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Goddamn it. Perfect timing. Thanks a lot, Mother Nature.
When the thunder fades away, I sigh and push past him, my heart stampeding like crazy. Kirill is pure, practiced ease.
“You just broke someone’s leg,” I blurt as he starts the engine.
“Does that upset you?”
“No. Not as much as it should.”
“You shouldn’t care at all. He would have done worse to you.” He says it easily, and I believe him. “He should feel grateful that breaking his leg is all I did. Give me the address.”
I punch my sister’s address into my phone and hold up the GPS. Kirill glances at it for a second and then waves the phone away. “I got it.”
“Do you really? Or are you just one of those guys who hates taking directions?”
He glances over at me. “I don’t take directions. I give them.”
“Why am I not surprised?” I mumble.
He snorts. “Don’t act so high and mighty. You can’t take directions, either. I saw how pissed your boss was when he stomped into the kitchen after you.”
“Whatever. Tonight was my last night, anyway.”
“Then why did you come back to the table and serve me?”
I wrinkle my nose. “I wasn’tservingyou.”
“Says the girl whose name tag reads ‘Server.’”
“Yeah, but the way you said it, it was like… like… like I was some bar wench. Or a servant. It wasn’t like that.”
“Elaborate.”
I turn to him, eyes wide. “You’re serious? I have to explain to you why being a waitress is different than being a servant? You must be hella rich.”
“And you must be unaware of the concept of clichés,” he replies coolly. “A working class girl with a chip on her shoulder who hates rich people? You aren’t as original as you think you are.”
I hate that his words actually wound me. “Says the guy who specifically requested me as his waitress! If I’m not original, then you could have interchanged me with anyone.”
“You amused me when you put Viktoria in her place. It’s been a long time since anyone but me has done that.”
Viktoria.For a few minutes there, I forgot the blonde existed. Now, she hovers in the car like a ghost. An unwelcome third occupant.
“Where is your girlfriend, anyway? Shouldn’t you be giving her a ride home.”
“She isn’t my girlfriend. And I called her a cab.”
A cab. Why didn’t I think of that? Probably because Kirill was standing in front of me with his car keys and his square jaw and I lost the ability to speak, let alone reason.
“She sure looked like your girlfriend.” The way she was draped over his chair and touching him… It will be burned in my memory for reasons I can’t or just plain won’t explore.
Kirill keeps his eyes on the road and one hand on the steering wheel, effortlessly calm and composed. “She lost my interest. I decided to send her home.”
“Wow. Alert the media: I think I might actually feel bad for her.”
“Save your energy. She gets plenty of value from the time we spend together.”
Jealousy roars to life in me, its green flames eating away my restraint. “Of course you see it that way. Like being with you is some kind of gift.” I roll my eyes. “Men like you think you can have whatever the hell you want. Or whoever you want. It’s disgusting.”
