Page 158 of Cruel Paradise

EMMA:Umm—no…

RUSLAN:Emma.

EMMA:He mentioned our dance once. Said he enjoyed it. That was it. And I shut it down, okay? It was literally, like, two minutes of small talk before you walked out.

My hackles rise instantly. Two minutes of small talk is two minutes too fucking long. And I don’t like the fact that she wrote “our” dance.

Our.

Like they had some sort of shared experience. Something that meant something to her.

The rational part of my brain tells me that I’m overreacting but the caveman in me is banging his fists against his chest and howling, already desperate to go back to the office just so I can remind Emma who all her dances belong to now.

EMMA:Ruslan? :eyes emoji:

RUSLAN:I’ll see you back in an hour. I expect to find you in my office, panties dropped.

EMMA:Yes sir.

I smile and breathe.That’s a good girl.

* * *

The food atPer Seis phenomenal. The company? Less so.

Adrik and I spend the first hour lobbing questions back and forth. It’s typical business small talk that has my head pulsating with boredom.

I could be feeling up Emma under the table right now. Instead, I’m stuck with this dipshit.

At the start of the second hour, I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. But I’m also wondering when Adrik will get to the fucking point. He didn’t invite me out to lunch for the pleasure of my company.

“So, Ruslan—since I have you here…”

Fucking knew it.

“You want something?”

He raises his eyebrows innocently. “This is business, of course. I would pay.”

“For what?”

“I want to book out Alcazar for one night next week to host an exclusive event.”

I humor him. “Booking out Alcazar will cost you half a mil. Excludingfood and beverages.”

He shrugs. “I’ve got the money.”

“You also have a club of your own,” I point out. “Hosting your event there would cost you nothing.”

“As you’ve pointed out numerous times before: despite my best efforts, my club doesn’t seem to have the same appeal that yours does.”

There’s definitely a trap in place.I eye him carefully, but he is the picture of innocence. “What night are you looking at?”

“The thirteenth of August.”

I grit my teeth.

The next day I believe in a coincidence will be the first. In my world, there’s no such thing—there’s just plans in motion and fools too stupid to see them tightening around their throats.

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