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She shrugged. “I told him your cost was five-hundred-thousand, which he paid in advance, in addition to the twenty-five suits he’s ordered. You’re welcome.”
“Ma dai. I should fire you,” I grumbled as I opened the appointment notes. The man’s name was Mr. Schmidt, a banker from Munich. No photo.
“But you won’t, because you love me. And I am the best assistant you’ve ever had.”
Unfortunately, this was true. “Did security sign off on this?”
“Yes, of course.”
Relieved, I sipped my coffee. One couldn’t be too careful after falling in love with—and then leaving—a Russian mobster.
No one at work knew what had happened on my vacation, because I was excellent at hiding a broken heart. I hadn’t spiraled into a haze of wine or pills or desserts. I kept up with my responsibilities and smiled. Best of all, my designs were absolute fire, the collection coming together perfectly.
No one suspected I was dying on the inside.
But I was alive—and I planned to stay this way. Upon returning to Paris, I changed my number and hired a top-level security firm. Now there were cameras around my office and home. I looked over my shoulder in public, and declined any invitation not carefully vetted by my new security director.
Also, I rarely went home, where I had too much time to think. It was bad enough that Nic haunted my dreams. I didn’t need him ruining my days, as well.
Work kept me busy for the next few hours. There were calls with manufacturers, meetings with production designers and my design team. Paris Fashion Week was only two weeks away, but we were ahead of schedule due to my relentless pace.
“Your fitting is here,” Sofia said as I looked over some fabric samples. “I put him in the small studio upstairs.”
“This is the last one, Sofia,” I said, sighing. “No matter what they pay.”
She held up her hands. “Understood. He’s very handsome, if that helps.”
No, it did not. I was not interested in men at the moment. “You are coming with me to take notes.”
Once she grabbed her tablet, we headed up to the small studio. I pushed through the door first, then stopped in my tracks.
Nic.
Holy shit. Nic was here, in my studio. Tall and broad, with his familiar dark features bathed in warm sunlight. His jaw was sharper, his cheekbones more pronounced. Has he lost weight?
And why were there scratches on his face? Has he been hurt?
Happiness filled me before I could prevent it. Then I remembered all the reasons why I left the yacht.
Turning, I blocked the door so Sofia couldn’t enter. “You may go. I have this handled.”
She cocked her head but didn’t argue. “See you downstairs.”
When she was gone I took a deep breath and pulled myself together. Don’t let on that you know. “Nic.”
“Hello, solnyshko.”
Dio mio, that deep rough voice. It sank under my skin and down into my bones. I fought to keep a straight face. “This is a surprise.”
“I had to see you.”
“Why?”
His big frame rose and fell on a heavy sigh. “To apologize.”
“For?”
“You don’t need to pretend. I know you know.”
