Page 9 of The Bratva’s Stalked Pregnant Bride

The day Rand asked me to move in with him was a shock, but a happy one. I’d only been in California for a month, and I was thrilled to have a job as an assistant sommelier at such a prestigious winery. The views were breathtaking no matter where I stood, and everyone was so nice and welcoming. Especially Rand, asking me to dinner to celebrate my first week on the job.

Confessing he had a huge crush on me, which I found so cute and charming. Then, before I knew it, I was moving in.

And everything changed.

Was I overreacting about going back there? It had been a month since I arrived in LA, and Rand hadn’t made good on his threats to find me wherever I went. I was registered at my apartment under my real name, determined not to let him take that away from me. But I had deleted all my social media and got a new phone, so maybe there were some privacy laws keeping him from finding my new residence.

Or he’d given up and forgotten all about me. That was a nice, comforting thought, but not comforting enough to keep me from completely stressing out over the next two days. The first night, I looked around for cheaper apartments and went over my budget with a fine-tooth comb to whittle out anything unnecessary, but I was already living on a shoestring.

When I checked the job listings online and called up the agency that got me the interview with Nik and Emerson in the first place, it hit home how truly lucky I was to have a job at all. I wasn’t going to be able to quit to avoid this trip.

The day arrived, and though I offered to meet Mik at the airport, I was mildly grateful that he said it would be easier to meet at the restaurant since it was a lot less hassle and fewer bus changes. And I could put my plan into action to show him all the other vineyards in the area that were worth a visit, instead of Canyon Vines.

Instead of the sports car he usually arrived in, it was a chauffeured sedan, which was all the better, but when I pulled out my phone to show him the different choices, he told me gruffly that he had a few things to settle. He kept his nose glued to his tablet the entire ride to the airport, completely ignoring me.

Which would have been fine if I didn’t have a mission. No matter how much I tried to reason with myself that Rand had accepted defeat or that he’d never make a scene, I was still on the verge of hyperventilating at the thought of facing him again.

Not after the last time.

“Wait here,” Mik said, snapping me out of my daze.

The car had pulled into a private airfield, and Mik got out to speak to someone near a sleek jet that looked like it should have belonged to someone in Washington, DC, or maybe a rock star. After a minute, he ambled back over.

“We’re ready. Follow me.”

He didn’t look back to make sure I did, and I had to scramble to keep up with his long, sure strides. This wasn’t new to him. Must be nice to come from such wealth that everything fell at your feet, including a brand new restaurant and all its employees.

The fact that he was dragging me to the only place in the world I would have walked across glass and fire and a tank full of sharks to avoid, all because he wanted to play restaurateur, pissed me off. Which felt a lot better than the nagging fear I’d been fighting for two days.

“Make yourself at home,” he said. His grin would have been disarming if he hadn’t ignored me for the forty-five minutes it took to get there.

“Oh, now you’re free to speak?” I asked, sitting down on a wide couch strewn with throw pillows, like a hotel and not a plane.

He sat down next to me, making me rethink my choice, but it would have been too awkward to spring up and sit in a single chair. “My time is yours,” he said. “Tell me what I have to look forward to in Napa Valley.”

Brightening, I turned toward him, our knees brushing together. Pretending I didn’t notice, I pulled up all the places that rivaled Canyon Vines. “Perfect,” I said, pointing out the first one. “This place is famous for its Cabernet Sauvignon, and they do a daily tour. And this place…”

“We’re only there this afternoon,” he broke in, then gave me a look that had me blushing. “Unless you want to make it an overnight trip?”

“Nope, that’s fine. I was just trying to maximize efficiency.”

“There’s nothing I appreciate more,” he said.

Okay, even I realized I was acting a bit odd. Thankfully, he didn’t know me well enough to catch on, but I had to relax. “This place has a Zinfandel that would pair perfectly with the pork dish on your new menu,” I said, trying to butter his ego.

“Canyon Vines is the place that was recommended to me by my cousin’s friend.” He then went on to name-drop someone so famous in wine circles that my jaw dropped.

Private plane, swanky new restaurant, he treated like a coloring book, and now getting advice from masters.

Crap. How could I argue with that? I struggled too long to find a way.

“Do you have an aversion to that vineyard?” he asked.

Almost like he was testing me. But there was no way. I hadn’t used them as a reference. I would have chewed my own arm off before asking Rand for help. And one of my friends who worked there had scrubbed me from the website, so there was no way Mik could know I had any association.

“Of course not,” I said. “They’re amazing. I was only trying to help.”

“Next trip,” he said, giving me that look again.