Page 69 of Wicked Proposal
“You know what they say.” I smile tightly. “‘Lack of planning on your end does not constitute an emergency on mine,’ and so on, and so forth.”
His eyes glint with amusement. “But she came through.”
“She always does.”
“Seems like you had nothing to worry about, then.”
God, please give me patience, because if you give me strength, I’ll end up on the news.
“Good friends are hard to find. Thankfully, I found her. Which is extra nice, because I can’t imagine having to hire someone every time I needed help. I’d be brokeandsad.” My smile widens. “Good thing I’m just broke, huh?”
Yulian’s amusement flickers. Something else mixes with it—not quite anger, but close. A simmering annoyance, perhaps. The kind of dry kindling you don’t want close to a spark.
Then, seemingly out of nowhere, he says, “Nice dress.”
I look down. The black lace ruffles around my middle and snakes up my arms in floral patterns. The butterfly sleeves give me something to torment with my fingers, though I won’t give Yulian the satisfaction of seeing it.
He can’t know how nervous I am. Last time we sparred, I blinked first.
Now, it’s his turn.
“Thanks.” I smooth down my skirt. “I got it off a clearance rack.”
His lips quirk. “A better rack than last time, I’m sure.”
He isn’t wrong—Ididsplurge a little. As in, way more than I ever thought I could spend on a single item of clothing. That receipt will be giving me nightmares until I die.
“Figured I’d need a work closet,” I say with a shrug.
Yulian hums appreciatively. “You could have done worse.”
I get the feeling it’s the most praise he’s ever given anyone. “I’ll try harder next time. To do worse, I mean.”
“No need.” He fixes his cuffs—a habit of his, I’ve noticed, even when there’s nothing wrong with them—and turns to me. “I’ll be handling your ‘work closet’ from now on.”
It should be a relief, but I don’t like the way he says it. Like I’m his thing to dress up. A doll he bought, and now gets to play with however he sees fit.
But I let it slide. It costs me, but I do.
It’s just work, after all, isn’t it? My body, my person—for the next six months, they’re his. He made it abundantly clear yesterday, in that alley.
I can still remember how it felt. His hands on me, his cologne around me. His husky voice, scraping my self-respect straight out of my brain.
It’s the only reason I didn’t freeze up completely: The man who was cornering me, who was grabbing me and threatening to do whatever he wanted with me—he was clearlysomeone else.
He was clearly not Brad.
But that doesn’t mean he can’t be worse.
I’ll have to tread carefully. Yulian Lozhkin is no fairytale prince, that much is for certain. He won’t open the door to the carriage for me, won’t gift me priceless dresses because he wants me to be happy wearing them, won’t shower me in luxury for my sake.
Everything, from the first silk thread to the last diamond drop, will be forhim. To any other woman, he’d be the villain of the story.
Luckily for him, I’ve already filled that role.
Suddenly, I find papers being thrust in front of me.
“What’s this?” I ask.
