Page 49 of Emerald Malice

I’m fairly sure I catch a chuckle before he disappears through the double doors.

When I finally catch up, he’s in the garage, holding open the passenger door to a sleek red convertible coupe. I’m so distracted by the pretty car that I get in without a word. The door slams shut and, the next thing I know, Andrey’s getting in the driver’s seat.

From the side mirror, I spy my bodyguards climb into a huge black Escalade. “This is insane,” I protest. “I don’t need a whole army following me around all day.”

“They won’t be following you around; they’ll be watching you from a comfortable distance.”

“Whose comfort: theirs, yours, or mine?”

His answer is a secretive smirk. “What would you like for breakfast?”

My stomach growls. “Something that will soak up all this anger and resentment boiling inside me.”

“I know just the place.”

“Just the place” ends up being a gorgeous patisserie nestled in the heart of Little Italy. My mood improves—slightly—when a tray full of croissants and cherry danishes hits the table. The pastries are accompanied with the richest hot chocolate I’ve ever seen.

At my first bite, I let out a very loud and very inappropriate moan.

Andrey’s eyes snap to mine and my cheeks turn as red as the cherries on the Danish. “Sorry. They’re just so good.”

He pushes the plate towards me. “Eat up.”

When I die, I want to be buried inside a croissant, I decide. It is frustratingly hard to hold onto any kind of anger when you’re eating food this good. I happily plow my way through half the tray before Andrey interrupts my gorging.

He slides a small envelope onto the table beside my empty cup of hot chocolate. “This is for you.”

The night we slept together and he tossed money on the coffee table comes back to me in a rush. “If it’s money again, I’m gonna order another hot chocolate just so I can fling it in your face.”

“It’s a credit card. Technically not money, but I’ll brace for the hot chocolate anyway.”

Opening the envelope, I find a gleaming black credit card with my name on it. I’m hesitant to touch it; it just looks rich. “What’s this for?”

“For anything you may need. I’m happy to buy you anything you want, of course—but this way, you don’t have to ask.”

I’m struggling to figure out exactly what I’m feeling. It is thoughtful.

But cards this thick and heavy don’t come without strings attached.

“Is this a power move?” It’s blunt, but there are no prizes for beating around the bush.

“No.” He signals the waiter for the check. The moment the bill arrives, Andrey slips a fifty-dollar bill between the cover and hands it back. “Come on. You don’t want to be late for work.”

Stuffing the credit card into my bag, I follow him out onto the sunlit pavement. To my surprise, he’s holding the passenger door to the convertible open for me.

“I thought my boy band was responsible for dropping me off at work?”

The Escalade is parked across the street, although I can’t see any of the men through the tinted windows.

“I’ll drop you off today. It’ll give me a chance to check out where you work.”

He says it so casually that, for a minute, it seems almost reasonable. I despise that little magic trick of his. “What does that mean, you want to check out where I work’?”

“Wherever you go, my baby goes,” he explains coolly. “I need to make sure it’s safe.”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“I never kid about safety,” he deadpans.

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