He’s silent as he pulls away from the shop and maneuvers through the side streets to the nine-A. My chest tightens the further away from my neighborhood we drive, and heat crawls up my neck. Now is not a great time for a panic attack.
I turn the little knob on the back of the console to turn the airflow higher in the back and push the vent to blow directly up at me. I will not arrive at Nikolai’s doorstep passed out in the back of his car.
“We’re almost there,” the driver says with a thick Russian accent. He gets off at the next exit ramp. The buildings get taller, more extravagant as he maneuvers through the streets. A hotel room in this part of town is too expensive for me, and he lives here?
We turn into a parking garage, ramping up my anxiety. There’s no time for worries now. I’ve done this to myself.
One night. I can do this. It’s one evening and then I can figure out how to keep Oliver from getting himself mixed up with this crap again. I’ll start saving for the ovens again and I can pretend tonight never happened.
The car comes to a stop next to the elevator bay. Another man, dressed in black slacks and a black button-down shirt, steps out into the light. His sleeves are rolled to his elbows, exposing dark tattoos on both forearms. Even his neck is covered in the ink, but it’s the gun holstered at his side that grabs my attention.
“That’s Viktor. He’ll take you to Mr. Romanov.” The driver unlocks the doors and Viktor steps forward to open mine.
It takes an armed escort to get me upstairs? That’s completely normal. Nothing to worry about. I wish I had learned to lie as smoothly as Oliver when we were younger.
I slide out of the car and make my way to the elevators. Viktor shuts the car door and with his long legs he reaches the button before me. He smashes it with the side of his fist. Once inside, he punches in a code on a small keypad and the elevator whisks us up.
I force myself to stand in front of the doors. When they slide open, I won’t have Nikolai see me cowering in the corner. No matter how much I’d rather be doing exactly that.
He’s not even there when they glide open. The elevator has brought us right inside the condo. When I step out, Viktor follows. It’s beyond gorgeous, this place. I’ve stepped into anArchitectural Digestmagazine shoot. And this is just the foyer.
“Mr. Romanov will meet you in the dining room after you’ve changed.” Viktor walks past me, stopping after half a dozen steps to glare over his shoulder at me. “This way.”
“I didn’t bring anything to change into.” I try to keep up with his wide strides, but he’s just too damn tall. He stops at a closed door on the left.
“In here. Once you’re cleaned up, I’ll bring you to the dining room.” He moves to the opposite wall and leans against it. Apparently, he’s to be my captor.
There’s a dress draped over the foot of the four-post king-sized bed. A pair of black ballet flats lie beside it.
Catching a glimpse of myself in the standing full-length mirror in the corner of the room, I frown. It’s been a long day. My hair is still pulled back into a ponytail at the base of my neck and there’s a mustard stain below my left breast. Not exactly what he thought he was getting, I’m sure.
There’s a bathroom attached to the bedroom—that I could fit my entire apartment into—so I quickly wash up. I have a few makeup items in my purse, so I reapply my mascara and run my comb through my hair. It’s not perfect, but it’s at least untangled and lying loose around my shoulders.
The dress is a simple black one that ends mid-thigh. While it fits well around the rest of me, I try to tug it down to make it stretch at least to my knees. No luck.
Taking the time to wash up and dress, I’ve been able to ignore the reason I’m here. But now I’m dressed.
Viktor doesn’t even give me a glance when I open the door. He leads me back down the hall and through a living room and through another hallway until he brings me to a dining room beautiful enough to hold receptions in.
In the corner of the room, staring out the tall windows at the lit-up city below, is Nikolai. He has the window open, and a light breeze blows in, rustling his hair. He’s holding a cigarette in his hand when he turns to see me. After taking one quick drag, he smashes it against the windowpane then tosses it out the window.
The smell of smoke hits me a moment later.
“It fits.” He turns to face me, sliding his hands into the front pockets of his trousers.
“Yes.” I run my hands down my stomach.
“You could have left your purse in the bedroom. No one’s going to steal it.” He gives a pointed look at the strap across my chest and the purse dangling at my hip.
“Yeah. No, I know that.” I work the strap over my head. “But I wanted to give you something and I didn’t want to just carry it.” And my phone is stashed inside. Just in case I need to dial a quick 911.
“What do you want to give me?” he asks, his eyes narrowing a fraction. This isn’t a man who trusts people. Given his profession, I suppose that’s normal.
I push the flap open on my purse and pull out the envelope. The same one he refused to take earlier. It’s a lousy attempt to make this mess go away, but I can’t not try.
His eyes darken when he sees it. “I told you to take that back to the bank.”
“I know.” I roll my shoulders back. “But I thought maybe after you had time to think about it, you’d realize taking the cash would be better.” I step forward and put the envelope on the beautifully dressed dining table. I’m not really sure what I expected from someone like Nikolai, but such attention to detail on a dining table was definitely not part of it.