"I've been known to dabble, but no, I don't run that type of business. However, you seem like an intelligent girl who is cute and has a lot going for her. Any number of men I'm familiar with might be interested."
"I'm not some girl you can hoe out! Just because I'm not interested in marriage, doesn't mean I'm going to sleep with someone because they have a dick."
"Your suggestion implies payment. I'm not doing this for money. Besides, I feel that my colleagues aren't up to the challenge."
"Challenge?"
What the hell is he talking about?
"Five minutes, and you'd tear them to pieces."
"That's not true or fair! You don't know anything about me."
"You're impulsive," Nikita says. "You followed me up here without question. You're abrasive, bold, and brutally honest. At least that's what you think you are and the mask you portray. Is it real? I haven't been around you long enough to know for certain. I can see that you've been hurt before, or maybe you've witnessed someone close to you getting burned, and that's formed your opinion of men."
I purse my lips and glance toward the door. How much longer until my clothes are ready? I should have borrowed his shirt and worn it over the top of my white dress. "You're wrong."
"Which part?" Nikita asks. He doesn't even look disappointed that I disagree with his observation of me.
"All of it." I stand, although I'm not sure where I'm going. Wandering down into the club in only a shirt is not the best option. And Nikita hasn't made me feel violated or the least bit uncomfortable, other than his scrutiny as he tries to unravel who I am.
He has no idea.
And if he did, he'd kick my ass out of his club.
Or worse.
I sway from the liquor that I've consumed. I'm a lightweight. I rarely drink, and the reality of the situation that I'm buzzed and alone with a man I don't know anything about makes my stomach flop.
Nikita stands and steps toward me, his arms coming up to steady me. His grip rests on my shoulders.
"Sit," he commands.
I fall back onto the sofa, not the least bit graceful as I sway and the room spins.
"You don't drink often." It's not a question but an observation.
"I also don't usually follow men I've just met into strange places."
Nikita shoves his hand into his pocket, unceremoniously drops his keys, and then sets his phone on his desk. Shuffling to the sofa, he sits beside me but leaves plenty of space between us not to make me the slightest bit uncomfortable. He quirks a grin. "You're funny."
"I try my best," I quip, trying not to glance at his desk where his keys are situated. I need to grab his house key. I don't even need to steal the key. Just make an imprint of it in the small clay box tucked inside my purse.
He won't even know it's missing.
"Are you going to give me your byline?"
"My what?" I ask.
"Your elevator pitch. What makes you so great that men should date you."
I don't know anything about Nikita other than he runs the club downstairs. What makes him think I want him to set me up with someone he knows?
"I can find my dates, thanks."
"Really? Because a blind date implies—"
"Shut up!" I snap. "You don't know anything about me."
"Exactly! And how am I supposed to help you—you know what, never mind. It's not worth the hassle."
Good! Maybe he will finally let it go. Why does he feel it necessary to try to play matchmaker with me?
"Can we just pretend this conversation never happened?" I ask.
"It would be my pleasure," Nikita says. He stretches out, taking up more space than necessary on the sofa.
How much longer until my dress is finished at the laundromat?
"You don't have to babysit me."
"So, you've said." Nikita shifts and faces me on the sofa. His legs brush against mine. His eyes remain locked on me.
I ignore the warmth and heat, the spark that simmers in the small office space. It's the fact that I've had liquor, and I don't usually drink. He's a handsome man, but his affections for me are non-existent.
I open my mouth to speak but my voice quivers. "I want to go home," I say. Will he let me walk out and leave without pressing charges? I haven't taken anything or done any damage.
Nikita's hand glides down to my neck, and he grabs a fistful of my hair. "You are home, Malish," he whispers into my ear.
"What?" I gasp and attempt to break free, but his grip only tightens.
"Is that not what you wanted? You stole the key to my house."
My mouth is dry. I didn't think he realized that I'd snatched it off his keyring when we'd been interrupted in his office.
He'd been gone no more than two minutes, and while I had fumbled to get the key off the ring, by the time I'd had it within my possession, I hadn't been able to return it without being seen.
"I didn't steal your stupid key. If I had, do you think I'd have climbed over the fence and gotten caught?"