Chapter 32

I want you to ruin me, Vince.

I want it now.

Then the light changes. The car moves forward. The moment shifts.

“I’m not sure anymore,” I whisper, honesty slipping through the cracks in my bravado.

Vince sits back. “When you decide, feel free to let me know.”

We ride in loaded silence for several minutes. I need to time this perfectly. If I’m going to slip the Polaroid into his pocket, it has to be now, before we reach the restaurant.

I set my tablet aside and reach for my clutch. “I should check my makeup before we arrive.”

Opening my purse, I palm the small envelope, then pretend to drop my lipstick. It rolls across the floor of the car toward Vince’s polished shoes.

“Allow me,” he says, bending to retrieve it, just like I hoped he would.

As he leans forward, I reach out as if to help, letting my hand brush against his jacket pocket. With a sleight of hand that would make a pickpocket proud, I slip the envelope inside.

He straightens up, hand outstretched.

“Thank you,” I say as he passes me the lipstick.

Our fingers touching briefly. Just barely. Chaste. Unremarkable.

But something in is obscene and fucking violent.

A flare blooms in his eyes—suspicion, perhaps—but then it’s gone, replaced by that maddening mask of control.

“We’re here,” he announces as the car pulls up to Per Se once again in an eerie déjà vu re-creation of our previous disaster here.

I take a deep breath, suddenly nervous about what I’ve done.

But it’s too late to take it back now. The Polaroid is in his pocket, a ticking time bomb waiting to detonate.

Vince exits first, then offers his hand to help me out. As I take it, he pulls me closer than necessary, his lips brushing against my ear.

“Remember who you work for tonight, Rowan.”

If only he knew what was sitting in his pocket, inches away from his heart.

23

ROWAN

Katerina Volkov is nothing like I expected.

Based on Irina Petrov’s ice-queen demeanor, I assumed all Russian mafia princesses would be cut from the same frigid cloth. But Katerina is warm, animated, with a laugh that actually sounds genuine.

Color me surprised.

She greets Vince with a kiss on both cheeks, then surprises me by extending the same courtesy.

“Ms. St. Clair!” she crows happily. “A pleasure to meet Vince’s right hand.”

I smile, instantly wrong-footed by her friendliness. “Likewise, Ms. Volkov.”

“Please, call me Kat. Everyone does.”

Vince looks as surprised as I feel by her casual demeanor. We’re seated at a prime table, Katerina and Vince facing each other, me at a slightly awkward third point in the triangle. Close enough to hear everything, not quite close enough to be fully part of the conversation.

Rowan the wallflower, as per usual.

“Vince tells me you’re new to his team,” Katerina says to me as the waiter pours wine. “How are you finding it?”

“It’s challenging,” I admit. “But rewarding.”

“I imagine so.” She smiles knowingly. “Vince has always been demanding.”

The way she says it implies history. I glance at Vince, who meets my gaze with unreadable eyes.

“You two know each other well?” I ask, unable to help myself.

“Since childhood,” Katerina answers. “Our families have been… associated… for generations.”

“Business associates,” Vince clarifies, a warning note in his voice.

Katerina laughs. “Is that what we’re calling it now? How diplomatic of you, Vincent.”

The waiter returns to take our orders. While Vince and Katerina discuss the menu, I find myself studying her more closely. She’s beautiful in a natural way—bright blond hair, striking bone structure, intelligent eyes.

But there’s something else about her. A sadness that lingers behind her smile.

Vince orders for all of us, not bothering to ask what I want. The feminist in me loathes it. The cavewoman in me howls in delight.

As we wait for our first course, Katerina turns her attention back to me. “So, Rowan, tell me about yourself. Where did you study?”

“Oh, just upstate,” I reply, feeling suddenly inadequate next to her Harvard pedigree. “Marketing and Design.”

“Impressive!” Surprisingly, she sounds sincere. “Creativity combined with strategy. No wonder Vince snatched you up.”

Vince shifts in his seat, his hand going to his inside pocket as he adjusts his position.

My heart stops. The Polaroid. Is he going to find it now?

But his hand moves away without retrieving anything, and I exhale slowly.

“Rowan has been an unexpected asset,” Vince says, his eyes locked on me. “Full of surprises.”

The double meaning isn’t lost on me.

Or on Katerina, it seems.

“I’m sure she is,” Kat murmurs, her gaze shifting between us thoughtfully. “The best ones always are.”

Our appetizers arrive—steak for Vince, scallops for Katerina, calamari for me. I pick at my food, anxiety growing with each passing minute.

When will he find the photo? What will happen when he does?

Katerina and Vince fall into conversation about mutual acquaintances. I listen attentively, noting how much more comfortable Vince seems with her than he did with Irina.

They have chemistry, these two. Not romantic necessarily, but a natural rapport built on years of shared history. I feel a pang of something that might be jealousy, might be regret for what I’ve done.

“Excuse me,” Vince says after our main courses are cleared away. “I need to take this call.”

He pulls out his phone and steps away from the table, leaving me alone with Katerina.

She watches him walk away, then turns to me with a direct gaze. “So. How long have you been in love with him?”

I choke on my wine. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t bother denying it.” Her smile is sympathetic. “It’s written all over your face whenever you look at him.”

“I—I don’t—” I stammer, mortified.

“It’s okay.” She reaches across the table to pat my hand. “Your secret is safe with me.”

I take a deep breath. “We’re just colleagues.”

“Of course.” She sits back, still smiling. “Though I’m curious why he brought his ‘just colleague’ to what’s supposed to be a date to determine his future wife.” When I don’t answer, she continues, “Unless, of course, there’s something else going on.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I lie.

“I think you do.” Katerina takes a sip of her wine. “Vincent’s father is pushing him into a marriage of convenience. An alliance, not a love match. And Vincent is fighting it the only way he knows how.”

“By bringing his assistant along?”

“By showing his father he’s already made his choice.”

My heart hammers against my ribs. “You’re mistaken.”

“Am I?” She glances toward where Vince stands, phone to his ear. “Watch what happens when he comes back. Watch how his eyes find you first, not me.”

I want to protest further, but Vince is already returning to the table.

And just as Katerina predicted, his eyes seek me out before settling on her.

“Sorry about that,” he says, sliding back into his seat. “Business emergency.”

“It’s always business with you Akopovs,” Katerina teases. “Some things never change.”

As they resume their conversation, I notice Vince shifting in his seat again, his hand going once more to his inside pocket.

This time, his fingers make contact with something.

He pauses mid-sentence. A frown creases his brow. My pulse races as he pulls out the small envelope, glancing at it with confusion.

“What’s this?” he murmurs under his breath.

“Something wrong?” Katerina asks.

“No,” Vince says, quickly returning the envelope to his pocket without opening it. “Just a note I forgot about.”

But his eyes find mine across the table, questioning. Suspicious.

I smile innocently and take a sip of my wine, even as anxiety floods my system.

Oh, God… What have I done?