13
CORA
Oh, shit.
A crazed, manic laugh bubbles out of me and, even when it fades, I stay grinning like a clown on party drugs. “Wow. The world is so small. I can’t believe you’re here right now.”
“That’s the only thing you’ve said in the last twelve hours that I know is true,” Ivan Pushkin says darkly. “I can tell you weren’t expecting me.”
My heart is a hummingbird, flapping uselessly against my ribcage. “No. No, I wasn’t. But I—Well, I’m, uh, Francia.” I introduce myself to the rest of the stone-faced men at the table. I hope the real Francia is in the kitchen by now so she doesn’t hear me play-acting as her, but I don’t have time to turn around and check. “It’s nice to meet you all.”
The men don’t respond. Ivan does, though. With just one word. A single word that shatters my lie into a million pitiful pieces.
“Cora.”
On instinct, I turn towards the sound of my name. Towards Ivan.
And just like that, the game is up.
He smiles, the edges as sharp as broken glass. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”
I sag into myself, eyes pinned to the floor. “Okay, so…I’m not Francia. You know that, obviously. She was the one invited to your party, not me. I was a guest. But I needed her name to get inside. Then I met you and I kept using her name. I don’t know why I did it. Well, I kind of know why. But it’s complicated. I shouldn’t have—”
I’m in the middle of a rambling explanation when the three men slide out of the booth in unison.
I stumble back, eyes darting from one goliath to the other. But they don’t pay attention to me. They split up, moving in three different directions.
One goes to the front door, one pushes through to the kitchen, and the other checks the long hallway that leads to the bathrooms and the manager’s office.
“What are you doing?” I call out.
No one bothers to answer.
The kitchen door swings open. Francia and Jorden are at the front of a very confused procession of line cooks and busboys.
“You’re closing early today,” Ivan announces. There’s no threat in his voice, but it’s impossible to miss the authority. “Enjoy the day off.”
Dino scowls at Ivan. “And who the fuck are you?”
Ivan’s eyebrow gives a subtle arch. “No one.”
“No one?” Dino parrots back.
Ivan nods. “Exactly. Keep practicing that. I’m no one. You saw nothing. Say it until you believe it if you don’t want any trouble.”
It’s almost worse that he’s talking softly. Almost warmly. There’s a quasi-friendliness to the way he is laying down exactly what is going to happen.
The fear lies in the unknown of what happens when he stops being quite so friendly.
Francia raises her hand like she’s in school. “We can’t leave. We’ll be fired.”
Ivan turns to her. “There are worse things than being fired. Just worry about doing what I say, Francia.”
Shame coils up my spine. He knows her name. He knows my name.
What else does he know?
“I don’t care about being fired,” Jorden spits. “What are you doing with Cora?”
I shake my head at her. I appreciate the concern, but I don’t want her involved in whatever the hell this is.
Another man steps forward and ushers Jorden and Francia towards the front door. “Cora will be fine. Don’t worry about her.”
Jorden turns her disgruntled gaze to the man. “Who are you?”
He keeps herding her to the exit. “My name is Yasha. Not that that matters to you.”
Yasha and Jorden disappear. Francia is already outside with one of the big thugs. Another shepherds the rest of the kitchen staff out with nothing more than brief, confused glances in my direction. As soon as they see Ivan watching them, they snap their attention away. As if even looking at me might be crossing a line.
I could cry out for help, but it wouldn’t make any difference.
Ivan Pushkin always gets what he wants.
And right now, for whatever reason, he wants me.
When we’re alone, Ivan flips the open sign to “Closed” and turns back to me. I’m frozen in place and flushed from head to toe as he saunters closer. “You lied to me. You’re not Francia Delacour.”
“I’m also not an investigative journalist.” I throw my arms wide, gesturing to my polyester waitressing uniform. “In case you couldn’t tell.”
He snatches my wrist out of the air. My breath catches in my throat. “What is your aim?”
“I don’t have an ‘aim.’”
His eyes narrow. They’re dangerous eyes—predatory eyes. “You loathed every single person at my house—myself included—yet you used your friend’s name to get inside and find me.”
“You found me,” I correct him. “I told you to leave me alone, remember?”
“And then you stripped naked in my office.” As if remembering the scene, his eyes slip down my body.
My skin prickles with awareness. “My dress fell apart. I didn’t have a choice!”
“Someone coached you well. You have an answer for everything.”
“I wasn’t coached. I’m not—” I groan in frustration. “I’m the one who left you, remember? You told me to stay and wait for you, but I left.”
“Maybe you left because you got what you wanted.”
“Oh, that’s right.” I snap my fingers. “Don’t you remember reading off your debit card and PIN number between orgasms? That was my dastardly plan and you fell right into my trap. If you see a suspiciously high Target charge on your credit card statement, you’ll know which villain is responsible.”
I’m not sure where this confident, feisty streak has come from, but it’s the only thing keeping me standing.
“I don’t take you for a woman who is so easily satisfied.”
He’s wrong about that. I was very easily satisfied last night. Several times, actually.
I squeeze my thighs together, desperately trying to keep as much blood flowing to my brain as possible.
“I was at your party to have a good time and let loose. That’s all. If I’d known who you really were, I wouldn’t have gone anywhere near you.”
“You knew who I was when we were fucking,” he growls. “The scales were unbalanced, it seems. You knew who I was, but I didn’t know who you were.”
“And now, you’re the one breaking into my place of work to threaten me. If I had to make a bet on which one of us has suspect motivations, I wouldn’t put money on me.”
All at once, he draws back. The storm cloud on his brow clears to a faint overcast. “I’m not threatening you.”
“What do you call this?” I scoff.
Through the front window, I can see Jorden’s ponytail swishing back and forth as she sways from one foot to the other. I hope she’s okay. I hope they’re all okay.
Ivan shifts in front of me, blocking my view of the window and forcing my eyes back to him. “I call this a fact-finding mission. I’m here to find out who the fuck you are and what the fuck you want.”
“Well, when you ask so nicely…”
His growl is a deep rumble of thunder in his chest. “I’m not going to hurt you—unless I have to. The choice is yours.”
I stare at his chest to avoid being sucked into the sexy vortex of his eyes. “It’s up to me whether you hurt me or not? Okay, great. Then count me as a loud and proud member of Team ‘Don’t Hurt Cora.’”
Ivan could crush me underfoot if he wanted. He could make me disappear with the snap of his fingers. But I refuse to back down. I refuse to shrink away the way I know he expects me to.
I can feel him staring holes into me. After steeling myself, I finally look into his eyes.
But I’m still not ready.
Instantly, I’m taken back to the inky shadows of his party with every reason to leave, but I can’t force myself to move. Because I’m tangled up in him in a way I don’t know how to undo.
Does he feel this, too?
In answer, his gaze drops to my chest. Then his eyes widen, shock etching into the lines of his face.
I’m about to make a joke about how my polyester-clad cleavage has never made anyone look so haunted before. But before I can, without an ounce of warning, Ivan Pushkin drops his shoulders and tackles me to the floor.