “I’m sorry, miss. I didn’t mean to offend you. Really.”
It’s a lie. To offend was his only intention.
The waiter just stands there, as if waiting for his next orders. He gets them.
“Your manager,” Roman says. “Now.”
The waiter pales. “Sir, please?—”
Roman turns his head slightly, gaze sharpening. “Now.”
He practically sprints away.
I stare at Roman. I’m equal parts flustered and furious. I’m also turned on.
“Roman, I appreciate you. But I don’t need you to make a scene on my behalf. You’ve proved your point.”
He turns those gorgeous, sharp eyes to me. His expression is dark, angry, but I know he’s not angry at me. “No,” he says simply.
“No?”
“No one speaks to you like that. Not in my presence.”
“It was just a stupid comment. I can handle a stupid comment.”
His mouth tightens. “I know you can handle it. You shouldn’t have to.”
The manager arrives in a flurry. He’s middle-aged, neatly groomed, and anxious as hell. “Mr. Barinov,” he says, his voice tight with panic. “Is everything satisfactory for you this evening?”
Roman’s gaze doesn’t soften. “I’m afraid not. Your waiter suggested that my companion should order something light, his insinuation blatant.”
The manager’s face twitches. He knows what kind of trouble he’s in. “I’m so very sorry. I?—”
