Page 32 of Ruthless Lullaby

What did you get yourself into, Mindy?

A knot begins to form in my stomach as I eye the money. All of a sudden, everything about this feels wrong. The envelope in my hand lookstoo thick. As for Kevin’s odd comments… I don’t quite know where to place them.

"What exactly are you saying, Kevin?" I ask. "Is there anything else I need to do besides singing?"

He holds up placating hands. "Nothing too crazy, Mindy. I promise. Just... maybe work a little extra charm if someone catches your eye. If you catch my drift."

What the hell?

My frown deepens. I should have thought about this. Who would pay fifty grand just to listen to me sing? Maybe my initial instinct was right. Maybe I was so focused on sorting out Mom’s treatment, that I missed the whole point and refused to listen to my gut.

Kevin looks at the time on his phone. "Let's get on with it, girl. We're on a schedule!" He smiles at me. "I’m so happy to have you with me tonight, Mindy. Remember, just work your magic and we’ll both be fine." He winks, and gestures towards the small stage before disappearing, leaving me gripping the cash with sweaty palms. I shove the money into my handbag.

Don’t panic, Mindy.

Like he said, you don’t need to do anything you’re uncomfortable with.

My feelings have never been more conflicted. A part of me is bouncing happy by the astronomical paycheck, another part feels deeply uneasy. But there’s no time to dwell on that. The slow rhythm of the music begins to pulsate through the speakers, signaling that it's showtime, whether I'm ready or not. Squaring my shoulders, I plaster on my most dazzling smile and stride towards the microphone. I came here for one reason, and one reason only. Sing, get the money, leave. Full stop. End of story.

I give myself a final once-over in the side mirror. Dress looks good, mildly alluring with its golden glitters and knee-length hemline. Make-up is on point and hair is perfectly coiled into curls. My mental state may not be ideal, still reeling from the unresolved conflict with my sister, but I force that aside for now.With the money securely tucked away in my bag, my mood is lifted, and I'm about to confidently take the stage.

As if on cue, the curtain slides aside, and the bright lights temporarily blind me. Putting on my most genuine smile, I take hold of the microphone.

"Good evening, gentlemen," I greet with a soft and alluring tone.

As my eyes adjust to the brightness, I survey the room. Approximately twenty well-dressed men sit around the room, holding champagne glasses in their hands. Yep, all men. When they see me, there is a buzz of hushed conversations before they break into applause.

With a smile still on my face, I approach the mic but then suddenly freeze. The song gets caught in my throat.

A familiar scent hits my nostrils. Cedar. Sandalwood. Sin. I know that scent. Nobody else has that unique scent.

No.

There’s no freaking way.

But there is. Because sitting in the front row, directly in front of me, is the person I never thought I’d see again. He is also the last person I want to see right now.

Maron

Freaking

Korolev.

In the flesh. My former boss, my top-secret crush, the man I sent my amateur porn content to, just a few days ago. He's here, and he’s looking at me with a self-righteous expression on his face, and a barely visible smile playing at the corner of his lips.

Fuck.

Shit.

Fuck!

What the hell is he doing here?

What do I do now?

He’s not even surprised to see me. Or if he is, he’s doing a great job at hiding it. His cold, piercing eyes are fixated on me intently. They're deeper, darker than ever, and as always, they seem to see straight through me, into the darkest depths of my soul. And as usual, the intensity of his gaze instantly makes me wet. Two seconds of eye contact and my panties are soaked. Very soaked. So much so that I’m worried some of it is already streaming down my inner thighs. Which is absolutely, utterly outrageous and ridiculous.

Seriously, Mindy?

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