Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 100417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
At lunch, we took a break, enjoying sex, leftovers, and coffee, then set back to work. I was able to go online and look up rents and property taxes, liens and foreclosures.
By sunset, there were printouts all over the floor, and I’d decided this was my best Christmas Day ever.
“Did you make any headway?” He rolled his head on his neck.
I slid him a cocky grin. “I completed cursory determinations on all nine proposals, querido. I was about to play solitaire while I waited on you.”
“Let’s see them.”
“You want to read them? Now?” I was suddenly nervous.
He snagged my computer. “Now.”
As he scanned my assessments, I studied his face. At times, he raised his brows. What did that mean? Wait, was that an unconscious nod? Damn, he read fast. Once, that left corner of his lips tilted for an instant.
Now that I’d been given the chance to impress him, I wanted to succeed! He’d liked my brain—wanted to take advantage of it. Would he still?
He raised his face and turned that penetrating gaze to me. “We matched on all but one,” he said, impressed.
Even as my toes curled with pleasure, I fake-examined my nails. “Oh, did my baby boy get one wrong?”
His eyes grew lively in that way I loved. “You didn’t ask me questions; you simply assessed proposals. Did you learn from all those econ books you read?”
My finance minor had actually been of more help today. “I learned a lot from those books.” Bob and weave.
“But why did you recommend moving forward on the fifth proposal?” A block of run-down apartment complexes. “These aren’t class A, B, or even C. I’d deem them class S for ‘shithole.’ That gulag you wanted to visit probably has more amenities.”
Bingo. My bus route to one of my cleaning gigs passed those apartments, and they reminded me of my own.
“The numbers are marginal at best,” he said. “Tell me your reasoning.”
The Shadwell Theory. “Gross mismanagement.” Emphasis on ooh, gross. “The managers are probably shaking down the tenants each month and under-reporting the rents collected. If you got even a semi-honest crew in there, you could lower rents, increase repairs and maintenance, and you’d still make more. Tenants are happy, owners are happy.”
“Lower rents.” He was looking at me in that keen way of his.
“It’s just an idea.” I bit my lip. “The property is in foreclosure. Banks like to clear their books of bad debts by year’s end, so if you offered cash this week, you could steal it. Or so I’ve heard. There are tax implications as well—oh, wait, la mafia Rusa probably doesn’t worry about taxes much.”
His keen expression deepened.
You’re talking too much, Cat. Muzzle it. To distract him, I said, “Can I see your takes?”
He handed over his own computer.
I read his notes and determinations, and nearly orgasmed at how his brain worked. Boundaries! “Not bad for a rookie.”
“Glad you approve.”
I was about to suggest we take “un cafecito,” a coffee break for caffeine and sex—not necessarily in that order—when he stood and stretched.
As he headed toward the kitchen, he tossed over his shoulder, “You’re going to the wedding with me.”
“Qué???”
CHAPTER 25
Heart in my throat, I followed him.
He was at the leftovers again. “Are we out of the almond candies? Who ate all of them?” He glanced up from the fridge with a dark look. “Vasili, you prick.” He turned to me. “It’s your fault you fed him. Now he’ll be like a stray dog coming around for our handouts.”
“Sevastyan, let’s be reasonable. Of course I can’t go to the wedding.” Did he expect me to wait in the hotel room while he went to the ceremony and festivities?
“You can, and you will.” He took out the prawns, licking pink sauce off his thumb. “Now that my Cat’s out of the bag, there’s no reason for you not to be my date.”
Date? Excitement filled me. Then realities weighed in. “It’s not just a wedding. It’s your brother’s. If anyone found out what I am”—a prostitutka—“they’d consider it a slight.”
And how would I fare at a wedding—when the last one I’d been to was my own doomed courthouse ceremony?
He pulled out two plates, setting them down. “What you are? You’re a beautiful, intelligent young woman.”
Was he finally looking past my being an escort?
As soon as the thought occurred, he said, “I expect a heated negotiation.” He grabbed me by the waist and plopped me onto the counter. “What will it take? Cash and jewels? You’ll need clothes to wear.” He wedged his hips between my thighs.
Confusion. “What are we doing here, Ruso? Why this turnaround? I’m your quote-unquote prisoner, remember?”
“You can still be my quote-unquote prisoner in Nebraska.”
“You hate me except for when we have sex.” “When we read proposals, I like you okay. When you sing and cook, I like you.”
“You’re teasing me?” The whole reason I’d been able to handle this time with him was because it had an expiration date! All I’d had to do was guard my heart for a little while longer, and I’d be free. I could avoid the inevitable crash. Now he was talking about extending my time—and deepening things between us.
He really wanted to introduce me to his family?
No, that didn’t matter! He might feel a connection to me, and I might even be unique to him. But his interest would fade. At heart, the hobbyist was a player, could have any woman in the world. Soon enough, he’d get back out there.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “I’m not going. When you leave, so do I. It was always our unspoken agreement.”
He gave a laugh. “Was it?”
“On the twenty-eighth, I am going home. You are going north. That’s my final say in this.”
“Hmm. I can be very persuasive, Katya.”
“There is absolutely nothing you can say or do that will change my mind on this.”
The look in his eyes said challenge offered, challenge fucking accepted.
“What the hell is this, Sevastyan?”
“Shouldn’t it be obvious, dushen’ka?” The bastard was tying me up in his bed.