Chapter 7

The first sipof my caramel latte is heaven on my tongue. I close my eyes against the chilled wind and bask in the warmth of the hot coffee sliding down my throat.

I sigh with renewed contentment. It was totally worth waiting until this afternoon to indulge in a small lunch and this enormous latte. I cradle it against my chest and begin the short trek home.

I spent the morning doing laundry at the laundromat on the corner to avoid Viktor, just in case he decided to ignore my request to be left alone.

Cowardly, I know, but I didn’t have the energy when I rolled out of bed this morning to deal with the arrogant man.

Or maybe I didn’t trust myself if he were to show up at my door with his fierce stare and strong energy.

I kept my phone on so I could get his messages this morning if he did, just so I would know if he was there.

Not at all because I was hoping to see his message pop up on my phone.

That wasn’t it at all.

But no messages came. If he’d been by and saw I wasn’t there, he would have definitely tried to get a hold of me.

I head up the stairs to my apartment with the straps of my collapsible laundry bag over my left shoulder and my latte tightly gripped in my right hand.

After shuffling the drink around and getting my keys out, I push my door open and hop inside.

The heat is the first thing I notice.

I’d turned it down before I went out this morning. Heat is a luxury I can’t afford to waste when I’m not in the apartment. But even when I’m here, I don’t keep it this warm.

After putting the laundry bag down and making sure my latte is safe on the kitchen counter, I check the thermostat.

Seventy-two?

Absolutely not.

I hit the down arrow until it shrinks back to sixty-seven.

“It’s too cold outside to keep it so low.” An arm reaches over my shoulder and hits the button until it’s up to seventy. “That should be okay.”

I freeze.

Close my eyes.

“Viktor?” I slowly turn around and come eye to chest with the arrogant man I wanted and didn’t want to come over today.

He steps back, so I don’t have to crane my neck to see him.

“You missed our date this morning,” he says casually.

“How did you get in?” My heart hasn’t slowed since the initial shock of someone being in the apartment. And now, getting a good look at him in his button-down black collared shirt with his sleeves rolled up to the elbow, his beard neatly trimmed, his dark eyes on me, there’s not much hope in it coming down any time soon.

Why does the infuriating man have to be so fucking hot?

Couldn’t he have some hairy mole right on the center of his forehead?? But the way he moves and his dark eyes would still probably be enough to make my knees weaken.

“I used my key.” He slides his hands into the front pocket of his jeans and leans back against the wall. “You weren’t home when I got here, so I let myself in.”

“You have a key to my apartment?” Why am I surprised? Nothing he does should surprise me anymore. He does whatever the hell he wants, no matter how I’m going to feel about it.

It’s an enormous red flag.

Huge.

Flying right in my face.

“When I had the locks changed, I had one made for me. In case something happened, and you needed me.” He says this with such confidence, such authority, it’s almost endearing.

“Viktor,” I grumble, turning away from him and unraveling myself from my scarf and coat. With the heat on blast, I’m practically melting beneath all the layers. “I said not to come over.”

He follows me into the living room as I hang my coat in the closet.

“And I told you I’d be here at nine.” He leans his shoulder against the door, watching me as I kick out of my shoes. I’ve tracked in mud from the walk back. I notice his boots are off too and lined up next to the front door on the little black mat.

“You did not.” I pull out my phone, ready to prove him wrong, but I see the messages now. I hadn’t checked the thread and had only been looking at the notifications for new messages. I hadn’t seen the messages that came through.

I’ll be there at nine. Be there.

Or else.

My stomach clenches. He’s made enough veiled and not so subtle threats for me to know what or else means. I look up to find him lounging against the door with his arms crossed and a grin settled on his lips.

“Well. I didn’t see the message.” I try to play it off like it’s no big deal.

And it shouldn’t be.

I told him not to come.

“You would have if you hadn’t tried to ignore me.”

He really needs to understand boundaries.

“Has it occurred to you, Viktor, that I just don’t like you that way? That maybe I’m just not interested?” It’s not just him I’m trying to convince. Maybe if I say it loud enough, my own brain will listen, too.

