CHAPTER 8
ILAY
She looks stunning. Even before we step outside, I have to remind myself I'm not dreaming.
That dress, clinging to her like it's been custom-made for my fantasies, nearly knocks the breath out of me.
But I play it cool. Mostly. When we step outside, she immediately glances around and narrows her eyes.
"Where are your little goons? Normally I'd see them lurking around, somewhere.
" I smile, unlocking the car. "Tonight's about the two of us.
I told them to take the evening off." She raises an eyebrow.
"Oh, what a gentleman." I chuckle, opening the car door for her.
"I can be more of a gentleman than this… if you'd just give me the chance."
She scoffs but slides into the seat. "Thank you."
"Anytime." I shut the door gently and walk around to the driver's side. Once I'm inside and I start driving, she glances around the interior, her fingers brushing the leather. "This is a really nice car."
"Do you like it?" I glance at her, noting her expression. She nods. "Yeah. It's a beast. I want something like this one day." I grin. "If you like it, I'll have one delivered to your apartment tomorrow morning."
She turns to stare at me. "Just because I said I like it?"
"Anything you want, angel," I slow the car slightly at the light. "I can make anything happen at the snap of my fingers. You might've already guessed, but… I have a bit of an unhealthy obsession with you. And I won't stop until we both share the same surname."
"That's not going to happen," she says, turning her face towards the street. "and why not?," I ask. "Because, your part of the underworld, and I put people like you behind bars." I chuckle. She's very funny.
****
The valet approaches our car as soon as we pull into the restaurant.
I hand him the keys and offer her my arm.
She takes it, grudgingly, and we walk in.
Dinner starts off fine, but I want to loosen her up.
Get her to laugh. Make her see I'm more than just the dangerous man her client warned her about.
"So," I say, cutting into my steak. "Tell me about yourself. What made you want to become a lawyer?"
She looks up from her plate, her fork pausing mid-air. There's surprise in her eyes, like she wasn't expecting the question. "My mother," she says after a moment.
"Your mother was a lawyer?" I ask, genuinely curious. "No. But she always said I argued like one." She takes a sip of wine, her guard dropping just slightly. "I was good at it. I was part of the debate team in school and I always won."
I lean back in my chair, watching her. "I can see that. You certainly don't back down from a fight."
"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" she asks, sharply.
"It is," I say simply.
She studies me for a long moment, she's trying to figure out if I'm mocking her. Then she goes back to her food, cutting her steak into small pieces.
I try again. "What kind of law do you practice?"
"Corporate. Contracts mostly," she says without looking up.
"Boring," I say, unable to help myself. Her eyes snap up immediately. "Excuse me?"
"I said boring," I repeat, smirking slightly. "All that paperwork. I’m pretty sure you crave more….. excitement, am I right, angel?."
"Not everyone needs to break bones to feel alive, Mr. Ivanovich," she says coldly.
I laugh. "Touché. Fair point." I take a sip of my wine, then ask, "What about family? Any siblings?"
"No, I’m an only child" she says simply. "Parents?" Her expression dulls. "My mother passed away recently." I pause, not knowing if I should continue the family questioning. "I'm sorry," I say, trying to placate her. She nods stiffly, accepting my apology. "And you? Any family?"
"I have a troublesome little sister named Natalya, living in Moscow, but I don’t see her often.," I say.
"Close?" she asks cautiously, "Close enough.
She calls me when she needs money," I say with a slight shrug.
A tiny smile tugs at the corner of her lips for a second.
Then it's gone, replaced by that cold mask she wears so well.
"What about hobbies?" I ask, wanting to see that smile again.
"What do you do when you're not taking up dangerous jobs? "
"Read," she says.
"What kind of books?" I press. "Fiction. Thrillers mostly," she answers, her tone making it clear she's only responding out of politeness. "Any good ones you'd recommend?" I ask.
She raises an eyebrow at me. "You read?"
"I can read," I say, grinning. "That's not what I asked," she points out. I grin wider. "No. I don't read much. I’m Too busy."
"Doing what? Threatening people?" she asks, the humor gone from her voice.
"Among other things," I say casually.
