He walks over and straightens one of my curls where it’s fallen too far across my face. “Maggie.”
The way he says my name makes me look him square in the eyes.
“You know how to leave,” he says. “You know how to say no. You know how to call me, and I will come get you with zero questions and maximal judgment. You are not a girl gettin’ swept into a fairy tale. You are Magnolia Hayes from Savannah, Georgia, owner of Second Chance Savannah, survivor of a mop bucket attack, and fully capable of handling one hot Russian man at dinner.”
That pulls a warm laugh out of me. “You make me sound insane.”
“No,” he says, flashing his best smile. “I make you sound hot and competent. There’s a difference.”
A knock on the apartment door cuts through the room. Every muscle in me tightens.
Jules’s brows lift. “Well?”
I look at the door, then at him.
He smirks. “Showtime.”
“Oh, my word.”
I run my hands down the front of my dress, then do it again because apparently, once wasn’t enough. My heart is beating hard enough now that I can feel it under my ribs as I cross the room. Jules follows, not because he thinks I need supervision, but because he lives for this.
I open the door to find a man in a dark suit standing in the hall, broad-shouldered, clean-cut, and unmistakably employed by someone who doesn’t wait on anything. He gives me a respectful nod.
“Miss Hayes,” he says. “I’m here to take you to Mr. Agapov’s residence.”
My pulse trips. Behind me, Jules makes a tiny, pleased sound that he immediately disguises as a cough.
“Yes,” I say, then clear my throat and try again. “Yes. Thank you. I just need my wrap.”
“I’ll get it,” Jules offers, already moving toward the chair by the sofa.
He brings me my black wrap and clutch, handing them over like he’s presenting a sword before battle. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” he winks.
“That’s a useless standard, and you know it.”
“Exactly.”
I slip the wrap around my shoulders, take a breath that doesn’t help nearly enough, and glance back at him one last time. His face softens in that quiet way he saves for when I need it.
“You look beautiful,” he says once more.
I swallow. “Thank you.”
“And if he wastes your time, I’ll key all his expensive cars.”
That startles a laugh out of me right when I need one. “You don’t even know how many cars he has.”
“Honey, I’ll learn.”
I shake my head, my smile lingering as I step into the hallway and pull the door closed behind me.
The elevator ride down is short, but my nerves manage to fill every second of it anyway. The driver stands beside me in respectful silence, and I keep my eyes on the glowing numbers over the door so I don’t start talking just to hear myself.
When the doors open, the first thing I see through the glass entrance is a long black car, beautiful in a way that signals money before anyone says a word.
The driver steps ahead and opens the rear door, and for half a second, I just stand there looking at it, the whole thing suddenly very real. Alexei’s world. Alexei’s house. Alexei waiting at the end of this ride.
I gather my dress, lift my chin, and step forward.
