Chapter Six

Brooke

O livio's was an upscale restaurant that served modern American cuisine, whatever the hell that meant. It was the kind of place that was expensive for no discernible reason, and I wasn't at all surprised it was where Ilya had chosen for us to meet.

The Ilya I'd known and loved was kind and sweet, charismatic and always ready with a smile that made my toes curl. He was down to earth despite being wealthy beyond my wildest dreams. This man who had Ilya's name and his blue eyes? He was nothing like that person, and I knew why.

The old Ilya was a lie. He was nothing more than a fa?ade created to get what he wanted from me. I had to give him credit, though, because he'd given me exactly what I didn't even know I wanted. He was smart back in college, and I could only imagine how that particular skill had grown over the years and helped him increase his family's wealth.

He's not the Ilya you remember. I repeated those words to myself no less than two dozen times while I waited for the hostess to stop ignoring me. Women like her were another reason I hated places like this. Who was she to look down on me in my business casual attire?

"Excuse me," I said politely.

She looked up with a bored expression and turned back to her phone.

Okay. I could've made a big deal about her bitchy behavior, but I wanted to put off seeing Ilya for as long as I could.

"What the fuck is this about?" Ilya's voice sounded behind the hostess, and she jumped about three feet in the air. "My guest is right there, yet I have been waiting for her. Is this how you perform your job?"

The woman's eyes widened, and if she hadn't been such a bitch, I might have felt sorry for her. "I'm sorry, Mr. Kuznetsov, I didn't know."

He glanced at me, those blue eyes dark and stormy.

I shrugged. "She told me to wait, so I assumed you weren't here yet, even though she never asked if I had a reservation."

"Come on," he took my hand. "I do not like to be kept waiting."

I snatched my hand from his. "And I do not like being manhandled. I was here on time but the pretentious hostess at the restaurant you chose decided to ignore me."

Ilya pulled out my chair and waited for me to sit, which was a move I hadn't experienced since our study sessions in WVU's library. His scent was slightly familiar, only more refined.

Not the person you knew. That Ilya was a lie.

"Thank you," I managed to push out through clenched teeth and a professional smile as he got settled into the seat across from me. The table was intimate and semi-private, which gave me a close up of his matured, masculine beauty. I don't care about his beauty, I told myself because, apparently, I desperately needed to hear it.

"Okay," I began. "Each business has its own unique account number, which is how it will be labeled on all reports."

"Let's hold off on business talk for a while, Brooke. Tell me about your life these days."

A cold blade of ice slid down my spine. He wasn't serious, was he? He couldn't be. "This isn't about me, Mr. Kuznetsov, it is about your businesses."

His lips curled into an irresistible smile that reminded me so much of the younger Ilya that it temporarily stole my breath. "Come on, Brooke. I'm just curious about your life."

A bitter laugh escaped. "Then you should have called like you said you would, but you never had any intention of that, did you?" Dammit, I didn't want to show him how much he'd hurt me back then, but it was too late now. "Let's just get through this so we can both get on with our lives."

Surprise flashed in his eyes, but it was gone almost immediately.

"The unique identifier makes it easier since many businesses have similar names, and it reduces the risk of typos within any company's books. I will provide you with reports, first on a weekly basis since these are new businesses, but eventually we can go to monthly or quarterly reports." I took a break for a breath of air just as the waitress arrived with water and a bottle of wine.

Ilya poured and drank, frowning when I refused. "There is no reason we cannot be friends, Brooke. We were friends at one time."

"No, we were never friends. You pretended to be perfect to get what you wanted, and you did. Let's just move on and focus on the present."

"Are you single?" he asked with a teasing smile.

"Business, Ilya. Our focus is on business and nothing else." Maybe he felt a sense of ownership since he'd taken my virginity, but I was no longer that shy eighteen-year-old so desperate for someone like him to notice me, to care about me.

"I didn't use you, Brooke. You were a willing participant."

"I was," I agreed with a nod. "But only because I fell for a lie. I'm sure your skills have improved immensely over the years."

His jaw clenched in the first real sign of emotion I'd seen other than his outburst at the hostess. "I left Winter Valley thinking I would be back after the New Year because that was always the plan. However, my father was killed on New Year's Eve and everything in my life changed."

"I'm sorry for your loss," I said sincerely.

"So you forgive me?"

Typical. "No, I don't forgive you. There are phones in Moscow and even email. If you'd wanted to reach out, you would have. Instead, I never heard from you again. I understand what you were going through, but that doesn't change how I feel." That night had been special to me. It had been magical, and Ilya had tainted my memories with his inconsiderate behavior. It was like it meant nothing to him when it had meant everything to me.

"I wanted to call you." His tone was low and sincere, free of the charm he gave away so freely.

I would've liked to believe him, to have the ability to believe, him but he was a big part of why I was so cynical about love and jaded where men were concerned. "But you didn't. You never did, so let's just get back to the accounts."

Finally, Ilya gave up just like I knew he would. He was too gorgeous to have to ever work hard at anything as easy as women, so he didn't, and I pretended that I didn't feel rejected all over again as I focused on work, the way I had from the moment I learned I was pregnant. "Do you have any questions?"

"No," he said sullenly.

"If you have any, feel free to email me," I told him, and slid my card across the table.

"I want you to deliver the weekly reports in person."

Every part of me wanted to reject that idea, except I knew it wasn't an idea, it was a command. He was my only client, and therefore I had no credible reason to deny him a weekly meeting. "Fine. I'll reserve the meeting room for Fridays at two o'clock." That would give me enough time to get myself under control before I picked up Karina from school.

Ilya shook his head. "I will call you at noon to let you know where we will meet. I am a busy man, and I cannot take time away for this. You will come to me."

I was at my limit with this man. I'd had demanding clients over the years, but none at this level of arrogance and entitlement. "Fine. See you next Friday."

I snatched my purse from the back of my chair and stood, glaring at the man who had somehow managed to make my life miserable in one short week. I can get through this. I had to, because Ilya wasn't going anywhere this time and I needed this job, so I was stuck with him. "Goodbye."

My legs shook as I left Olivio's, and my eyeballs stung with the desire to cry. Ilya had already claimed too many of my tears and he didn't deserve any more. I bit the inside of my cheek and walked down the street with my head held high, refusing to even cry in the privacy of my own car.

By the time I returned to my office, my emotions were mostly under control, the desire to cry had dissipated to a mild urge to scream and break things.

When Ruben checked in, I told him exactly what he wanted to hear. "The meeting was fine, he just wanted a lay of the land and to let me know he expects weekly reports until he says otherwise."

"Good, good. Keep him happy, Brooke, and I'll pay for your last two semesters to get your degree."

There was nothing else he could have promised that would have ensured that I would figure out a way to play nice with Ilya for as long as I had to.

It was just one day a week, how hard could it possibly be?