AllFreeNovel
Share Us
A flicker of annoyance dampens my attraction. “It’s still bigger than any other studio in a twenty-mile radius.”
“You had that fact on the tip of your tongue,” he notes. Mr. Isakov turns in place, then walks around us, exploring the main dance area. He’s not waiting for us to lead him around.
Baffled, I shoot my mom a look, trying to say, What’s his deal?
She ignores me and hurries after him. Sighing, I follow along, wanting to keep an eye on what he does next. Strolling along the perimeter of the mirrors, he watches himself in them before he crosses the room and stops.
“Even if it’s bigger than other studios,” he says, looking at me in the reflection. “It’s small.”
I tense under his hard stare. “It’s big enough.”
“Not for my purpose.”
“And what’s that?” I ask cautiously.
Instead of responding, he returns to exploring. When he reaches another wall, he runs his thumb down the mirror, squinting at the smudge. My mom hisses in my ear. “I told you to wash those.”
I frown. This man clearly doesn’t care about the mirrors.
“I asked what you plan to do with the building,” I say.
He mumbles to himself, pulling out his phone.
Storming toward him, I grab his elbow. “Hey! Stop ignoring me!”
He stiffens at my touch. I might as well have grabbed the tire on a four-wheeler. Slowly, he turns just enough to glower at me. His face is stoic, but beneath it burns a vivid, intense energy that threatens to buckle my knees.
“If you want my attention so badly, ptichka, there are better ways to get it.” Shifting backward, he forces my hand off of his body.
“You’re here to make an offer.” Refusing to back down, I swallow the dry spot in my throat. “Talking business usually involves talking.”
“Galina, please,” my mother says, rushing up beside me. “I’m sorry, Mr. Isakov. My daughter can be very blunt.”
“Call me Arsen.” He darts his silvery eyes at me. “And it’s quite all right. I’m used to dealing with overeager people who don’t know their place.”
Oh, he did not just say that. Making fists, I brace myself in preparation for telling him where he can shove his offer. But before I can say anything, Mom stands in front of me and claps her hands with a big smile.
“Shall we go to the office?” she says. “You can go over the paperwork.”
Arsen flicks his attention from me to her, then back again. “Only if your charming daughter is okay with that.”
His smirk is like a fishhook. It tugs into me with such force that I’m afraid I’ll never yank it out. And when it’s gone, I can still feel its presence throbbing against my flesh. I fight the instinct to roll my eyes. Ugh, why does he have to be so easy on the eyes?
“That’s what I’ve wanted from the start.” Once he sees the numbers, there’s no way Arsen will want to buy the studio. It’s a money pit. He won’t want to fix it, not the way I do. This kind of labor involves memories … It involves genuine love.
One look at him, and I know that’s an emotion he’d never understand.
It’s obvious that we all can’t enter the office. Arsen would find it hard to wedge himself in the room solo.
“I’ll bring the paperwork to you,” my mom says, her face flushing. She hurries to gather it up, dropping sheets on the floor, kneeling to retrieve them again. Her anxiety is putting my own nerves on edge.
Arsen crosses his arms over his broad chest. The gold cufflinks on his suit jacket glint in the lights. Suddenly, I’m reminded of the gun.
“You look pale,” he says. “Do I frighten you, ptichka?”
“No. And stop calling me that. I have a name.”
“Forgive me,” he chuckles dryly. “I forget the names of people I don’t need to remember.”
