Page 14 of Sexting the Single Pakhan

I stare at her, heart pounding. The thought of another solitary Valentine’s of takeout doesn’t seem enticing.

She softens, squeezing my hand. “Just think about it, okay? But don’t say no just because you’re scared.”

After she leaves, hugging me fiercely at the door and whispering “Paris, bitch!” as she heads down the hallway, I stand in the quiet apartment for a long minute.

Then I pick up my phone.

Me: I’ll go. But only under the condition that our focus stays strictly on Alexei’s welfare. Nothing else.

The reply comes within seconds.

Leonid Volkov: Agreed. I’ll send the details over the course of the week.

I exhale, shaky, and set the phone down.

Paris. With Leonid Volkov. I’m doing this for Alexei. That’s all.

Chapter Five

Laurel

I step out of the boutique’s dressing room for the third time, tugging at the hem of the little black dress Tasha practically forced me into. The fabric clings in places I’m not used to noticing, and the mirror reflects someone who looks far more confident than I feel.

I haven’t spoken to Leonid since the night I agreed to the Paris trip. He only texted this morning to confirm we’re still on for tomorrow. That’s the reason Tasha dragged me out shopping for new clothes.

Tasha circles me like a hawk, arms crossed, head tilted. “Give me a 360.”

I do a slow spin. The dress swishes softly against my thighs.

“Perfect,” she declares. “Sexy but classy. Paris-approved. You’re buying it.”

“I haven’t even checked the price—”

“Buying. It.” She cuts me off with a wave of her hand and already has her phone out. “Next stop: lingerie. Then wax.”

I freeze mid-step. “Wax?”

Tasha looks up from her screen, one perfectly arched brow raised. “Yes, wax. Full Brazilian. You’re going to Paris with Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Nine-inches. You have to be prepared, just in case.”

I roll my eyes, huffing a breath. “Tasha, I told you, this trip is professional. We’re only going to be talking about Alexei. That’s it.”

“Uh-huh. Yeah, so you keep saying.” She slips her phone into her purse and links her arm through mine, steering me toward the register.

“But when was the last time you had a full-service wax?” I open my mouth, but can’t get any words out because I can’t remember.

“Exactly. Even if nothing ends up happening between you two on the trip, you should still get waxed. It’s part of taking care of yourself, and you deserve to treat yourself more often.”

“But I can do it after the trip,” I protest weakly, even as she hands the sales associate my credit card like it’s hers.

“Sweetheart.” She turns me to face her, hands on my shoulders. “You’re getting waxed today, so if anything happens on the trip, you won’t be caught off guard. End of discussion.”

I open my mouth to argue, then close it. There’s no point, she’s going to end up getting her way.

“Fine,” I mutter. “But only because you’re terrifying when you’re determined.”

Tasha grins, victorious. “That’s my girl. Now let’s go get you smooth as silk. Paris waits for no bush.”

An hour later I’m lying on a padded table in a softly lit salon, gripping the edges like I’m about to be launched into space, while a very calm esthetician named Mia preps hot wax and strips.