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“No understand.” Bryce readies himself to respond, but she keeps talking. “I want to be friends still. Papa owns half Russia. Ring you give not big.” Her thick Russian accent only accentuates the disdain in her voice. “Anastasiya like big ring. I no keep and I no tell you ring small. I not want to hurt. I just go. Why you mad?”
She’s tall, thin, drop-dead gorgeous, and extremely confident. The kind of woman that can get any man she wants.
We’re at the opposite spectrum of the beautiful scale.
In many ways, she reminds me of my sister. But, of course, I love my sister.
“Bryce, you not introduce me to friend. Or she new wife? That why you not call?” The tall blonde takes us both off guard, and for the first time since she called out his name, Bryce seems to remember I exist.
He fumbles all over his words, and says, “Amanda Hardy, please meet Anastasiya Melnichenko.”
I extend my hand, but she simply waves hers to avoid touching mine.
All righty, then.
We wouldn’t want you to catch a deadly disease by touching a peasant.
“Why not talk? Sorry for few years ago. I make mistake. I follow career and see Linden Corp has big value—a lot, a lot billions dollars. You very rich man now. Like Russian mogul.” She sneers as she speaks those words, and flings her perfect long, blonde, silky hair back to accentuate her point. “Now you good to marry Anastasiya. I say yes.”
What a fucking bitch.
I can’t believe Bryce is allowing this woman to cut him up like this in public.
Anastasiya nags Bryce to death with, Why this? Why that? Talk now. We together again, yes? You rich, Anastasiya like rich mogul.
I just want to put my hands over my ears and pretend she doesn’t exist.
With each passing second, she becomes more and more the focus of attention.
With an exasperated grunt, Bryce stands up, excuses himself from the table, grabs her by the arm, and marches her out of the bar.
I could die right then and there.
I don’t have to look around to know that all eyes are on me.
I’m mortified.
Bryce proposed to this rich bitch. I’m nothing like this Anastasiya woman. I’m simply the escort he’s paid for, and now he leaves me sitting in the middle of a crowded room that’s eyeing me with such pity.
I sit there, staring at the plate of assorted French pastries for twenty-three minutes until Bryce storms back in, grabs my hand without a word, and drags me outside of the bar.
“Let’s get out of here.” He’s speaking to me, but he avoids eye contact.
“Is everything okay?”
Why am I asking such an obvious question?
“I don’t pay you to be my shrink. Let’s get back in the car.” A slap across the face would have hurt less.
Tears sting my eyes. Each step is a struggle. My heart hurts too much.
When we get to the car, I sink into the leather seat and look out the window to avoid crying.
Is Bryce still in love with Anastasiya? Does that explain his violent reaction to the leggy blonde?
My head is spinning with unanswered questions, and my heart is bleeding. I’m willing to admit it to myself. I fell for Bryce.
Todd’s words are ringing in my head as we drive back to Paris in silence. “Don’t fall in lust or love with your client.”
