With a steadying breath, I turn to face him. He’s watching me with an intensity I can’t decipher. Is he thinking I’m unprofessional? That I’m a liability? That I’d do this with all the customers here?
“I’m sorry.” The words rush from my mouth. “I didn’t mean for any of that to happen.”
He holds up a hand. “I’m not complaining.”
My pulse pounds when his tongue drags across his lower lip.
“Okay, so…” I swallow hard. “Did I get the job?”
“You’re good. Very good. But I’m not giving you a job dancing here.”
The words take a second to register. When they do, my stomach drops.
“Why? You said I was good.”
“Exactly.” His eyes darken. “Which is why I don’t want you dancing for anyone else.”
What the fuck does that mean? Dancing for anyone else?
“I’ll give you a job as a server on the main floor.”
A server? My heart sinks. From everything I read, the main floor is for the general public. Anyone bratva-affiliated hangs out on the second floor in the VIP section. That’s the access I need. Those are the men who know this world. Who, after a few drinks, might spill secrets about what happened at Velour eighteen years ago.
“Why?” The word comes out sharper than I intend. “I don’t understand. I came here to dance. That’s what I’m skilled at.”
“It’s not complicated.” His voice is maddeningly calm. “You’ll serve drinks on the main floor, and you’ll make good money. I’m offering you a job. Take it or leave it.”
I can tell he’s serious, but I still make one final plea.
“I’ve never served before; I wouldn’t know what to do. Why not let me do what I’m trained for?”
“Because…” His hand cups the back of my neck, fingers tightening possessively. “What you did for me, I don’t want you doing that for other men.”
I shake my head. “I don’t understand. That’s the job.”
“Exactly. My terms are not negotiable.”
My hands ball into fists at my sides. “But serving doesn’t pay as well as dancing, and I need the money to live … to put myself through school.”
“Servers here make excellent money.” He steps back, putting distance between us. “Like I said, this isn’t a negotiation, Evelina. You wanted a job. I’m giving you one. If you have a problem with my offer, the door is right there.”
It’s not what I hoped for, but walking away without an in to Velour is worse.
“I’ll take it.”
“Good.” He shrugs on his suit jacket. “Check in with Oksana on your way out. She’ll be in charge of your training.”
I give him a polite nod that feels so out of place after what we shared. He came in his pants, for fuck’s sake.
Kirill moves toward the door, then pauses with his hand on the handle, back to me. Silence stretches for a beat before he looks over his shoulder, and the raw hunger in his eyes steals the air from my lungs. “You have no idea how fucking beautiful you looked coming apart for me. I’ve never seen anything sexier than watching you use my cock to get off.”
With that, the door clicks shut behind him.
My legs give out, and I slide down the wall until I’m sitting on the floor, knees pulled to my chest. The outcome isn’t what I wanted, but I got a foot in the door.
And more than that, I got Kirill Baronov’s attention. As the heir and the man who runs Velour, he has access to information, people, records. And he wants me. That much is obvious.
Whether that turns out to be useful remains to be seen, but I’d be stupid not to take advantage.
