“God help me.”
We both snicker and she sticks out her tongue at the console.
“I can have some brothers escort her to and from the clubhouse?” Wynter angles.
“That would be helpful,” he says grimly. “Tell your father I’ll coordinate on this end. We’ll talk about this later, Victoria.”
“Can’t wait.” As he cuts the call, I ask, “Now, do you think this Amara lady has a dog…?”
Hey, he’s the one who threw down a challenge.
TWENTY-TWO
CUTE PUPPY INCOMING
“Heard you want dog?”
Prepared as I might have been to meet Amara, when she drawls the question in my ear, I still jump.
Rachel, Wynter’s mom, clucks her tongue. “Amara, do you have to terrify my guests?”
“Oh! I’m not terrified, Ms. Laker! She just startled me.”
“Amara will accept either emotion, Victoria.” Her lips purse in disapproval. “Can’t you peddle your animals elsewhere? We just took in that damn budgie. It never stops squawking.”
“Budgie friendly animal.” Amara bares her teeth. “Nobody friendly in this house.”
That earns her an eye-roll.
“I do actually want a dog,” I insert sheepishly. “A cute girl, if you have one?”
“Cute? Dog not cute. Dog bred for biting.”
My eyes widen. “You’d get along great with my fiancé.”
Amara sneers. “I come back with dog.”
Relief hits me as the woman disappears. “Why is she so scary?”
“She’s feral. Does whatever she wants.” To her mom, Wynter inquires, “Do you think she can speak better English than she makes out? She’s no dummy.”
“Probably. We all have our security blankets.” Rachel taps her phone screen. “Do you know why Wynter isn’t attending my gala tonight, Victoria?”
Wynter immediately blushes. Man, she’s terrible at lying.
“She’s going on a date.”
“A date?!” Rachel sputters, focus darting from her cell to her daughter, which tells me that was a ruse.
“A date?!” Wynter squeaks, agog.
“Yeah. You know. With that hockey player? In the city.” I nudge her with my elbow. Because she still looks like I’m oncoming traffic on the verge of mowing her down, I quickly add, “I’ll be there, Ms. Laker. I didn’t realize you were the organizer!”
“Rachel, please.”
“Rachel.” I beam at her. “I’m looking forward to it. I’m attending with Maxim Lyanov. Do you know him?”
“Do I know him? Of course I do.” Her brow puckers as she looks me over. At first, I think it’s in dismissal. Then, she leans into the table. “Vasov?”
