We knock back our shots, and Oksana blows me a kiss before disappearing to help close down.
I grab my stuff from the locker and pull on my coat without bothering to change out of my uniform.
I exit through the back door of the club to find a black SUV idling at the curb. I’m pretty sure none of the other girls get personal drivers, but I haven’t asked because I don’t want to draw attention to my special treatment. Kirill giving me an audition and a job I wasn’t qualified for caused enough whispers already.
I approach the back door and reach for the handle. It’s locked.
I frown and try again. Still locked.
What the hell?
I step to the lowered passenger window. My heart skips a beat at the sight of Kirill in the driver’s seat. One hand draped over the steering wheel, his eyes locked on me through the glass.
He’s in a black button-down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, exposing the corded muscle of his forearms. His dark hair is mussed like he’s been running his hands through it, andstubble shadows his jaw in a way that makes him look way too fucking sexy for this late.
He wasn’t at the club tonight. At least I didn’t see him. And I have no idea what he’s doing here now.
He leans across to pop the lock, pushing the door open.
“Really?” I try to sound unimpressed as I climb in. “You’re playing chauffeur now?”
His mouth quirks. “Sometimes I pitch in.”
“How noble of you.”
I pull the door shut. Warmth wraps around me immediately, along with the scent of leather and whatever cologne he wears—something masculine and woodsy that sends a flutter through my stomach.
Before I can reach for the seatbelt, he does it for me. His knuckles brush my collarbone as he pulls the strap across my body and clicks it into place.
He pulls away from the curb while I’m trying to recover from that casual display of dominance.
I lace my fingers in my lap and force myself not to stare at the way his inked hands flex on the steering wheel.
“You seriously have nothing better to do tonight than drive me home?”
“I’m heading to a meeting in Brooklyn.” He glances at me before returning to the road. “Your place is on the way. How’s that alarm system working for you, by the way?”
“Just fine, thanks. So far no baddies have tried to break in.”
One corner of his lips ticks up in a half-smile that I find stupidly attractive. “Definitely not after they see that heavy-duty lock my men installed.”
“So what is it you do? On a day-to-day basis, I mean.”
The question is bold, maybe too bold, but if Kirill is going to play chauffeur, I’m taking the chance to learn as much as I can about his world.
He clears his throat. “I manage various parts of the family business.”
“That’s vague.”
“It’s meant to be.” He sounds amused rather than annoyed. “Lately I’ve been dealing with a particularly annoying issue. With my father in Russia on business, I’m stretched thin.”
I make a mental note to look into Ruslan Baronov’s business in Russia, but I don’t get the chance to ask any more questions because Kirill pulls the car over without warning and kills the engine.
I look around at the unfamiliar street. “Where are we?”
“Figured you could use a bite after that long shift.” He unbuckles and opens his door. “And I’m guessing growing up in Moscow, you’ve never tried food like this.”
He’s out of the car before I can respond. He opens my door, fingers wrapping around mine as he helps me from the car. He doesn’t let go as he leads me toward a small shop with bright yellow walls and painted Spanish signs. Through the window I spot a man behind the counter and a few late-night customers.
