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“He says he’d love to and he’ll be in touch.”
Demyen nods. I’m this close to adding Tarken’s second request, but I hesitate. Better not.
“And?”
Damn.Caught.
“And…he wants to know how much you want. For me. For tonight.”
Demyen folds the cards into a neat stack as he leans back in his chair. Still, he doesn’t look at me. But I see the vein in his jaw tic once, twice. A dead giveaway.
He’s not as unaffected as he’s pretending to be.
“What did you tell him?”
The hell kind of question is that?“I told Mr. Tarken that I’m exclusive to you.”
“And?”
“And he assures you that no price is too high.”
Demyen snorts a laugh and finally looks up at me. “As if anyone could put a price on you.”
I… I’m not sure how to take that. If it’s a compliment, it’s the weirdest one I’ve ever gotten.
Even weirder is how it makes me feel.
Before I can puzzle it out, he snaps his fingers and a different server appears out of nowhere. “Invite Tarken to our table. Make some room for our honored guest and his companion. Andyou.” His gaze slides back to mine. “Bring me a charcuterie board.”
Right. Because I know where to find a fucking charcuterie board.
I give him my best “right away, sir” smile and turn to go hunt down yet another impossibly difficult whim.
And as I go, he slaps my ass.
The table erupts in chuckles and good-natured ribbing. I quickly walk away just so I don’t have to hear them talk about me like I’m a piece of meat. I also need to get away from Demyen as quickly as possible because… because…
Well, because that slap landed in a very unexpected way.
And we’re in public.
Sort of.
I watch the servers carrying food around and figure out where they’re streaming from—and thank the stars, there’s a buffet-looking table with charcuterie trays all over the place.
I have no idea which one he wants, but I also don’t know if he cares. So I grab the fullest, most varied one I can find, and carry it all the way back to the table. I should have picked a lighter one, but oh well. Here we are.
And there Tarken is, making himself comfortable at Demyen’s table. The woman with him is now sitting on his lap, draping herself around him like a human scarf, but he hardly notices. His gaze follows me the second he notices me approaching, and his grin widens.
“There she is. Goddamn, Zakrevsky. What a beauty you caught.”
I place the heavy board on the table in front of Demyen. But before I can straighten, he reaches up and caresses a strand of my hair between his fingers.
“That she is.” Demyen’s voice is gentle. Not at all the demanding asshole of five minutes ago.
I think I missed something.
His arm slips around me, and the next thing I know, I’m sitting on his thigh. The way he tucks me close to him forces me to lean against his chest, my head nestled in the crook of his neck.
