Dumped
Vladimir loosened his tie and slid off his suit jacket. I jumped when I spotted a gun tucked into the left side of his pants. Totally organized crime. Totally.
With thumb and finger, he took it out slowly. “For protection.” He placed it in the drawer where they kept the car keys. “Better?”
I nodded, trying my best not to look freaked out. Maybe I’d watched too many movies.
He unbuttoned the top button on his shirt, lazed against the counter, and studied the appetizers: beans from a can and store-bought tortilla chips. He was tolerant of my lackluster domestic skills. He picked one up, examined it, and then lifted it to my mouth. “Ladies first.” His voice was soft, eyes playful.
I giggled. “Sorry, you surprised me. No one has ever—” I sucked down the rest of my drink. God, my new boss was bad—and hot.
He lifted the tortilla chip again. “Good. I’m first.” He winked.
My heart fluttered. “Wait.” I picked one up, too. “At the same time.”
“Odin, dva, tri.”
I opened my mouth, stepped out of bounds from my comfort zone, and let him feed me. I chewed and chewed and chewed and then popped a chip into his mouth. His lips closed around my fingers, and he nibbled on my thumb. “You’re delicious, Carter.”
The fluttering in my heart moved lower. Much lower.
He picked up my hand and admired my blue fingernails, each adorned with a tiny kitten motif. “How cute.”
“Oh, you know, my little sister has a thing for cats. We match.” I wiggled my fingernails and tried to blink away my embarrassment.
“She’s lucky to have such a sweet sister.” He patted my hand and then went to the bar.
I inhaled the scent of cologne left in his wake. Heavenly.
He poured himself a long straight shot of vodka. “Another drink, Carter?”
I loved the way my name sounded when each R rolled off his tongue. I already had two drinks, and according to Boris, three made me touchy-feely. Whatever. As long as I didn’t get to four I was fine. “Hmm. One more, but cut me off after that.”
“Because you don’t want to be tipsy for your date? Boris said you go out with a football player.”
I pulled my hair forward and fingered-combed my waves. “Boris thinks he knows everything. I told you, no date.” I wonder how tall Vladimir is, six-foot-two or six-three?
He poured what amounted to a double shot of Russian Standard into my glass. “Then why cut you off? It’s the weekend.” He topped off my drink with a splash of soda water, swirled the straw toward my mouth, and lifted it to my lips.
I sipped the fruity drink and stared into his sexy blue eyes. Dad would fall into a tailspin if he found out his boss was serving me alcohol and treating me like a woman.
Holding on to the straw, he lowered the glass, rested his chin on his fist, and waited for me to answer.
“I’m trying to stay out of trouble.”
“What did you do that you must stay out of trouble?”
Underage drinking, getting escorted home in a police cruiser, sneaking out of my bedroom window at night to meet my friends…“Um,” I laughed.
He lifted his shoulders and waited for me to answer.
I exhaled. “Nothing. No big deal.” I waved my hand.
He lifted the drink back up to my mouth.
I sipped. “Mm.” It was strong, but refreshing.
“Finish it and I will make you something special—only for princesses.”
I giggled. How could I resist? After I slurped it down, I followed him, propped my elbows on the bar, and watched him work. He unfastened his cuff links, rolled back his sleeves, and took off his Rolex. He had an ink watch under his real one and tattoos of Russian words and weird images all up and down his forearms.
I kicked off my furry house slippers, climbed onto a barstool, and sat on my knees to get a better view of what he was doing. His gaze moved from the cocktail shaker to my chest. By how far I leaned over, he had a perfect view down my shirt. I placed my hand over my heart, giggled, and buttoned my shirt up to my collarbone. “How tall are you?”
“One hundred and ninety centimeters.”
My brain was temporarily out of order. “How tall is that in English?”
He poured several different kinds of liquor into a shaker. “Six feet and three inches. Why do you ask?”
“Just wondering.”
Note to wasted self: never hand the keys to your sobriety over to a foxy Russian gangster.
“How tall are you, angel?” He poured my special drink into a tall hurricane glass and garnished it with an orange slice, a pineapple wedge, and lots of cherries.
Angel? “Five-seven.” Is that my pet name? “When do you work out?”
He sat the glass in front of me, but didn’t answer. I slouched over and traced his ring tattoos with my finger. I peeked up at him. “Do you have tattoos all over?”
He tapped his fingers on the bar, then dumped my special princess drink down the drain. “Boris was right. You can’t handle your liquor.” He sneered, repulsed by my skanky behavior.
Lightning come…strike me down.
Vladimir scooped a big mound of white rice out of the cooker, dropped it into a bowl, and set it down in front of me. He shook his head in disgust like I was a pile of recycled garbage writhing with maggots on his spotless kitchen floor.
I curled my legs up and shielded my eyes with my hands. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“You know Boris is my sovietnik—my trusted advisor. He was concerned for your safety around boys. I had to see with my own eyes, understand?”
Kill me.
“Do you have many partners?”
I choked. “Oh no, Mr. Ivanov. I’m not usually like this. No, no, no. I don’t even have a boyfriend. I’ve never had a boyfriend. Seriously, let’s forget this ever happened.”
“You’re a good girl?”
“Of course, I’m a good girl. Boris was right. I don’t handle my liquor well. That’s why I, um, never drink in public. If my dad found out I partied around guys he’d lock me in my bedroom, dig a moat around the house, and stock it with meathead-eating crocodiles.”
“Your papa is a good man. Maybe he should lock you away. Yesh.” He motioned to my plate.
I tossed the rice around with my fork. “I spend the night on campus with my best friend Kiki every Friday. Her dorm is girls only. We drink, but it’s just us—no boys allowed. Are you still going to take me to the game? I promise I will not have one drop of liquor around the guys. I can see the error of my ways.”
He dragged his fingers through his hair and contemplated his answer.
Boris had bullshit detectors built into his corneas. If I had tried that “error of my ways” crap on him, I would have been on lockdown until the day Russia outlawed the consumption of vodka. The boss, on the other hand, had a soft spot for me. I could wear him down.
“All my friends are going.” I blinked innocently.
“Oh, Carter. How you bend my good judgment. Finish your rice and brush your teeth. I’ll take you to your hockey game.”
Victory!