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Ruslan brushes past. “Shall we sit?”
I nod, reaching for my chair at the same time he does. I lunge back, only to realize that he’s pulling out the chair—for me.
Who says chivalry is dead?
I squash the juvenile reaction in my head. “Thanks.”
He settles into the seat next to me. My thoughts are going berserk.This is it. This has to be it. Why else would he have asked for a private room?
So I sit there and wait for him to touch me under the table. Maybe order me to drop to my knees below the tablecloth. But he does neither of those things. In fact, apart from the setting and the way he pulled my chair out for me, he’s neither said nor done anything to suggest that this isn’t going to be a very above-the-board kind of dinner.
Except that I’veneverhad dinner with my boss.
I start with surprise when the door opens and the hostess returns with what I’m sure is a very expensive bottle of champagne. She pours us both a flute and then bows right back out.
“Emma.”
My name slips out of his mouth and instantly, I experience what can only be described as a hot flash. Except, you know, it doesn’t suck. It just makes my toes curl and my heart beat a little faster. It makes meveryaware of my body.
Becausemoreself-awareness was exactly what I needed, right?
“Yes, Mr. Oryolov?”
“We’re not in the office anymore.”
I exhale. “So I’m allowed the privilegeof using your name?”
Those amber eyes are scorching. “I detect sarcasm.”
“Then you detect correctly.” I pick up my flute of champagne and give it a taste. As expected, it’s jaw-dropping.
He smirks and a lightning rod of excitement rips down my spine. If that smirk doesn’t spell “foreplay,” I don’t know what does.
“I invited you out tonight to lay the ground rules for our arrangement.”
My eyebrows pull together. Call me crazy; somehow, I thought this arrangement would involve a helluva lot more ripped clothes, mind-blowing orgasms, and scandalizing dirty talk. And yet here we are, having an extremely civilized dinner, discussinggroundrules.
“Okay. Got it. Ground rules.”
“You need money to pay off your debts.” My skin prickles with anxiety, but I don’t bother asking him how he knows that I’m in debt. “AndIneed a woman who’ll be at my beck and call without expecting me to fulfill her…emotional needs.”
Despite the turn this dinner has taken, I still feel those butterflies every time he says something to me. It’s different from the orders he usually barks at the office. Still, I get his message loud and clear.
“I mean, you can certainlytrynot to fall in love with me. I’m warning you though, it’s gonna be tough. I’m a hoot and a half.”
I swear, I almost manage to squeeze a smile out of that stone face.
Almost.
“I wouldn’t worry. There’s zero percent chance of that happening.”
I scowl. “A gentleman would have at least given me five percent. Two percent, even. Or at least lied entirely.”
“A gentleman wouldn’t be offering you a contract for sex, either.”
I wince. “Yeah, okay. Fair.”
“When I require your attention, I will send a driver to pick you up and take you to my penthouse.”
