Page 48 of Devil's Bride

He scratches under his elbow and then his chin and rolls his eyes. “I don’t know. Sasha?” He leans forward, a grave expression sketched on his features. “Alexei, she’s on a rampage. She’s meeting up with members of the fucking Bratva, man. The men are starting to ask questions. She has to be stopped, maybe put on a leash or something?”

I should have known Sasha would be more dedicated to causing a ruckus than doing anything useful. But I say, “That will just have to wait. I have more important things to take care of than my stepmother.”

Nikolai doesn’t appear convinced. He thinks she’s going to cause more harm if she’s given more time, but I’m positive; Sasha is the least of my problems. It wouldn’t take much to tame her.

We sit in silence for a while, listening to nothing but the faint humming of the air conditioner hooked up at the corner, and the muffled sound of men working outside the office.

The chair squeaks under his weight when he spins and the silver on the blade glints when he picks his nails with it. His eyes burn holes at the side of my face and I open my eyes.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

I glare. “You’re looking at me like I have something on my face.”

Deep laughter rumbles at the back of his throat and his Adam’s apple bobs when he speaks. “I have a gut feeling you have something else eating at you, and it has nothing to do with the Phoenix or Sasha.”

I should have expected nothing less. With the exception of his ability to be extremely destructive and crazy, Nikolai is also very good at reading body language, picking up hidden signals, and being able to figure out anything with the minutest detail. I hate to admit that he’s right.

There are more pressing concerns than a nosy stepmother and blackmailing assholes. This particular concern has lips I could kiss for days, hair that feels just right when wrapped around my fist, and eyes that stare right into my soul.

I remember everything from the previous night; the fear swimming in those eyes when she spotted the blood on my shirt. She’d been scared; and it was a lot different from the fear that haunted her father when he looked at me.

This one was filled with disappointment and something else; something deeper I didn’t want to fathom. It makes my head ache and makes me feel worse than shit. And I hate feeling like shit. I groan.

“It’s the wife with the sunshine smile, isn’t it?” Nikolai jeers with a twinkle in his eyes.

I bury my head in my hands. The noise from outside dies down and we’re left with the humming air conditioner.

“You should mind your fucking business.”

“Maybe I could help?”

I can’t help it; I laugh and peer at him through my fingers. “What, because you suddenly have twenty years of experience in that department?”

“Nope.” He shakes his head. “I might be a fucking amateur, but at least I’m better than you. I watch movies and I’ve seen that women love sappy shit; chocolates, flowers, love notes. Fine, you don’t have to tell me how you messed up—because I know you messed up. It’s not my fucking business, as you said. But I’m willing to bet a hundred grand, if you did that—gave her flowers and chocolates—it’ll make everything okay.”

I glower at him. Maybe he’s really lost it this time.

“Okay, your time is up.” I motion to the door. “Time to go. You’ve said enough.”

He grins as he stands from the chair like a perfect gentleman—that he absolutely is not. “You’ll see. It’ll work, I promise. Chocolates and flowers.”

If looks could kill, the grinning idiot would have been buried six feet under with his stupid knife. “Forget the chocolate and forget the flowers. Get out of my office, Niko. You’ve been of no help whatsoever.”

“Suit yourself.” The door closes behind him and I muse over his stupid idea. Yeah, right. Like I would ever get a woman chocolates and flowers.

“Oh my god! Are these white roses?”

She lifts the bouquet from my arms, sniffs them, and releases a dreamy sigh. “And chocolates—no! There’s no way you got me these?”

Right?

I find it hard to believe myself. I walked into a flower shop, unmasked, with a business suit, and requested the best bouquet they had. It feels like a dream, a silly dream. And on the drive home, I wished it was a dream. But it isn’t. I’m standing on my doorstep—I barely made it into the house—with boxes of chocolate and an idiot-like smile on my face. Because she fucking loves them. I have to give it to Niko; whatever he did and said worked.

The blush on her cheeks and the happy twinkle in her eyes are more rewarding than the multi-million-dollar deals I close on a daily basis.

“Okay, now, this is a lot,” she says when she trails into the bedroom after me.

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