Page 20 of Hostage of the Russian
This was going to be a very long lunch.
Chapter 7 - Kostya
Kostya walked beside Azriel as she stalked down the sidewalk, her dark hair whipping behind her with each angry stride. The woman had fire; he’d give her that. Most people cowered when he made his presence known, yet here she was, practically vibrating with indignation as she led him toward what appeared to be the most rundown diner in a three-block radius.
Figures.
She’d grudgingly agreed to let him buy her lunch after he’d pointed out that her stomach had been growling loudly enough to wake the dead. Of course, she’d insisted on choosing the place, and naturally, she’d picked somewhere that looked like it hadn’t been updated since the seventies.
The bell above the door chimed as she pushed inside, and Kostya followed, taking in the smell of grease and burnt coffee. The vinyl booths had seen better decades. Azriel claimed a corner booth, her back to the wall, and was already glaring at the laminated menu like it had personally offended her.
He slid into the seat across from her, noting how she’d positioned herself strategically.
“I can’t believe I agreed to this,” she muttered, still not looking up from the menu.
“You could have kept walking around with your stomach making those charming growling sounds.” He settled back in the booth, amused by her obvious irritation.
“It wasn’t that loud.”
“Half the campus could hear it. I was doing you a favor.”
She finally lifted her smoky gray eyes to glare at him. “A favor? Is that what we’re calling forced companionship now?”
Azriel finally lifted her smoky gray eyes to meet his. “What do you want?”
“To make sure my investment doesn’t skip town again.”
“Investment.” She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Is that what you’re calling kidnapping and forced marriage these days?”
A waitress with tired eyes and a name tag reading ‘Dolores’ approached their table. “What can I get you folks?”
Azriel ordered coffee and wheat toast. Kostya raised an eyebrow and ordered eggs Benedict, bacon, hash browns, pancakes, and orange juice.
“Hungry?” Azriel asked dryly after Dolores left.
“I work up an appetite dealing with stubborn women who think they can run away from their obligations.”
“My father’s obligations. Not mine.”
“Your father owes me. You’re payment. That makes them yours now.”
She stared at him over her coffee cup, and Kostya found himself oddly fascinated by the way she refused to back down. Most people wilted under his stare, but Azriel Hartford met his gaze head-on, her chin tilted in defiance.
“You know what I find interesting?” she said, stirring sugar into her coffee with deliberate precision. “You’re sitting here ordering half the menu like it’s nothing, but you’re supposedly so concerned about money that you’d kidnap an innocent woman over a debt.”
Kostya leaned back in the booth, amused despite himself. “Are you questioning my business practices?”
“I’m questioning how someone who clearly has enough money to buy this entire diner six times over can be so petty about whatever my father supposedly owes you.”
The food arrived, and Kostya cut into his eggs Benedict with practiced ease. “Your father didn’t just owe me money, little dove. He compromised one of my operations. Cost me considerably more than whatever he skimmed off the top.”
“Little dove?” Her eyebrows shot up. “Seriously?”
“You don’t like it? I could go with little wildcat instead. Seems more fitting.”
She ignored the comment, but he caught the slight flush on her cheeks. “So you’re rich enough to eat fancy eggs for brunch but poor enough to need me as collateral?”
Kostya paused mid-bite. No one had ever spoken to him like this. No one questioned his decisions or challenged his logic with such casual audacity. Well, no one except Irina, but his sister was a completely different matter. This woman, this slip of a girl who should be terrified of him, was sitting across from him, picking apart his reasoning like she was solving a puzzle.
