Page 18 of Weeping Roses

He obviously hears her because the triumphant smirk on his face makes me roll my eyes and then he surprises me again by plucking a red rose from the display by the checkout and offers it to the woman.

“For you and your compliment.”

He turns to the lady checking us out, and nods toward the old lady. “Add her shopping to mine.”

He winks as he turns away and I swear even the old lady swoons as she stutters, “You’re a true gentleman, son. If only I was a few years younger.”

I’ve heard and seen enough and I lean down and whisper, “Looks can be deceptive. He snores, has bad breath, and has an unhealthy obsession with his own hand, if you know what I mean.”

I nod toward his crotch and she laughs out loud. “I don’t believe a word of it, but if his hand needs a rest sometimes, call me.” She winks and despite myself I laugh with her and as Valentin heads out of the shop, I sigh inside and reluctantly follow him.

CHAPTER 10

VALENTIN

Ileave Polly to arrange the groceries and head to the coach house with Artem, where my men resume their task.

“This is a mess.” I concede, as I note the piles of scattered papers all in one jumbled heap.

“Do you know what you’re looking for?” He asks as I glance at the top letter on the pile and I shake my head.

“No, but any mention of my father, or any of the companies we run, would be a good start.”

He nods. “Consider it done.”

I take a seat at the desk and proceed to work my way through the pile and after a while, I groan. “We need alcohol to get through this. Ask Polly to bring us the vodka and six glasses.”

He nods and heads into the kitchen and it amuses me to think of her pretty face twisting in anger at the summons. I could have instructed any of my men to do that, but I kind of miss seeing her tortured expression and could do with a bit of light relief.

When Artem returns, he laughs softly. “I tried.”

“She’ll come.”

I’m confident because for all her anger she already knows not to push me too far and indeed, within twenty minutes, she slams open the door and places the tray roughly down on the papers I’m reading.

She says nothing and turns and I say casually, “Pour one for each of my men.”

“Excuse me.” I note the amused stares of my men as they wait for her response, and I lean back and fix her with a dark glare. “You heard me. Pour the drinks.”

I wish she would challenge me and I face her with the threat I issued earlier hanging in the air between us and she obviously remembers that because she huffs and says icily, “Fine but only because I want you to find what you need and leave.”

She splashes the vodka into the glasses and hands them out and as she makes to leave, I say roughly, “Pour one for yourself.”

“I don’t like vodka.” She answers with a rough glare, and I shrug.

“In Russia, if someone offers you a drink, it is most offensive to refuse. Isn’t that right, Artem?”

“Extremely rude.”

He lies and I nod to Viktor. “Am I right?”

He nods with a frozen glare in her direction. “He is right.”

Faced with a wall of animosity, she shrivels under our murderous gazes and huffs, “Fine, but don’t blame me if I’m sick.”

She grabs the bottle and splashes a small amount of liquid into it and knocks it back in one. The distaste on her face is comical to watch and as she slams it down, she says roughly, “There. May I go now?”

“You call that a drink.” I shake my head as my men laugh and I pour a large shot of vodka into the glass. “This is more like it.”

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