Page 195 of Wicked Proposal

“Did someone say slay?” Reese walks into the bedroom. His jaw drops. “O-M-G. Now,that’sa five-course serve.”

“You guys need to stop watchingDrag Racewithout me. I swear, by next week, I’m not gonna be able to catch a single word you’re saying.”

“By next week, you’ll be wearing a diamond ring and picking out bridal boutiques. If there was ever a time to bingeDrag Race, it’s now.”

“Good point.”

I walk up to the mirror. The dress Yulian sent me for tonight is royal blue, with high-heeled sandals to match. Somehow, it feels fitting. After all, tonight isn’t just a Bratva swearing-in ceremony—it’s the night I’m announced as futurepakhansha.As Yulian’s queen.

My stomach knots. I haven’t thought too deeply about that—what it means, what it makes me. There’s already so much to figure out with Eli, I’m not sure I have the bandwidth for Bratva-related craziness.

But I mean, surely I won’t be asked to shoot someone? SurelyYulianisn’t going around doing much of that, either?

He prints money. That’s what he does. I’ve seen it with my own two eyes. If that’s the extent of his “crimes,” then…

Then we’ll be okay.

“Thanks for doing this before your shift,” I tell Reese. “Yulian was going to send Tamara right away, but…”

“Eli hates her.” He shrugs. “Don’t worry. I’ll stay with the little munchkin until midnight, like a good fairy godmother. This way, when Tamara comes, he won’t have to deal with her.”

“He’s been so understanding with all of this, I feel bad ignoring his wishes,” I sigh. “After tonight, I’ll have to talk to Yulian about interviewing replacements. I never liked Tamara much either, but it’s not like she does anythingwrong.I can’t put my finger on it.”

“Kids are sensitive,” Reese says. “Maybe he’s picking up on evil witch energy.”

“Or evil b?—”

“Language, Kal.”

She pouts, but doesn’t look like she regrets what she was going to say. In these past few weeks, Tamara’s been popping by every time I have a shift, regardless of whether I need her or not. I assumed it was Yulian’s way of making up for his silence and let it happen—after all, I could use the help.

But now that Eli’s made his mind known, I can’t just ignore it. Whether he’s just being difficult or Tamara actually makes him uncomfortable, he deserves to be heard.

Just like he heard me.

I do feel a little bad for Tamara, though. If anything, the apartment has never been shinier.

The doorbell rings. I hurry over, tripping on a stray toy car on the way, and throw open the door.

And my breath catches.

Oh. My. God.

Sleek black tux that looks tailored to every inch of his body. A crisp white shirt, so fine and tight you can see the ripple ofmuscle underneath. Perfectly shined shoes, like any good CEO worth his salt.

And a face worth a billion bucks.

His expression is wicked. Like, seriously wicked. He’s got eyes like cinders and a smirk like the wolf that ate Grandma, but somehow, I doubt he’s here to prey on old ladies tonight.

My eyes travel over his stubble, still asGQ-worthy as the day we met. I want to touch it so bad, feel its graze on my fingertips and remember what it felt like in other places. I can smell his aftershave, faint notes of musk and pine over the amber and cedarwood of his cologne.

It’s unfair for a guy to look this good. Illegal, even.

Maybe that’s hisactualcrime—hotness in the third degree.

Oh, and Maksim’s here, too.

“Gentlemen,” I say, trying to sound suave and failing.