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ME: What makes you think I'm gonna listen to you?

CONTROL FREAK: And leave your hair down, baby.

The smile that threatens to appear on my face is so real, I bite my own lip feeling the familiar heat creeping up my face.

He definitely likes my hair.

The thought makes me so giddy and jumpy, I nearly stub my toe in the table.

For the first time, someone was noticing things about me, admiring them.

For the first time, someone was not hating me.

I’ve reread our conversations almost fifty times in the past hour, blushing every time he calls me solnyshko or baby.

Unable to keep my curiosity at bay, I open a translation app and type in the Russian word malyshka.

I stare at the screen longer than necessary. A rush of tingles spreads through me as I realise he’s been calling me baby in his own language.

This…fluttering in my stomach is a problem. One I can’t seem to get rid of.

Because these are not curse words. These are term of endearments, and it makes my head spin. He’s been calling me sunshine. Fucking sunshine.

A quiet laugh escapes me, though there’s no real humour in it. My life has been anything but flowers and sunshine, my head is a constant war-zone, never giving me a second to breathe.

And this is how he sees me? Like I’m his little sun?

And then I type again: diminutive form of teddy bear in Russian.

I ended up wearing the red scarf. It cuts sharply against the monochrome of my outfit—a black tube top, a fitted A-line skirt with small buttons in the centre to hold it together, and knee-high boots—definitely not something warm.

The skirt rests at a careful length, modest enough to avoid drawing scandal, yet daring enough to graze my upper thighs.

The knock at my door makes me gasp and I whirl around just in time to find Sergei sauntering into my flat.

His hands tucked into his pockets as his gaze lazily sweeps the room before settling on me.

I don’t even bother asking how he got a key when I never gave him one.

That would be a waste of breath.

Still…Why knock if you’re just going to let yourself in?

His expression shifts, darkening almost imperceptibly as his eyes linger on my exposed shoulders, then dips to the narrow stretch of skin between my top and skirt.

He draws in a measured breath before stalking in my direction.

“I thought I told you to wear something warm.” His hand comes to rest on my shoulder before deliberately sweeping my hair aside.

His fingertips graze the back of my neck, sending a ripple of goosebumps across my skin.

“There are only so many orders I can take.” I reply, swatting his hand away before turning back to the mirror. “I’m going like this, or I’m not going at all. Go on, take your pick.”

My smirk is impossible to hide as I throw his own words right back at him. He too, lets out an amused chuckle while I grab the comb and work it through the tangles in my hair.

He stands behind me; his brown eyes fixed on mine through the mirror until the intensity becomes too much and I have to look away.

He’s in another all-black suit, but this time with a red tie— the exact shade of my scarf—and I have to suppress the smile threatening to surface.