Page 12

Another flight. This time, I’m more prepared, and packing didn’t take me an entire twelve hours. With a little more practice, I’ll streamline this and be able to hop on a plane with an hour’s notice. I guess that’s the sort of thing I need to expect when working for Mr. Milov. He’s got an impulsive side, which means I need to be ready for anything.

I’m wearing sensible flats in case he decides we need to take another foray into the wilderness, but thankfully, it seems we’re sticking to more conventional routes today. He’s distracted, thumbing through his phone during the car ride to the first meeting, and he has barely said a word to me. There’s something off between us, but I can’t tell what it is. I just try to take advantage of it; the distance makes it easier to maintain the wall, but I can’t deny there’s a part of me that feels a little hurt.

“Get it together, girl,” I scold myself. This entire time, I’ve been trying to keep the attraction between us at bay, and now that he’s finally maybe going along with it, I’m upset? I need to focus on the job, not on how good he looks in business casual. But who knew a polo shirt could look so good? It’s designer, but it could be off the rack at a thrift shop, and he’d still make it sexy. The way those arms barely fit in the sleeves has me stealing glances every time he’s distracted.

“We’re here,” he says, jolting me out of my daydreams.

I look out the window. We’re in front of a cafe that sits right beside the water, not too far from where we scoped out the location last time. As we step out, I’m grateful for the strong breeze coming off the water because it’s insanely hot. So much for looking professional, I can already feel the glaze of sweat on my cheeks and forehead.

Usually, Mr. Milov would have taken my hand to escort me along the pathway, but he keeps his distance this time, a respectful few inches between us that feels like miles. I try not to pout about it.

The developer is waiting for us, seated at a booth by the window. Mr. Milov orders us both iced coffees, then wastes no time getting into it. I almost forget I’m supposed to be paying attention and taking notes because I love the way he gestures when he talks about something he’s really interested in.

“It’s just not an ideal spot,” says the developer, cutting in. “Not for what you want it to be. You’re going to want more foot traffic, and there’s no chance they’re going to put a main road nearby.”

I tense and feel Mr. Milov wilt a little beside me, disappointed. This was his dream, so I know that’s a blow. He’s so determined to build something of his own, and he really wanted this to be perfect. I reach out and touch his forearm lightly, relieved when he doesn’t pull away.

“So it’s not suitable for what we intended,” I slide in, giving Mr. Milov a chance to recover, “but could it be developed for something else? A casino, maybe? Or a hotel?”

“It’d be perfect for that. Something that people will travel a little out of the way for,” the developer says, tapping something into his tablet before sliding it over toward us. “I went ahead and drew up a rough sketch of what that would look like, since it is a prime piece of land. Quite a few other interested parties.”

“You don’t need to strong-arm us,” Mr. Milov warns with an edge in his voice.

I look over the proposal. It’s not what we wanted, but the developer’s right, it’s too nice a property to give up. Mr. Milov leans in to look at the screen with me, his shoulder brushing my own, and the world starts to right itself a little. I’ve gotten so used to his touches, his closeness, that the lack of them was driving me mad.

“I’ll need to look this over in depth before I agree to anything,” he says, sliding the tablet back to the other man. “Send us both a copy of everything you have, and we’ll have an answer for you by the end of the day.”

We finish our coffees and chat about some other potential build sites around the area, but nothing seems to grab Mr. Milov’s attention. He’s got something very specific in mind, and I take note of every reason he has for rejecting the listed properties. Maybe I can find something that suits him. That would cement my place as his assistant and, not that it should matter, but it really does, bring a smile to his face. I want to make him happy. I hate seeing him disappointed, and I hate seeing him put a wall up between us, even when I’ve already built one of my own.

***

We spent the afternoon going over the documents the developer sent over in the hotel room. The suite’s table was covered in our files, coffee cups, and empty plates. I felt like I hadn’t looked up once and despite the close quarters, he’d kept everything strictly professional.

