Page 50 of Lies He Told Me (Bratva Crime Syndicate 1)

Isn’t this exactly what I didn’t want to happen? Him coming here, already busy and efficient with plans and decisions, while I scramble to catch up.

Get out while you can.

But how?

“Enjoy your bath and meal?”

After his question, his gaze has found my bathrobe and I’m suddenly hyper-aware of how much leg it shows, how sloppily I tied it. His eyes flash.

“Yes,” I say. “Although I should probably get going.”

Idiot—don’t tell him.

“That’s a pity.” His face gives away nothing. Neither does his voice. “I brought wine.” He lifts the dark glass bottle I should’ve noticed before.

“That’s a pity,” I repeat sarcastically, placing both feet flat on the floor.

Gavril revolves, saunters over, stops in front of me. “Why not stay?”

And dammit if he doesn’t look like he means it—pulled-apart brows, one side of the mouth jokey, the other serious, eyes too deep to look at for long.

Don’t.

I shove back my chair, rise, and look at him head on. “What do you want from me?”

His eyes dance.Wrong question.

I turn away. “Why are you doing this?”

A long, long time—or at least, it seems like it—passes after that question. When he finally speaks, there’s a new edge to it. “You really want to know?”

It’s a test, a point of no return. I turn, take the barrel of his look and put it to my head, nod. “Yeah.”

He shrugs. “I’m running for mayor of the city,” he says simply. “My campaign manager has assured me that a wife would improve my public image considerably.”

“That’s it? You want me to be your …” I can’t even say it, it sounds so insane.

“Yes.”

Silence. I wait for him to try explaining it away, laughing it off. But he just stands there, considering me.

“But why me?” is all I can think to ask.

The answer is automatic, impersonal. “You could be what I need.”

My fake laughter sounds strained. “Gee, thanks. I’m honored, really,” I scoff.

Another shrug. “I see something in you. I think you could fit the part. My assistant agrees.”

“You’ve been discussing me with your whole team?”

Now, this just crossed the line into full-out psychotic.

“Never mind.” I’m already heading to the door as I talk. “I’ve heard enough. Thanks, but no thanks. Selling myself to a rich husband isn’t on my bucket list this year, sorry.”

His silky voice follows me to the door, stopping me there, “In return, I’ll give you anything you want.”

Anything you want—and there’s the catch.

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