“Which you control,” she pouts, appearing behind Maxim in a silky purple bathrobe, her red hair in a wild tangled mess from their love-making.
“We’ll be out in thirty,” Maxim promises.
“Yeah?” Frankly, I can’t believe he didn’t already shut me down. The fact that he’s even entertaining my pitch gives me hope.
Maxim smirks as he shuts the door. “Sure. You never pay for lunch.”
I find my own lips lifting a little. Maybe this all could work.
Sasha and Maxim emerge in twenty minutes. Sasha’s wearing a bustier over a long-sleeved sheer top, showing off her brick house body, as usual. Maxim allows it because it brings Sasha joy. Exuberance for life is her personality, but I’m sure he’d like to kill every man who looks, myself included. Obviously, I take pains not to ever look.
“There he is,” Sasha says as she breezes past the kitchen and catches my arm. “I can’t wait to hear the whole scoop.”
“Don’t touch him,” Maxim minces through gritted teeth, and Sasha flashes a wide grin before she behaves and drops my arm. Maxim, our fixer, somehow managed to tame his rebellious bride but just barely.
We pull on our jackets. “Where are we going?” Sasha asks.
“You pick,” I tell her.
“Let's walk to that new gyro place. I’m starving.” She throws the door open and breezes into the elevator.
“Cheap date,” I mutter as Maxim and I follow. “I like it.”
“She’s not your date,” Maxim growls.
“Poor choice of words,” I agree.
“So what did you do to the director?” Sasha purrs when we’re inside the elevator heading to the ground floor.
“Don’t ask him that,” Maxim warns, not that I would tell.
“I heard she got a part.” Sasha lifts her brows and a ripple of warning makes the hair at the back of my neck stand. If Sasha put it together, how long before Kayla does?
My heart inexplicably speeds up like I’m in danger. Maybe I am. Danger of toppling this card house I’m trying to construct with Kayla.
Somehow, Sasha reads my alarm. “Ah, so you were responsible. I figured. She doesn’t know,” she assures me. “She thinks she got it on her own. You’d better make sure it stays that way.”
“You’d better—” I start, then modify my tone when Maxim’s nostril’s flare. I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Please don’t tell her.”
“Aw, Pavel said please.” Sasha flicks a delighted look Maxim’s way. “Love is changing him.”
I want to deny I’m in love, but I stop myself because it would be a lie. I am in love. That’s the whole point of this lunch. I’m in love, and I’m trying to figure out how to make a life with the girl that stitched the shreds of my soul back together.
The elevator stops on the ground floor, and we get out and walk past Maykl, a bratva brigadier, who serves as a doorman for the building. A very well-armed and protective doorman.
“Sasha?” I try not to say it in a growl.
Maykl jogs to open the door for her.
“I won’t tell her,” she promises, giving Maykl an entitled smile and wave as she passes through. “She’d be devastated. She thinks she made it on talent, just like she always dreamed.”
“Thanks, man,” I mutter to Maykl as he holds it for me, too. I try to push away the gnawing sense that I fucked up. “She has made it on talent,” I insist when we’re out on the street.
“Right. I know,” Sasha says quickly. “Kayla’s talented, for sure.” I hear the lack of conviction in her voice and want to strangle her. She’s an actress, too, and she modified her dreams because of her forced marriage to Maxim. Things have worked out for her here, though. She got the leading role in the Anna Karenina musical recently.
I would never ask that of Kayla, though. Her heart is set on making it big.
The sun is out, but the April wind whips off the lake and through us as we walk the few city blocks to the gyro joint. Maxim and Sasha order first, then I place my order and pay and join them at a table.
“So?” Sasha rubs her hands together like she’s excited. She’s making it easy on me, and I’m humbled by the fact that they’re even here listening to me.
I look from one to the other. “Real estate in Los Angeles seems like it’s always a safe bet,” I begin.
Maxim flicks his brows—whether that means he’s in agreement or surprised by the topic, I’m not sure.
“I’ve been doing some research, and the median cost of a home in Los Angeles is 950 grand. The prices have trended upward at a rate of 11.8 percent year-over-year. I believe that means a large number of residents have to rent. Investing in a small but upscale apartment building could prove lucrative as a long-term investment. I called about one when I was there—twelve units plus a penthouse suite for five million, eight. There’s a pool on the roof.” I take a long, desperate sip of the Dr. Pepper I ordered. My mouth is so damn dry.