I thought of the encounter we’d had in his office and squirmed in my seat. Here we were, alone, and he wasn’t even trying to kiss me. It felt wrong. This is what you wanted, I reminded myself. Now that I had it, was I really going to sulk about it? Apparently.

When Mr. Milov got up to call the lawyer, I slipped out of the room for some fresh air and a chance to clear my head. It was impossible to think straight with him around. Working for Mr. Milov would never be easy, but I had to make this work. This was the best opportunity I’ve ever had and could make a huge difference in my career.

All I needed to do was accept that he’d given up on trying to woo me, no matter how much that stung, and settle in as his assistant. So why was I roaming the hotel halls right now, trying to devise a way to bring the heat back into our time together? After thirty minutes of pacing without a solution, I wandered back to our hotel room and let myself in with a swipe of my key card.

Mr. Milov is waiting for me, leaning back against the table with his phone in his hand. “I was just about to call you. Get ready to go.”

“Go where?” I ask, greedily soaking up the sight of him. My body screamed at me to go to him, to step into his arms and see if he wrapped them around me again.

“To celebrate.” He smiles and raises his eyebrows in a look that would make the devil blush.

“We bought it?”

“We bought it,” he confirms.

I squeal and throw myself at him. He sweeps me into a hug, lifting me off my feet as he spins me around in celebration. It’s our first big deal together, and I’m flying high, exhilaration like I’ve never felt before flooding through my veins—a potent cocktail of touching him and nabbing this deal right out from under the other potential buyers. When he releases me, I step reluctantly out of his arms. At least the smile lingers in the corners of his mouth; he’s clearly feeling the same elation I am, even though this isn’t his first deal.

Daringly, I pull out a slinky, clingy dress that I know will capture his attention and slip it on in the bathroom with a pair of strappy sandals. I let my hair down and brush out the waves into a beachy look, swipe on some lip gloss and eyeliner, and meet Mr. Milov by the door. He looks me up and down, and my stomach swoops. He still can’t keep his eyes off me. After feeling so unsettled, this feels like a victory.

“Where are we going?” I ask as we settle into the backseat of the car he’s hired. Just like back at home, this car has deeply tinted windows and I’m beginning to sense a trend here. Mr. Milov likes his privacy.

“You’ll see,” he replies, giving me nothing.

It’s a short ride at least. We reach a strip of nightlife, neon lights and pumping music, women in tiny dresses spilling over the sidewalk. At least I’m dressed for the occasion.

We’re headed for a nondescript building with a line down the block and not a single window to reveal what’s inside. I start to walk toward the back of the line, but he grabs my hand with a laugh.

“We don’t have to wait,” he says, nodding at the bouncer standing in the doorway.

The man unclips the velvet rope, and we’re in. Inside, everything is black: black couches, black walls, and a black floor, offset by a few glowing silver details. Mr. Milov snugly wraps his arm around my waist and guides us through the crowd to a high-top table near the bar.

“Wine?” He leans in close to be heard over the music and his breath on my cheek warms more than just the skin there. “Or a cocktail?”

“Wine, please. Maybe something bubbly since we’re celebrating?”

Whatever he orders is delicious. Tiny bubbles burst on my tongue, and it goes down so easily. In this lighting, he looks completely sinful, like some dark lord in his domain. I get a hint of what Persephone must have felt the first time she encountered Hades in the Underworld.

There’s no reason for him to hold me back now that we have our own space here, but I want to feel him again. After my second glass of champagne, I’m feeling daring and ready to challenge this distance he’s putting between us. It stings that he hasn’t made a move. I’m wearing this low-cut dress, and I keep catching his eyes lingering on my figure, but he’s yet to try for so much as a kiss.

In this club, memories of our first meeting are unavoidable. Especially about how it ended.

“Dance with me,” I demand.

His eyebrows climb. “I don’t dance.”

I laugh at that, but what I really want to do is reach across the table and smack him. I hate this version of him. It’s so cold. “You danced the very first night we met. You’re lying to me.”

He doesn’t deign to respond, and my blood starts to boil. Ignoring me, he refills both of our glasses and takes another long drink of his champagne, eyes darting around the room like he’d rather do anything but look at me.

