Page 79 of Filthy Promises

Or is it desire?

“Of course, Mr. Akopov.” I smile sweetly. “Whatever you say.”

Katerina returns before he can respond, sliding gracefully back into her seat. “Sorry about that. Family business.” She glancesbetween us, sensing the charged atmosphere. “Did I miss anything interesting?”

“Not at all,” Vince says smoothly, though his eyes remain fixed on me. “We were just discussing tomorrow’s schedule.”

“How fascinating,” Katerina drawls, clearly not buying it. “Well, I hate to cut this short, but I’m afraid I need to leave early. My uncle requires my presence at a family matter.”

I can tell from Vince’s expression that he doesn’t believe her excuse any more than he believes my innocent act.

“Of course,” he says, signaling for the check. “I understand completely.”

“I’m sure you do.” Katerina stands, gathering her purse. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Rowan. I hope we’ll see each other again sometime.”

“Likewise,” I respond automatically.

Vince rises to escort her out. Before they leave, Katerina leans in close to him, saying something I can’t hear.

Whatever it is makes his jaw tighten.

As they walk away, I sit alone at the table, a storm of emotions raging inside me. Satisfaction that my plan worked—the date is clearly over, cut short by whatever Katerina sensed between Vince and me.

Anxiety about what will happen when Vince returns.

And shame, creeping in around the edges, that I stooped to such petty tactics.

I’m better than this.

Or at least, I thought I was.

Vince returns a few minutes later, his expression unreadable. “Car’s outside,” he says curtly. “Let’s go.”

I follow him silently, feeling smaller with each step. The vengeful satisfaction I felt earlier has curdled into shame. I’m not this person—this manipulative, jealous woman playing games with nude Polaroids.

Except apparently, I am.

In the car, Vince sits across from me. Neither of us speaks as we pull away from the curb, the tension between us thick enough to choke on.

Finally, unable to bear the silence any longer, I speak. “I’m sorry.”

“For what, exactly?” His voice is cold. “For slipping a nude photo into my pocket? For deliberately sabotaging my dinner? Or simply for getting caught doing it?”

“All of it.” I stare down at my hands. “I don’t know what I was thinking. It was childish. Petty.”

“Yes.” He studies me for a long moment. “It was also effective.”

I look up, surprised. “What?”

“Katerina told me she’s withdrawing from consideration as my potential bride.” A small, rueful smile plays at his lips. “She said, and I quote, ‘I won’t compete with the woman you actually want.’”

My cheeks burn hot. “I didn’t mean to?—”

“Yes, you did.” He pulls out the envelope, turning it over in his hands. “The question is, what do we do now?”

I have no answer for him. No clever retort. No strategy.

“I… I don’t know.”

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