Page 13 of Gloves Off

“My immigration lawyer says it could be up to a year.”

A year. Okay. “My inheritance will be distributed after three months of marriage.” Mid-December, if we did this quickly. Just in time for the funding cut off at the hospital.

We’re silent, darting glances at each other. I can’t believe I’m actually considering this.

I keep thinking about the girls at soccer, though. It’s important. It helps them. It matters.

Am I really going to fuck that all up because I can’t put up with Volkov for a year? I would never fall for him. He’s always traveling for the team, anyway. He’d be like a terrible roommate who I’d never see.

Maybe I can do this. For the girls, I think I can do this.

Holy hell. I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.

“Fine.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Fine, what?”

“Fine, I’ll—” Through the glass walls of my office, Ward walks by, and I give him a weak smile and nod hello. He waves back, glancing between me and Volkov with curiosity. “I accept. I’m in.”

Volkov watches me, and I fight the urge to shift under his gaze. It’s that old feeling from medical school, from childhood, from my residency years, when a man is trying to intimidate me. He does it so effortlessly, without even knowing he’s doing it, because society has told him he holds all the power.

I cross my legs, kicking a foot out, and his gaze drops. I’m wearing the tall, spiky heels today. His jaw tenses like it always does when I wear this pair.

“Meet me at the Italian place across the street tonight and we’ll figure out the details.” He clears his throat.

What? I don’t want to get dinner with him. Ew. “Let’s go to the bar.”

“We need to be seen. Photographed.”

Right. Volkov attracts attention wherever he goes. All these hockey players do. In Vancouver, hockey is a religion, and these men are gods.

“Eight,” he says.

“Nine.” I like working late because there are less interruptions.

He nods once. “Don’t be late.” As he’s about to leave, he pauses. “Why do you need the money?”

I can’t tell him the truth. Even if he doesn’t care, I don’t want him to know. It’s personal, and it’s mine, and I can’t trust a guy like Volkov with something so special. Besides, his hate fuels me. Every time Volkov shows his true colors and acts like an asshole, I get a little ping of theI was rightfeeling.

I shoot him a pleased, smug smile, straightening my leg and letting my heel dangle. “For my shoe collection, of course.”

A beat passes. He doesn’t actually believe I’d get married forshoes,does he?

He shakes his head with a disgusted expression. “Incredible, Doctor. I underestimated how superficial you are.”

His words pinch, but before I can respond, he’s gone.

“Dickhead,” I mutter, flipping him the bird behind his back as he walks away.

There’s no way I’d ever fall for that asshole.

CHAPTER 7

ALEXEI

“Don’t fallin love with me,” the doctor says by way of greeting when she arrives at the restaurant that night. “Write it on a sticky note and put it on your dentures case, Volkov, because I will never, ever love you back.”

Thank fuck I reserved a table in a more private area of the restaurant, where we can be seen but not overheard. People glance over at the woman across from me, because a woman who looks like Georgia Greene draws attention, but no one is within ear shot.

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