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Arsen Adamov doesn’t fight fair.
Admittedly, sending him the heart was my mistake. I was tired and grateful that I didn’t need to deal with a lawsuit on top of everything else, and I sent an ill-advised emoji.
Since that moment, it’s been a full-frontal offense from him.
He saw my corseted black dress and raised me low-riding gray sweats. How am I supposed to coherently ask for space when I’m looking at a shirtless hunk of juicy man meat?
Every day has been a barrage of flowers and pastries and gifts so extravagant I can’t bring myself to throw them away. I’ve been putting them in an expensive heap in my closet until I have enough to organize a high-end auction for charity.
Worst of all is the fact that things have been… good. He’s loosened the reins now that Charles is out of the picture. I can go out with friends—and a small army of personal security, yes, but it’s better than nothing.
It’s the head of that security who’s twisted around in the driver’s seat, one hand raised in surrender, the other holding a small box out to me. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”
Kira groans. “That better not be what I think it is, Dom.”
“You’re shooting the messenger,” he replies, “and I just specifically requested you not do that.”
I pluck the pale blue box out of his hands like it’s a bomb. It might as well be. When I lift the lid, the swirl of pink and champagne diamonds nestled into the velvet box are so bright I have to snap it closed again.
“I want to bop him right in his audacious little face,” I announce.
Dominik meets my eyes in the rearview mirror. “You’re the first woman I’ve seen be pissed about getting expensive jewelry.”
“Can I see?” Kira opens the box and gasps. “Wow… Okay, fault him all you like, but he’s got great taste. This is gorgeous.”
I know that. Of course the diamond-studded rose pendant is gorgeous. Arsen doesn’t half-ass anything in his life, including groveling.
Kira lifts the necklace out of the box, letting it dangle in the air between us. “Try it on, at least.”
I swear the necklace off like it’s possessed. “Not a chance. You take it.”
“I can’t! It’s yours!” That doesn’t stop her from gazing longingly at it with stars in her eyes.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, you can.”
“No, as a matter of fact, she cannot!” Dominik interjects. “She’s not wearing jewelry from another man.”
“It’s not from another man. It’s from me,” I argue. “Arsen gave it to me, and now, it’s mine to do with what I will. I want Kira to have it.”
“And I want another job,” Dominik mumbles under his breath. “A nice, quiet desk job. With high cubicle walls.”
I roll my eyes as Dominik pulls to a stop outside the Italian restaurant Guilia suggested for lunch. “Kira, tell your husband to keep his nose out of my business.”
“Honey, keep your nose out of Laila’s business,” she chimes sweetly, before pressing a kiss to his cheek and following me out of the car.
When we get inside, Guilia is already seated by the window. She smiles as we approach—and then takes one look at my face and grabs me by the shoulders. “What’s wrong?”
Either Guilia is incredibly perceptive or she has a team of spies. With my luck, it’s probably both.
“What makes you think anything is wrong?” I say weakly.
“It’s this.” Kira doesn’t even attempt to lie. She just passes the Tiffany box across the table to Guilia.
Guilia opens the lid before I can stop her and whistles. “Now, that is a serious piece of bling. Do you not like it? ‘Cause I’ll take it off your hands if not.”
“No, it’s beautiful.” I scowl. “That’s exactly the problem.”
Guilia glances back and forth between us, on the edge of her seat waiting for the punchline. When it doesn’t come, she says, “Okay, I’m clearly missing something.”
