Page 27 of The Perils of Paulie
“You want water? Here, you have water.”
“He has his own water glass, Dad,” Paulie said without looking away from the menu. Her father pursed his lips and reclaimed the glass he was trying to press on me. Behind him, his two men stood, hands crossed, their eyes on me. It reminded me of a scene out ofThe Godfather.
There was a discussion of what meals appealed to everyone, and both Angela and I settled on steaks while Paulie opted for a seafood pasta dish, and her father had tripe.
Yes, tripe. Actual tripe.
“So, you driver in race. You have job in real life, yes?” Peter Rostakova asked once our orders were given and a wine had been settled on.
“Yes, I do. I manage my brother’s estate. He’s a baron,” I said as casually as I could. Normally I dislike mentioning Elliott’s title in that manner, but Rostakova had irritated me to the point where I threw manners out the window.
“Oooh, a real baron? Did you hear that, Paulie?”
“No, of course I didn’t. I’m only sitting a foot away from him with perfectly normal hearing.”
“You like fine things in life?” Rostakova asked, pulling out a silver card case. “You like this, yes? Is pretty?”
He offered me the case, but before I could take it, Paulie snatched it out of his hand and rubbed her hands all over it.
“You ought to be ashamed of yourself! No fingerprints!Not this time! I refuse to let you drive away another man with your paranoid imaginings. Not, as I have said about a hundred times now, that we are dating. Dixon is here because his brother is a horn dawg and he’s by himself. Got that?”
“Is my job to see you are protected,” her father said with a hurt look at her. “You are only daughter. You are heiress!”
“Oh, for the love of god!Dad!”
“I have to powder my nose, dear. Why don’t you come with me,” Angela said, getting to her feet.
Paulie looked like she wanted to continue ranting at her father, but she followed her stepmother readily enough. The second they were gone, Rostakova moved over to Paulie’s seat, his goons sliding in on the other side.
“You like my daughter, eh? Paulie is pretty girl, yes? You want to get close to her, to do things to her that a husband does?”
“Do you know, I don’t believe that’s any of your business?” I said calmly, which was a miracle, considering I was seething inside. How dared this man confront me as if I was the worst sort of pervert? Especially after Paulie had told him multiple times that we weren’t dating.
“I see you look at her breasts. I see you look at her legs. I know that look.” Rostakova leaned in close. “Is look that says man wants to take her to bed. She is good girl. She will not go to bed with you.”
“I’m sure she is old enough to make up her own mind who she desires to pursue an intimate relationship with,” I agreed, hanging on to the cool demeanor I’d seen Elliott use.
“She is young mentally,” he replied, tapping his head. “She is innocent, pure of knowledge of bad things.”
I had a feeling that Paulie wasn’t quite as innocent as her father thought, but kept that to myself.
“Dad,” Paulie said, reappearing with her stepmother. Her tone was sharp. “You’re in my chair.”
“Is good. English and me, we have talk. We understand.” Rostakova gave me a look that warned I’d better agree.
And it was that look that did it. I’m not proud of it, but at that moment I decided that, as long as Rostakova lit a fire under me, I might as well throw on a bit more fuel.
“Oh? About what?” Paulie asked. I had stood when the ladies returned to the table and pushed Paulie’s chair in after she reclaimed it.
The view of her cleavage from above was memorable, but it was for Rostakova’s benefit that I bent over her and kissed her on the cheek very near her ear, with my other hand on her almost bare shoulder. “Why, you, of course,” I said, enjoying both her quick intake of breath and her father’s red face and sputtered protestations. Luckily, they were in Russian, but the fury in his eyes gave me a great deal of satisfaction nonetheless.
“What the hell?” Paulie asked when I took my seat.
I was taken aback by the anger in her voice and eyes—so taken aback that I didn’t answer immediately.
“Do you think I talk just to hear myself?” she asked, and snapped her napkin open with violence. “I told my father we aren’t dating, and then you go and peer down my dress and kiss me? Is that the sort of shit you pull in England? Because if it is, I’m here to tell you that it’s not going to be tolerated here.”
“I’m—I’m sorry,” I stammered, ashamed of my behavior. “I hadn’t thought—”
