Page 6 of Scars He Gave Me (Bratva Crime Syndicate 2)

“Corinne,” Leila says, “they want to meet you. I don’t know why. I told them you don’t usually do this, but they want to see the caliber of person who’s designing the software that protects their multi-gazillion-dollar business.”

Caliber of person. So delightful, so humanizing. They want to see what ‘caliber’ I am. That’s why I’m being forced to wear Leila’s skirt, which is so tight over my hips that a deep breath might blow the whole thing apart. And again, not that I’m complaining—okay, yes, I definitely am—these godforsaken heels.

“I know.”

“So, we go in, we do the presentation, you answer a few personal questions—”

“Personal questions?” She’s a master at sneaking in details when she thinks I won’t notice. And I’m a master at calling her out on them. If I’d known about all this a week ago when the client in question, Mrs. Francine Dunlow, asked for this meeting, I would’ve said no.

I don’t answer personal questions. Ever.

“She likes to know the people she’s working with.” Her lips twitch to one side. “She buys a lot of spa trips.”

Yeah, and that was probably how she managed to get Leila agree that I would be at the presentation. She plied her with cucumber masks and a Shiatsu massage. Goodness gracious, Leila can be sogulliblesometimes.

“Oh come on, Corinne. You know you want a nice spa day.” She wrinkles her nose—Leila’s telltale giveaway—and I know. It’s coming now.Three, two, one… “You’ll need it after the wedding.”

Phew. That was tamer than I was bracing myself for. Normally, she can go on for hours about my fiancé, Alvin Ernest Dean.

Captain Anti-Fun.

The Great Bore-ini.

Super Snore.

The Human Ambien.

Just to name a few of Leila’s personal favorites. She has somewhat of a point—he isn’t known for his ability to stay up past nine or to have fun that doesn’t involve spreadsheets and fantasy football, but that’s why I like him. I don’t have to worry about him cheating, coming home drunk, staying out late.

Most of all, there’s no danger of unbridled passion leading me somewhere my heart isn’t ready to go.

I’ve been down that road before. I swore I wouldn’t ever do it again.

Leila’s right about something else, too—a facial and a massage doesn’t sound like the worst way to spend my time. But I have a wedding to finish planning, a honeymoon to shop for, and a presentation that’s single-handedly responsible for the bags under my eyes.

“Fine,” I mutter. She’s relentless, and we both know she’ll keep poking me until I give her some kind of verbal response.

Leila claps her hands together. “Alrighty! Let’s get down to business then. Tell me about the software.”

I launch into the spiel. “The firewall security system is rigorously reinforced with …”

I ramble like that for a while. As I drone on, it sounds practiced and stiff, even to me. I try adding a smile, but now it sounds like all I’m missing are pompoms and a short skirt before I break into cartwheels and rah-rah my way through the remainder of the presentation.

I grind to a stop. “Can’t you do this part?”

Leila shakes her head. “She wants to hear it from you because it’s your baby. You’re the one who created this magnificent, genius software, which is going to allow them to expand and protect their assets and maximize their blah blah blah. You get it.”

She nods like a bobblehead and rolls her hand in a spiral motion.

“Start again. Less teeth this time. You’re in a business meeting, not at a dentist appointment.”

I sigh and start from the top. I really do hate people sometimes.

* * *

Two hours of increasingly not-horrible tries later, I’ve finally found a workable balance between smileyness, confidence, and expertise. Leila nods, seemingly pleased, for which I thank all deities major and minor.

“Alright. Now, Francine is going to want to do a couple minutes of Q&A about the software, then she’s going to want to talk about you.”

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