She sets down her fork with a sharp clink against the plate. "You know what? I don't think I want to know."
"That’s Probably for the best," I agree. Silence falls between us as she picks at her food, pushing a piece of asparagus around her plate, and I could tell, She clearly wants to be anywhere but here, and it's written all over her face.
I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table. "You really hate this, don't you?"
"What gave it away?" she asks dryly.
"The fact that you've been gripping that knife like you're planning my murder," I say, nodding toward her hand.
She glances down at her hand wrapped around the butter knife. Her knuckles are white. She loosens her grip slightly. "Look," I say, my tone softening by a fraction. "I know you don't want to be here. But we're here. So we might as well make the best of it."
"The best of it would be me leaving," she says flatly.
"You could," I acknowledge. "But you won't."
"Why not?" she challenges. "Because you're curious," I say, watching her carefully.
"About what?" she asks, though I can see the flicker of interest in her eyes. "About me," I say simply. She laughs. The sound bitter, sharp and humorless. "You think very highly of yourself."
"I think realistically," I correct. "yeah, he’s coocoo," she mutters. By the time the main course is finished and the waiter clears our plates, her entire body language screams discomfort. Her face is practically a warning sign.
She snaps. "Mr. Ivanovich," she says, her voice smooth but edged with a warning that would send weaker men stumbling back.
"I am one second away from breaking this wine bottle over your head.
If I didn't know you'd catch my hand before it even got close, I would've done it already.
So please, get on with whatever the hell this is supposed to be, or I'm going home. "
I sigh, unable to help the small smile that crosses my face. God, she's fiery. "My, you hate my presence that much? I'm hurt."
She growls like a cornered animal.
I hold my hands up in surrender. "Alright, alright.
Message received." I signal to the waiter.
The man comes over promptly, setting the file on the table beside her.
She lights up. That spark in her eyes, the sheer anticipation…
It almost makes me feel bad. Almost. As she reaches for it, I snatch it away. Her head snaps up.
"What. What. What again?" she hisses, loudly. Loud enough that a few diners turn to glance in our direction. I lean back slowly, one brow raised, and take a slow sip of my wine. She's going to kill me. And yet, I can't help but grin.
"You promised," she says harshly. "You said you'd give me the file.
Why are you changing your mind now?" twirling the edge of my wine glass between my fingers.
"I didn't go through all the trouble of betraying someone I was using, and now having to find a brand-new government puppet, for free.
You've got to give me something in return.
" She folds her arms. "You forget I don't have money. "
I laugh softly, shaking my head. "Who's talking about money?" I lean in, catching her gaze. "Stop talking about money, angel. That's one thing I'd never take from you."
She scoffs at the nickname. "So what do you want then?" I gesture to the waiter again. He returns with another box, beautifully wrapped. I slide it across the table to her.
"What's this?" she asks, suspiciously. "Open it.
" She hesitates, then unwraps it carefully.
Inside is a deep blue silk dress, elegant and expensive.
Her eyes widen slightly. "There's an event coming up," I say.
"In two weeks. I want you to come with me.
As my date." She stares at the dress, then at me. "You're bribing me with clothes now?"
"I'm inviting you," I correct. "The dress is a gift. Whether you come or not is up to you." I pause. "But I'd very much like you there." She runs her fingers over the fabric, expression unreadable. "And if I say no?"
"Then I'll be disappointed," I say simply. "But you'll still keep the dress. And the file." She narrows her eyes. "You're giving me the file either way?"
"No." I smirk. "Not quite yet." She glares at me. "A kiss," I say. She blinks. "Just a kiss?"
I nod slowly. "Yeah. Just a kiss." She stands up from her chair, saunters over, and gives me the lightest brush of her lips on my cheek. I look up at her, unamused.
"What was that?" I ask, already knowing the game she's playing. "A kiss," she says smugly. "You didn't say what kind."
A low chuckle slips from my throat as my gaze settles on her lips with deliberate intent.
“Uh-uh. That’s not how it works. You owe me a kiss on the lips.
” She tries to stare me down, but I don’t look away.
She finally releases a dramatic sigh, grabs me by the collar, and pulls me into a hard, obedient kiss.