Page 115 of Gloves Off

I’m about to open my bag and lay out all my hair and makeup products when there’s a knock at the door. Alexei was still at the arena working with a physio when I left—maybe he got locked out.

At the door, though, a woman and man wait, each with their own rolling black case.

“Hair and makeup,” the woman says.

“I didn’t . . .” I shake my head, confused.

“Alexei arranged for it. He said you wouldn’t have a lot of time to get ready.”

Warmth spills through me and I grin. “Come on in.”

An hour later, I head downstairs to the hotel lobby where Alexei texted me to meet him when I was done.

In the elevator, I study my reflection. No wonder the designer is an up-and-comer. I smooth a hand over the soft, lightweight fabric that drapes across my body and makes me feel like a Grecian goddess.Thisis what I love about fashion—a couple pieces of fabric arranged into art. In this dress, with my hair done in shiny waves and my makeup highlighting my favorite features—my eyes, my lips—I feel so beautiful. The shoes the designer included are bloodred and vicious, mostly hidden by the hem of the dress but peek out as I walk. Even the undergarments she sent along with the dress are pretty—a soft, feminine lace, undetectable beneath the thin fabric. I didn’t even have to open my bag.

Getting ready with two professionals has been a nice distraction from the realization that tonight I’m just a woman on a powerful man’s arm. Again. Liam would bring me to events, but instead of introducing me as his girlfriend who was about to enter medical school, I was his girlfriend, Hugo Greene’s granddaughter.

I always felt erased at those events. I was there in physical form, but I didn’t matter. Liam didn’t even look at me. I was an accessory to make him seem more important.

My stomach wobbles. I hate that I’m repeating history like this.Not real,I remind myself. I’m just holding up my end of the bargain.

The elevator opens and as soon as I step out, I spot him sitting in a club chair, leaning back, legs spread, taking up a ridiculous amount of space. Handsome in that scary, bad boy way, wearing the hell out of that suit. In a busy lobby with a sea of people, hisenergy feels different. Magnetic. Heavier. Calm. Steady. Solid. That unsettled, harried feeling I’ve had all week quiets.

Our eyes meet and his gaze hardens, jaw flexing. I force myself to straighten and hold his gaze while I stride over.

“Well?” I put my palm up, gesturing at myself.

“Well, what?” He moves to standing.

I don’t need him to tell me I look hot. I feel hot. That’s all that matters.

I let out a dry laugh to myself, checking my clutch for everything I need. “All right, Volkov. Let’s go.” We start walking toward the ballroom. “What’s this dinner for? You never told me.”

“An award.”

“Oldest player in the league?”

His unamused gaze slides to me. “Hilarious.” His gaze drifts lower, down my dress, before he looks away.

“Wait, I know. Least teeth.”

The corner of his mouth ticks. “Hellfire, keep running your mouth like that and you’re going to regret it.”

“What are you going to do, spank me?”

My stomach dips at the flare of heat in his eyes. “Maybe I will.”

He looks away again, throat working.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Nothing.”

He’s tense. More than usual. “Is your shoulder hurting?”

“Shoulder’s fine,” he says tightly.

“It’s the sparkles, isn’t it?” I gesture at my dress with a mock crestfallen expression. “You hate them.”

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