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“Kuznetsov & Sons Butcher Shop?” I read aloud.
“When I asked, they weren't able to pull up their records for me.Misplaced them, they said. They asked that I give them until the end of the week to produce them.”
I arch a brow. “And you agreed?”
“Do I look like a sucker to you? Of course not. I gave them twenty-four hours.”
My fingers twitch, an electric thrill rising in my chest. This could prove promising. I'm not quite ready to pin the blame, but at least it's a step in the right direction.
“Twenty-four hours is too generous,” I tell my brother. “Go back and refuse to leave until they can provide their records. Take Samuil with you. That ought to speed things along.”
Roman gives me a soldier's salute, barely containing his smile. “Aye aye, captain. Now, what do you want me to do about the girl?”
“What girl?”
“The pretty blonde waiting out front. She's been asking for you by name.”
My face twists in confusion. It couldn't possibly be…
I vacate my chair and stalk past my brother, my feet carrying me forward of their own volition. I recognize her silhouette first. Beautiful long legs and graceful arms. Then I'm hit by the stunning blue of her eyes and the soft wisp of her blonde locks, now free from the tight bun she wore earlier, spilling gently over her delicate shoulders. Nikita hasn't noticed me yet, too busy looking around the garage with innocent wonder and an intrigued smile. I take those few precious seconds to just watch her.
She doesn't belong here. Her light pink sweatshirt and soft white tights stand in stark contrast to the dirt and grime and rust of the taxi depot. Nikita is a bright spot in my field of vision, impossible to ignore. She is a beacon, drawing not only my eyes, but everyone else's. The mechanics, the drivers… They're all looking at her, some with curiosity, some with looks that make my blood boil.
Behind me, Roman whistles. “Pretty.”
“Fuck off,” I grumble.
“Do you know her?”
I set my jaw. “Go back to the butcher. This is a matter of urgency.” I stomp forward, determined to get to Nikita before any of my employees get to her first.
When she finally spots me, she breaks out into the most brilliant, breathtaking smile I've ever seen. It's like a damn flash-bang, except it's nowhere near as malicious. Her smile is more like a front-row seat at a fireworks show, thrilling beyond measure.
“Mr. Nicolaevich,” she greets. “I'm glad I caught you.”
“Leo, please.”
I must admit, I do like how we pretend we’ve only just met. The adorable pink of her cheeks sends my heart skittering. She smells so nice, like candied peaches and cherry blossoms combined. I can't tell if I have her perfume or her shampoo to thank. Either way, it's a lovely break from the heavy scent of car exhaust surrounding us.
“Is there something I can help you with?” I ask her, unsure why I soften my tone. I just… don't want to frighten her. If Roman could hear me now, he'd probably tease me about it.
Nikita reaches into the large gym bag strapped over her shoulder, fishing out the overcoat I lent her the morning after the cabin escapade. I’d almost forgotten about it. She's folded it neatly, running her palm over the fabric like it's something precious. “I wanted to return this to you,” she says. “I'm glad you showed up at the Bolshoi this morning or else I'd never have found out where you work.”
I take my jacket from her with far more care than I've ever been able to muster. My body all but seizes when my fingers accidentally brush against hers. It was a brief, fleeting touch, but her skin is so soft it nearly sends my mind into a feral spin out. I'm suddenly desperate to feel the rest of her all over me again.The taste of her in my mouth.The sound of her moaning while I have her pinned beneath me with her legs wrapped around my hips.
“Leo?” she says, breaking me from my trance. “Are you alright?”
Ah, fuck. I might be in trouble.
“I'm fine.”
Nikita sheepishly tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear. “So, listen… If your offer to go out to dinner is still on the table, I'd really love to take you up on it.”
“You… really want to go out to dinner with me?”
I cringe internally at my own question. I hope that didn't sound as pathetic as I feel. It's just that… Well, she's out of my fucking league. I know it. The taxi drivers watching from their vehicles know it. I asked her out on a whim, unable to control myself. But this time, she's seekingmeout, and I frankly don't have the mental capacity to comprehend what's going on. We may have agreed to a one-off, but Nikita doesn’t seem content with just that anymore.
“Sure,” she says in a chipper tone. “I'm sorry my mother interrupted us before. You seem really sweet despite your surliness, so I figured I'd try again?”
