Page 25 of The Pakhan's Secret Baby

She stands waiting, leaning against the brick facade with her arms crossed over her chest and an angry expression. "What are you doing?" she snips. "I told you, you're too old for me and I can't do this."

Ignoring her, I reach into the inner pocket of my coat and pull out the small velvet box containing the gift I purchased to grab her attention.

I flip it open, letting the streetlight catch the diamonds and the deep emerald pendant nestled in the center, and her eyes go wide with shock.

It's brilliant watching her be so taken by surprise.

“For you,” I say, holding it out between us. “I saw it and thought of your eyes—green fiery specks in them. I had to get it for you.”

She stares at the necklace, lips parted. Confusion flashes across her face first, then more shock.

Maybe she's impressed, even if she tries to hide it behind that angry scowl.

Her gloved fingers twitch at her sides like she wants to touch it but knows better.

“I can’t accept that,” she says quickly, taking half a step away and sliding down the brick wall. “Are you insane? I told you—you’re too old for me. I can’t do this, Rashid. Please."

I don’t pull the box back. I keep it extended, hoping she'll take the bait.

Then I paint the most pleading expression I can muster onto my face and hope she buys it. “Emory, please listen to me. I've been searching for you for three years. I fell for you the second I saw you in that club. You can't tell me you don’t feel the spark between us."

Her cheeks flush, but she shakes her head and a few strands of hair slip free from under her hat. “You don’t even know me. It was one night. One stupid, drunk night. I don't have time for this."

“For what?” I cut in, stepping closer so the wind doesn’t snatch my words away. I expect her to step away again, but she stays put. "Emory, please don’t turn me down. I know you think we don't know each other, but I know so much about you. You share my love of art. You value your family and loyalty. And you long for an adventure, just like me."

She looks away. “I have a life. Classes. Responsibilities. I don’t need some… some rich older guy buying me jewelry and following me around town. It’s creepy, okay? Just leave me alone.”

So I'm getting nowhere, or at least she wants me to think I'm getting nowhere. "I didn't realize you thought I was creepy." I pull the box back and hold it closer to my body, but I don’t close it. After we connected... well..." My God, it's taking everything in me not to just grab her and motion for my driver. But then I never get to the child, which is what I want. And inevitably her father. "I thought you'd think it was romantic."

Her eyes dart back to the necklace despite herself. I can see the battle in her expression—part of her wants to snatch it and run, another part is terrified of me, and rightly so. If my reputation has preceded me, I'm fighting myself here. Why the hell do I have to be so good at what I do?

“I can’t,” she repeats, but her voice cracks. “I have… family stuff. My dad—he wouldn’t approve. I’m not looking for anything serious. That night was a mistake. A fun mistake, but still a mistake.” She rubs the back of her neck and her head dips, but her eyes stay on the jewelry, as if she knows what a piece this expensive could mean for her family.

I lean in a fraction more, close enough to smell the faint vanilla on her coat. “Your father doesn’t have to know yet. This can be ours. We can take it slow, no pressure. Let me take you to dinner or something. I want to show you who I really am."

She crosses her arms tighter, but her gaze keeps flicking to the pendant. “You’re impossible. I said no. Multiple times now. I have to get home. There’s… someone waiting for me.”

Her lie is so thin and fragile I could poke a hole right through it and destroy her composure in a split second, but I don’t call her on it.

Instead I tilt the box so the diamonds flash at her again. “Okay then, take the necklace, Emory. Wear it or sell it and keep the money. If you still want me gone, I’ll walk away. I just honestly thought we had connected. It's not often a woman as intelligent as you is also so beautiful and captivating, and you stole my heart. I just..." This is painful, watching her breathe faster and wrestle with herself.

She’s impressed—I can see it in the way her pupils widen despite the fear pinching her brows.

The necklace is working exactly as I hoped.

Expensive things have a way of softening hard lines, even on women who think they’re above it.

And I admire how she can be gently nudged to see things my way.

I actually do find myself entranced.

It's all an act, but I really did linger on her for months. I really did look her up and want more from her.

But who knows if that would've succeeded or if she'd simply be another dating casualty.

“I can’t wear that,” she mutters. “People would ask questions. My professors, my… friends. It’s too much. How old are you, anyway? Forty?”

“I'm actually forty-three,” I answer smoothly. “But age is just a number when the connection is real." I step forward, reaching for her cheek. I brush it softly with the outside of my knuckles. My hands are cold, but her cheeks are colder. "Please, let me show you why I've taken all this time to look for you and find you without giving up.