Page 5 of Triplets for the Russian Boss

“I know you from somewhere,” he says, confidently.

There’s no room for argument in his tone, but I do anyway. I’m not comfortable with how quickly he has recognized me. I thought for sure that he wouldn’t. I look nothing like I did two years ago.

“You probably see a lot of women. Some of us look alike,” I say, trying to feed his ego and slip out of the spotlight at the same time.

“No,” he says, rubbing the thick stubble peppering his strong chin. “I’m certain I’ve seen you before. Have you lived in Florida for long?”

I shrug. “I drift around.”

He chuckles. “I know the type, but that only makes it more likely that we’ve met before. I couldn’t have been that long ago, either. You look young.”

“Very flattering,” I reply, giving him nothing more.

“You can’t be more than twenty-six.”

“Did you know that it’s rude to ask a woman her age?” I ask.

“I’m a rude guy, but not rude enough not to buy you a drink. Come and sit with me,” he says, nodding toward the bar. His words sound more like an order than a suggestion.

“Aren’t you with Crystal?” I ask.

He chuckles. “You’re a thousand times more beautiful.”

My hands are shaking, like I’m the one doing all the drugs in this club, but I haven’t had more than Cosmopolitan today. I know Kostin is lying out of his teeth, trying to pull me into his game, but it works. Butterflies erupt in my stomach and goosebumps creep up and down my legs like spiders.

I shudder, trying to play it off as a gust of cold air. “Maybe it’s warmer at the bar,” I say, rubbing my arms.

“A few shots will warm you up,” he says, turning me and leading me away from the thick fumes of the smoking area.

My feet move in front of me so robotically that I feel like I’m in a dream. I only snap back into reality when I’m met with Crystal’s fiery glare. She’s not happy about me taking such a wealthy client, but he’s the one calling the shots. I’m just along for the ride.

“Go shake your tits somewhere else,” Kostin says, shooing Crystal off as if she were a fly on the rim of his glass. He pats the warm seat she just left and smiles at me. “Sit.”

Crystal vanishes, and I’m left at the bar with him. I have no support, no other women to look at for comfort, and nothing to stop the avalanche of questioning that’s about to crush my soul.

“Do you like vodka?” Kostin asks, laying his tattooed hand flat on the surface of the bar. It takes up so much space that he has to move it when the bartender places eight shots in front of him.

“Not really, which means you’re probably going to die from alcohol poisoning tonight,” I reply, amazed that he would order so many.

“Come on,” he says, throwing one back and wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “It’s Grey Goose - the closest thing to water. Very smooth.”

If it had been something cheap, I’d have stayed on my sobriety quest; but I desperately need something to take the edge off meeting up with Kostin again. I grab the shot, after a brief moment of hesitation, tossing it into my mouth and swallowing it hard.

“I already know you’re a fun girl,” Kostin says with a chuckle. “I must know you from somewhere.”

“Maybe from a dream,” I reply, trying to sound sexy. If I’m going to have to endure another night with Kostin, then I’m going to get my money’s worth. It’s back to the business of seduction.

“All my dreams are nightmares, so it’s possible,” he replies flatly, tossing another shot into his mouth. “Please, have another.”

Maybe a man his size can drink like the world is going to end, but I can’t - unless I want to have a hangover the size of Russia tomorrow. I’m a semi-responsible mother now, not a complete train wreck.

“I’ll pass,” I reply, holding up my hand. “Maybe a sparkling water, though, if you’re feeling generous.”

He laughs, pulling a cigar from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “If you insist.”

“Hey, you can’t smoke at the bar,” Jerry shouts, waving his hands over his head like he’s trying to warn a plane not to land. He’s so fucking dramatic.

Kostin doesn’t so much as look Jerry’s way before holding a lighter up to the end of the cigar and puffing thick clouds of smoke through his teeth into the red-tinged air. He’s just as I remembered him to be, if not even more ballsy now.

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