Page 142 of Dance of Defiance
“We?” Roman scowls.
“Maks,” I murmur. “Her head of security.”
Dasha blushes and looks down. Roman just nods, like he’s running the numbers in his head.
“Three million.”
Dasha snorts. “Please, Roman. Don't make me laugh. Twelve.”
Roman smiles. “Am I buying a fleet of Lamborghinis as part of this exit package? Three and a half.”
“Roman, this is my nuclear option. I’m not telling my father I’mmoving out. I’m running away from my family without telling them. Eleven five.”
Roman cocks his head. “I was under the impression that you and your father got along like oil and water. We both know if you blow this up?—”
“Blow.Veryinteresting choice of words, given the circumstances, Roman,” Dasha says with a smile.
I chuckle.
Roman does not.
“Four.”
Dasha starts to open her mouth, but Roman suddenly holds up a hand.
“Let’s just be done with this.” He looks right at her. “Eight. We both know that’s more than fair. Eight mil, and I’msureyou’ll be able to access more cash before you take off with Maks. That buys you a whole new life, Dasha.”
She smiles wryly. Then she stands. So does Roman. She sticks her hand out, and he takes it.
“Pleasure doing business with you,” she says quietly. Then she slips her hand from his and reaches up to cup his face.
Watch it, bitch.
I grit my teeth as I watch her fucking hug him.
“I—thank you,” she whispers to him. “I’m sorry?—”
“Nothing to be sorry for,” he says gently, smiling. “When will you…”
“Soon.” She swallows. “We’ll have to make some plans?—”
“Text me your account number, and the money will be there by tonight.”
She nods, grinning as she takes his hand again. “For the record?” She lifts a shoulder. “You’re going to make a fantasticpakhan.”
“Good luck, Dasha.”
“You too, Roman.” She turns to shoot me a stern look, but then it fades. “Be good to him,” she says to me with a wink.
Roman walks her to the door, and I grit my teeth and somehow manage not to commit murder when I have to endure another fucking hug of theirs.
Then she’s gone.
Roman draws in a slow breath, his hands planted on the door to my place, his back to me, his shoulders tense and tight. I grin as I walk over, then start to slide my arms around his waist.
“Well, I guess to the victor go the spoils?—”
“FUCK. YOU.”
