Page 6 of Vendetta Vows

We navigate through the crowd, making our way toward the back office. On our way back, I find myself searching the room with every step for those golden eyes.

The sharp sound of metal against glass cuts through the party chatter. Everyone turns toward the makeshift stage where a man in an expensive suit stands with a microphone.

"If I could have your attention for a moment," he announces. "We'd like to hear a few words from our executive producer and chief financier Ruslan Dragunov."

A new figure strides onto the stage. The spotlight catches on his face and I freeze.

Oh. My. God.

It's him.

The man from outside. I'd recognize that perfectly tailored suit, broad shoulders, and golden-brown curls anywhere. And when he accepts the microphone, my eyes zoom right to the tattoos on his hand.

My stomach plummets as the realization hits me like a sledgehammer. Executive producer? Chief financier?

The man I'd just spent fifteen minutes ranting to about how terrible the script wasto his face? The man who signs every check that eventually trickles down to mine?

Hannah grabs my arm.

"Holy shit," she whispers, her eyes locked on Ruslan as he surveys the crowd with those mesmerizing golden eyes. "That is the most delicious man I've ever seen. Like, I want to lick his face. Is that weird? That's weird, right? I don't care. I want to lick his face. Fuck, I want him to lickmyface."

I can't even form words. My stomach has dropped through the floor and is probably halfway to China by now.

"Hannah," I finally manage to rasp. "That's the guy I met."

Hannah's head whips toward me, jaw wide open. Her expression cycles through confusion, disbelief, and finally lands on pure, unbridled glee. "No!"

She looks back at Ruslan, then to me.

"You ran into Ruslan fucking Dragunov outside and didn't know who he was?"

"Well, I didn't exactly ask for his resumé while I was busy explaining all the reasons why the script was terrible."

Hannah's eyes grow impossibly wider. "You did WHAT?"

"I told him the script was unrealistic," I whisper-hiss. "And how the third act felt forced and the character motivations made no sense. I basically gave him a full critique of everything wrong with the production."

Hannah claps a hand over her mouth, but doesn't quite manage to stifle her laughter. "You know what you have to do now, right?"

I have an idea what she's about to say. "Don't you start?—"

"You need to go find him, bat those big hazel eyes of yours, and beg him for forgiveness." Hannah laughs. "On your knees if you have to."

"Could you beanymore vulgar?"

She smirks. "Oh come on! Don't act like you weren't thinking about it."

I bite my lips involuntarily as memories of my own brief fantasy in the alleyway returns. Whether I want to admit it or not, Hannah is right.

Iwasthinking about it. Still am, in fact.

I force my attention back to Ruslan methodically scanning the crowd, while every single one of my organs is doing a synchronized trapeze routine.

"Oh," Hannah gasps. "Do you think he's…"

Yeah, he's definitely looking for someone.

Please don't see me, please don't see?—

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