Page 58 of Shatter Me

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“Honestly? Yes. I pictured you surviving solely on caviar and the souls of your business rivals.”

His laugh catches me off guard because it’s deep and genuine, nothing like his usual controlled chuckle. “You have a vivid imagination,kulkolka.”

“That actually sounds perfect.” I settle onto my couch as Dmitri places the order for food on his phone.

“What do you want to eat?” he asks, sitting beside me.

I snatch Dmitri’s phone from his hands, ignoring his raised eyebrow. “Let me see that menu.”

“By all means, help yourself to my personal property.” His dry tone makes me grin as I scroll through the options.

“Ooh, they have soup dumplings. And Mapo tofu. And—oh my God, those crispy green beans with garlic.” I tap items rapid-fire, adding them to the cart. “We need the dan dan noodles you mentioned, obviously. And these pork buns. And definitely the kung pao chicken.”

“That’s enough food for six people,” Dmitri points out, peering over my shoulder.

“I like options.” I add scallion pancakes to the order. “Plus, leftovers are the best part of Chinese takeout.”

He laughs—that real laugh again, not his boardroom chuckle. “You’re seriously going to eat all that?”

“Watch me.” After adding egg rolls and hot and sour soup, I hand his phone back. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast, thanks to someone rushing me out this morning.”

“Point taken.” He accepts his phone, eyebrows rising at the total. “Though this seems like a revenge plot via dim sum.”

“Scared I’ll break your black card?” I tease.

“Never.” He confirms the order. “I just hope you’re prepared to follow through. I expect to see you attempt every dish.”

“Challenge accepted, Ivanov.”

He looks so out of place yet feels right here in my space. Our eye contact lingers, and I’m sure I’m about to combust if we don’t stop staring at each other. Clearing my throat, I grab the remote for the TV.“So, what kind of movies do you watch? Let me guess, documentaries about hostile takeovers?”

Dmitri loosens his tie, shifting, and his thigh brushes mine. “I’ll watch anything that’s well-made.”

“Really? The great Dmitri Ivanov doesn’t have a preferred genre?” I reach for the remote, scrolling through Netflix’s offerings.

“Quality is quality, regardless of genre.” He drapes his arm across the back of the couch, his fingers absently playing with a strand of my hair. “Though I suspect you have something specific in mind.”

“I do love a good thriller.” I bite my lip, considering our options. “Something that keeps you guessing until the end. The kind that makes you question everything you thought you knew.”

“Fitting.” His lips quirk up. “Given your penchant for questioning everything I say and do.”

“Someone has to keep you on your toes.” I scroll through the thriller section, hyperaware of his fingers still toying with my hair. “How about ‘The Game’? Michael Douglas, corporate executive, a mysterious game that turns his life upside down...”

“Trying to tell me something?” His voice carries that hint of amusement I’m starting to recognize.

“I just want to see how a control freak like you reacts to watching someone else lose control.”

“Is that so?” His hand slides from my hair to the nape of my neck, making my heart race. “And here I thought you’d seen plenty of me losing control already.”

I smirk at his comment. “That’s... different. This is about psychological manipulation, paranoia, questioning reality...”

“All things I’m intimately familiar with in my line of work.” He pulls me closer, his breath warm against my ear. “Start the movie,kulkolka.”

I press play on the remote, but Michael Douglas’s voice fades into background noise as Dmitri’s fingers continue their maddening path along my neck. The familiar opening scene blurs before my eyes—I’ve seen this movie at least three times before. Still, I couldn’t tell you a single plot point if my life depended on it.

A knock at the door makes me jump. Right. Food.

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