What’s the lie? This Mr. Milov that I have right now, or the one who was desperate for me? I have to know, and I think I know just how to test it.

“Fine. I’ll find someone else to dance with.” I don’t wait for him to respond, just start walking toward a man who’s dancing all alone like it’s my mission to dance with him.

I barely get three steps away when I feel a strong grip on my arm.

“What are you doing?” I hiss, trying to yank my arm free like this isn’t exactly what I’d hoped for.

“Saving that man’s life,” he says, leaving me blinking in confusion as he pulls me out onto the dance floor. His grip is tight, almost bruising, and he pulls me in so close there’s no space between us, no chance for anyone else to cut in. His hands move to my hips, guiding my movements against him, and finally, the world spins in color again. He’s back. My Mr. Milov.

“Saving him?” I repeat, daring to look back over at the man whose life is apparently in danger. “From what?”

“From what I’d do to him if he danced with you,” Mr. Milov says, eyes flashing with the threat. I swallow because I actually believe him. There’s something cold in his voice that makes me shiver.

“I’m only dancing with you,” I murmur, wanting to soothe away that frightening look on his face. His attention clicks back to me, and his expression softens.

I down the last of my champagne and the world starts to blur, everything narrowing down to the places where he and I are joined. My breasts against his chest. His hands on the bare skin of my back. His mouth on my lips.

“This is barely a dress,” he says, teasing my earlobe between his teeth. His fingers prove his point when he palms my breast, and I feel his touch like there’s no fabric there at all. I arch against him, desperate for more.

I tilt my head back to give him access to more of me, to my neck and my bare chest. “It covers everything that needs to be covered,” I insist.

He knows my body like he’s studied the map. With one seamless movement, he slips his hand beneath the strappy top and cups my breast, his thumb flicking over my nipple until it hardens into a peak. We’re right here in public, but he doesn’t care, and in this moment, I can’t seem to either. The fabric is pushed back by his movements, and if anyone looked over, they could see how exposed I am.

Pressed against him like this, I can feel his cock growing hard against my thigh. It’s so freaking big it’s impossible to ignore, and I love knowing I have this effect on him. That as wet as I am for this man, he wants me just as badly.

It’s a heady feeling. “Mr. Milov,” I moan out as he moves to my other breast and gives that nipple the same treatment. “Anton. I want you.”

The sound of his name on my lips makes him still, and his eyes flare, so I say it again.

“Please, Anton. Take me back to the hotel.” I’m begging in public but screw it, I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want him right now. Boss or not. I’ll deal with the consequences if it means getting to feel him inside of me again.

He half-sighs, half-moans, and leans his forehead against mine, stealing one kiss, then another. They’re quick, rough kisses that leave me wanting more, and the whole time his hips are moving against mine.

“Now you call me that? Fuck, Ella, you’re trying to make me lose my mind.” His pupils are blown wide, making his green eyes so dark I could sink in them. “I can’t take you home tonight.”

My fingers tighten their hold on him, denying his words. “What? But I asked for it. You’re not breaking your promise.”

“You’re more drunk than I thought,” he says, unraveling himself from me. “And I’m not taking advantage of a lapse in judgment.”

No, no, no. This cannot be happening. I finally let the walls down and admit how badly I want him, and he’s too much of a gentleman to do anything about it. I want to howl in frustration, but barely manage to keep it together. So I’m a little tipsy. I’m definitely not drunk, just buzzed, and I’m well aware of what I’m asking for.

But I can see that any argument I have would land on deaf ears. He’s not going to budge because a stubborn mule of a man, and when his mind is made up, I might as well be screaming into the wind.

He straightens the material of my dress so I’m fully covered, something I hadn’t even noticed, then cups my cheek. I resist the urge to smack his hand away. Barely.

“When I take you,” he says, forcing me to look up at him, “it’ll be when you can remember every single second. You’ll beg me for it stone-cold sober, Ella. Only then.”

He bends and presses a tender kiss to my forehead. I’ve never hated chivalry more.