He chuckles.

“No.” He shakes his head like it’s a silly suggestion.

“No?” He gets more arrogant by the moment.

“When I kissed you yesterday, you were interested. When you see me looking at you, your cheeks blush—you’re interested. And.” He plucks the phone from my hand. “You haven’t blocked me from your phone.”

I try to grab it back from him, but he takes it to the kitchen and puts it down next to my latte.

“I will now,” I grumble, following him to the kitchen.

“No. You won’t.” He puts his hand over the phone so I can’t take it, then picks up my coffee, looking at the label. “This is what you call coffee?”

“What do you want, Viktor?” I take the coffee from him. It’s bad enough he’s let himself in, he pumped up my heat, and now he’s insulting my coffee.

“You’re here. So fine, what do you want?”

“Answers.” He pulls an envelope from his back pocket and puts it on the counter. It’s the tip money I received from Mrs. Randall last night. “Where did you get this?”

“It’s just a tip from a customer,” I answer. I’d ask him where he got it, but since he’s been alone in my apartment, I’m sure he’s been looking at everything. The man has no boundaries at all.

“What customer?” he fires next.

“I did a makeover party for a kid’s birthday last night.” I realize the moment it’s out what I’ve done.

His eyes narrow a fraction. “So, you lied yesterday.”

“You’re not exactly listening to me,” I point out. “I told you not to come this morning, you came anyway. You don’t leave me much choice.”

“I did listen. I heard you just say you weren’t out with friends last night. You were doing some makeup party.” He flips open the envelope and flicks through the bills. “Two hundred dollars. That was the tip?”

“It was.” On top of the three hundred she paid me for the party, I’m on my way to getting the cash I need for Jimmy.

“Who was the party for?” he asks with a tilt to his head. He knows. I don’t know how he can possibly know, but he does.

“Viktor. Stop.” My shoulders sag.

“So, you somehow know Jimmy Agosti and you’re doing makeup parties for his uncle Michael Agosti?” He eyes me seriously; any casualness from before is gone. He sets his jaw.

“Not Michael. Sandra Randall. His sister.” I lean my ass against the counter. “How do you already know? Are you having me watched?” I wouldn’t be surprised if he was, though I’m careful.

An old habit from a lifetime ago: check my surroundings, then check them again. Make sure no one is watching. Make sure no one takes notice.

He lifts his hand from my phone and taps it.

“You have a tracker on my phone?” I accuse and reach for it, but he swipes it away again.

“You can have it back later.” He slips it into his back pocket. “You have more answers to give first.”

I shake my head. “No. I’m not answering anything else.”

How dare he put a tracker on me! Who the actual fuck does he think he is?

“One, I don’t answer to you. And two, fuck you.” The last words fall out before the filter in my mind could stop them.

His eyebrows shoot up, but his lips curl into a grin.

“If I have to ask again, I’m not going to be nice about it. Tell me what the hell is going on.” His hands drop to his sides, and his fingers flex. His mouth may be fixed into a smile, but there’s no lightness in his eyes. He’s all business now.

It was a lifetime ago.

Everything he wants to know is buried in a grave I dug when I walked away. Jimmy’s already started unearthing my demons, and now Viktor is holding a shovel out to me.

“Take a hint, Viktor. I don’t want anything to do with you. I’m not telling you shit.” I shove off the counter, ready to run for the door, but he’s fast.

His iron claw is around my arm, and he pulls me right into his chest. “You don’t decide what you tell me and what you won’t tell me. Not anymore.” He spins me around to face the kitchen table and shoves me over the side.

“Wait! What are you doing?” I fling one arm behind me trying to strike at him while the other is desperately trying to push up off the table.

His rock-hard body drapes over mine until his mouth presses against my ear.

“I’ve been too nice. Too lenient. That stops now, moy sladkiy voin.”

The distinct jingle of a belt buckle being unlatched makes me freeze, only to melt into a full panic at the zip of leather rubbing against denim as his belt is yanked off.