Page 36 of Secret Husband
“Yes?”
“Just wondering why you’re so hungry.”
“Because I had calls with clients and potential sponsors all day, and while I had a lunch run planned, I had to skip it because one of my players broke his ankle skateboarding in Colorado. I had to listen to his girlfriend crying her eyes out about his season being ruined but really, she’s worried that he might have a limp when he walks down the aisle for their wedding, even though they’ve only known each other for less than a month and marriage isn’t even on the cards. Maybe I should have advised they get drunk in Vegas.” I sounded a touch … frazzled. I hadn’t even mentioned the Shay shit show. “So, that was my day. How about you?”
“I unpacked some boxes. Went to the gym. Picked up this suit from the dry cleaners.”
“You probably had lunch, too, you bastard.”
He smiled and my stomach swooped. Hunger, I insisted.
“Yes, I was lucky. No one broke an ankle and distracted me from my calorie intake. You do not have an assistant who can feed you?”
“Esme is great, but sometimes she’s in another world. Boy trouble. When I needed to eat, she was nowhere to be found.”
The server arrived with my martini and bread. I noticed now that there was a nice tray of dips that I looked forward to smashing.
“Thank you,” I said as the drink was set down.
“Yes, thank you.” Nazarov looked up. “Can we order now? My … date is hungry.”
Not your date. But there was no missing the pause there. He had considered saying “wife,” but he probably knew I’d walk right out of there with my rosemary-studded rolls and fabulous cocktail if he so much as dared.
“Of course. What can I get you?”
Nazarov ordered the fish. I went with steak, “rare, I’m out for blood,” which alarmed the server but drew a dark chuckle from Alexei.
I took another sip of my drink, enjoying the burn as it slipped down my throat. It also had the effect of bringing me to my senses. I set the glass down, prepared to be all business.
“So what’s this all about?”
“This? It is dinner, Lauren.”
I gave him my sourest look. “Just tell me what the end goal is here.”
“The end goal? I …” He paused while his Terminator brain considered the best strategy to draw me out. His programming decided on: “I have regrets.”
“Oh, we’ve all had those, buddy.”
“About us.” He lifted an eyebrow. “About how things ended between us all those years ago.”
“Nazarov, there was no us. We were, I thought, friends, then we made the mistake of crossing the line, and you made sure I knew it.”
“Lauren, I?—”
I held up a hand. “I’m going to stop you right there. We were young, stupid, horny kids. Now we’re adults, very different people who have moved on.” Okay, old, stupid, and horny. “So you think you treated me poorly when we were, what, twenty-one? Big deal. It was years ago.”
“I am trying to apologize.”
“It’s water under the bridge. But it doesn’t really explain why you’re insisting on being a dick in the present.”
The Nazarov scowl entered the chat. He didn’t like that. But then no man enjoyed being called out.
“You actually think that this is acceptable behavior. You know what?” I leaned in over my martini glass, feeling a little reckless now that I’d gulped down half a glass of vodka and vermouth on an empty stomach. “I think you’re feeling old.”
His gaze seared mine. “This is true.”
“And you’re feeling a little left out because all your pals are pairing off and pushing out kids—well, they’re not, but they take the credit—and this miracle has fallen in your lap and you’re thinking, maybe this is it? No need to go to the trouble of creating a connection or working at a relationship. Here’s this ready-made mess I can scoop up and reheat in the microwave and call it a fucking marriage.” I pointed at him. “Well, I’m not here as your consolation prize, Ass-arov, I already have my own fish to fry, and you are not part of the equation.”
