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I lower my voice. “Is bogatyrs something disgusting they serve at this restaurant?”
He adjusts his glasses. “A bogatyr is a warrior from Russian legends.”
I cock my head. “So this Russian Snow White lives with seven warrior dudes?”
He nods.
“That sounds like a reverse harem romance.”
Amusement glimmers in the blue depths of his eyes. “I think she stays pure for her prince—who’s not one of the ‘dudes.’ Also, the Disney version could be seen as reverse harem also, if your mind is dirty enough.”
As someone whose mind is never far out of the gutter, I redden as I picture Sneezy, Grumpy, Dopey, and Sleepy in a gang bang with Snow White.
“How about we stick with Disney versions?” I say.
“In that case, Belle would win.” He sounds as serious as if we were talking about the quarterly reports. “Of those two, Belle is more adventurous. She fought for the Beast at the end and had more depth when it came to her reasons for falling in love. In contrast, Snow White is a stereotypical damsel in distress who’d probably ask Prince Charming to fight Belle in her stead.”
Damn it, he’s right. I couldn’t win even in this allegorical battle—and what’s worse, he just called my allegorical doppelgänger unadventurous.
The waiter comes back, carrying a tray filled with plates.
Everything looks safe enough, but I wait for him to explain what it is.
“Mixed yuca and yam fries in bechamel sauce,” he says, pointing at the relevant plate. “Bluefin tuna fish sticks. Quail nuggets. Beaufort D’Été quesadillas.”
I beam at the waiter in relief. “It all sounds delicious.”
When he leaves, I lean toward the Impaler. “That’s the kid’s menu? Do they even allow children in this place?”
Another hint of a smile. “I’ve never seen one—and I’m a regular.”
Figures.
I reach for one of the fries, and he must’ve had the same idea because our fingers touch.
I suddenly feel a hunger that has nothing to do with food.
“After you.” He gestures at the fries.
I snatch a couple and stuff them into my mouth.
Wow.
Not sure if I got a yuca or a yam, but it’s yum. The fish stick I try next is the best I’ve ever tasted, the nugget is pretty amazing as well, and when I bite into the quesadilla, I almost moan in pleasure.
Then I notice something. He’s using a fork and a knife for the items I’ve just eaten with my fingers, like a cavewoman.
I spear the next nugget with a fork. “This is much better than snail eggs.”
“I’m glad, Ms. Pack. I wouldn’t want you to regret my choice of this restaurant.”
I chew the nugget, debating if I should ask him this or not. Finally, I decide to just go for it. “Look, after the hospital thing and this lunch, would you mind calling me Fanny?”
That way, I’ll be able to stop thinking of round, hungry things and, more importantly, might forget for a moment that I’m lusting after my boss’s boss.
His sexy lips quirk. “Fanny,” he murmurs, and hearing my name with that accent makes me like it for the first time in my life. “Call me Vlad, then.”
My heartbeat speeds up. “Vlad,” I repeat obediently.
