Page 141 of Bratva's Vow
Nik:
Not today. In fact, we may have to cancel today.
My heart dropped.
Me:
Why?
Nik:
You’ll see.
Why did that sound so ominous? Did he and Jess make other plans? Without me?
“Mr. Holloway,” Professor Dyer’s voice boomed from the front of the classroom, snapping me out of my thoughts. “If your text conversation is more riveting than today’s discussion on income capitalization rates, by all means, enlighten the rest of us.”
Heat surged to my face. “No, sir. Sorry.”
The students around me snickered under their breath while I shoved my phone into my pocket and sat up straighter. My ears burned.
Dyer gave a dismissive wave and turned back to the projector. “As I was saying, when determining a property’s value based on its income, you must be careful with your assumptions. A miscalculated vacancy rate could ruin your entire model. Investors don’t take kindly to imaginary returns.”
My embarrassment lingered for a few minutes, then faded into the background noise of the lecture. At least no one was filming it for TikTok. The last thing I needed was to become a TikTok sensation. Or a meme.
I took down a few more notes, let my eyes glaze over some rent roll samples, and stole another glance out the window.
Almost over.
Finally, just before the hour mark, Dyer clicked off the projector. “All right, listen up.” He stepped around the podium, hands clasped behind his back. “This Friday, we won’t be holding class here. Instead, you’ll be meeting on-site at the Morozov development—the new luxury high-rise being constructed downtown.”
Wait… what?
That woke the class up.
Heads lifted. A few gasps of excitement rippled through the room.
“The site visit will serve as the first component of your capstone project,” Dyer continued. “You’ll get a chance to speak directly with the project team—developers, architects, and the firm’s internal valuation officers. Maybe Mr. Morozov himself if he’s not busy. You’ll take notes, gather data, and over the next few weeks, you’ll build a full-scale investment proposal based on the development.”
Someone muttered a low “holy shit” from the back row.
My heart skipped a beat.
Morozov.
I tried not to react, to keep my face neutral. Why hadn’t Maxim told me? We’d woken up in the same bed this morning. Hell, wehad donethings in that bed before he left for work. Would it have killed him to mention it somewhere between having his tongue in my ass and buttoning up his designer suit?
A heads-up would’ve been nice. It didn’t take much, just a “Hey, babe, your class is touring my multimillion-dollar luxury project on Friday.”
Nope. Just a kiss on the mouth, a slap on the ass, and a “have a good day, kroshka.”
Thanks, babe. Love being casually blindsided by your real estate empire.
Awesome. I would throttle him later.
“You’ll get the full itinerary emailed to you today,” Dyer said. “Dress appropriately. Bring your notepads. And keep your phones in your pockets.” His eyes flicked to me again.
I gave a sheepish nod.
