Despite my efforts to stand up for myself, I remained in a foul mood after my meeting with Felix and his dad. Shay Sr. had said they’d be in touch, but I harbored little hope. He didn’t like being challenged, though it demonstrated perfectly that I could be the pain in the ass he needed when it came to his son’s career. Some guys would never want a woman running the show.
Approaching the hostess of fancy steakhouse Galleria in downtown Riverbrook, I murmured, “I’m meeting someone,” as if I was about to commit a crime. “Nazarov.”
She looked me over. “Are you sure?”
“Alexei Nazarov?”
Another top-down review, then a curl of her glossed lips told me I was clearly letting down the side, though it was hard to say which one.
“This way, please.”
She led me into the dining room, but her body blocked my view. Only when we arrived at the table did I realize it was by a window, so prime restaurant real estate and uber-fucking-romantic. Luckily, I was wearing anti-romance armor—sweats and running shoes. I hadn’t even showered. Take that, Nazarov.
He stood when I arrived. “You look beautiful, Silver Eyes.”
“Can it, Nazarov. I made zero effort in honor of this sham.”
He, on the other hand, had decided to take this shit seriously. A French blue shirt open at the collar, a custom-designed suit that shaped his shoulders to perfection, and the air of a man who could get anything he wanted. Did that include me? And if so, why? I thought I knew his game, but tonight I would find out for sure.
Once seated, I grabbed a piece of bread and stuffed it in my mouth. I hadn’t eaten all day, and while I should have been fueling up for this, I was spending far too much time fuming about Shay and figuring out what not to wear.
Before I could raise a finger, Nazarov signaled to the server, who shimmied across the floor like he was surfing an oil slick.
“Yes, sir?”
“Lauren, what would you like to drink?”
Nazarov was drinking San Pellegrino, but that wouldn’t work for me.
“I would love a martini. Three olives, extra dry.” I stuffed another piece of rosemary crusted bread in my mouth, barely managing to suppress my moan.
“Of course.”
Once the server had slinked off, I stared at my dinner date. Chewing gave me a chance to up the disdain levels, though his face was so damn perfect that I could have wept.
“You look like you’ve had a bad day,” he said.
“Maybe I’m psyching myself up for a bad night.”
“I’ll make it easy on you. We are here to catch up.”
I snorted. “Oh, that’s why? I thought it was because you need to blackmail women to spend time with you. Which I don’t get, because any woman would be happy to sit across from this and gaze upon its perfect features.” I held up a hand. “I can admit this from a completely objective standpoint, Nazarov. And yes, every woman here wants you. All but one.”
A quick scan confirmed that we were indeed the focus of every woman—and man—here. Or maybe they were wondering how a schlub like me had scored the privilege of sitting in such rarefied company.
He signaled to the server who sprinted over. “Could we have more bread, please?”
“Of course. Your drinks will be up in a moment. Would you like to hear about the specials?”
“Sure.”
The server laid it all out there while I focused on the empty breadbasket. Forget the Miracle on Ice, I was rooting for a miracle of the loaves-not-fishes variety.
“I’ll leave you guys to decide,” and off he went on a bread and booze run for the hangry woman.
None of the specials appealed, or maybe I’d already forgotten them because the fact I was married to the dreamboat across from me was finally starting to sink in. Alexei Nazarov was my husband. How fucking crazy was that!
Rocked by this rather late-in-the-game revelation, I opened the menu and scanned the offerings. When I looked up, Alexei was studying me instead of his menu.
