Page 72 of Tarnished Tyrant (Zhukova Bratva 1)

“Then ask a question.”

My heart leaps. I'd be wise to keep my mouth shut and not ask a single thing. Ignorance is bliss, right? But Nikolai Zhukova is too enticing. I want to know all there is to know about him.

“Okay. Who is the man who was in your office today?”

“An annoyance,” Nikolai grimaces.

“Does the annoyance have a name?”

"His name is Giorgos Simatou. He is a Greek businessman."

“What was he doing there?”

“Business.”

“What kind of business?” I grit out, already tired of this back and forth.

He smirks. “Are there different kinds? We are pooling our resources to make more money. That’s business, in a nutshell.”

“What kind of resources?”

“You’ve seen my hotel and my offices,” Nikolai says. “When it comes to resources, I have all of them.”

I groan. “Are you going to tell me a single useful thing?”

“Not if I can help it."

I throw my hands up in disgust and flop back in my seat just as a waitress approaches. She gives me a wary look like she thinks I don’t belong here—duh; that makes two of us, babe—but quickly slides a pleasant smile into place.

“What can I start you off with, Mr. Zhukova?” she asks.

Nikolai doesn't hesitate. “We’ll start with thekhinkali. Make it two orders. For the entree, I’ll have theboeuf à la stroganoffand she will have thekulebyaka. Do you like caviar, Belle?” he asks as he folds his menu and hands it to the waitress. He doesn’t wait for my response as he adds, “We’ll do the vodka and caviar tasting, as well.”

Without so much as another glance in my direction, the waitress nods and goes to submit our order.

“I could have ordered for myself,” I say when she’s gone.

“Could you?” he asks. “The menu is in Russian.”

I roll my eyes. “What iskulebyaka, anyway?”

“Salmon wrapped in pastry.”

“I don’t even like fish,” I snap.

“That’s because you’ve never had good fish. You’re from the center of the country. Jell-O molds and potatoes with lots of ketchup is more your speed.”

“You’re a know-it-all, you know that?”

“Is that an official question?” he smirks. “Either way, the answer is ‘yes.’ But only because I do know everything.”

I shake my head. “You don’t know everything. I bet you thought I would show up to work for you and roll over the way everyone else did.”

“That might be true. But I much prefer the way you chose to roll over.”

Even though I should throw my water in his face and storm out, my stomach actually flips at the memory of what we’ve done. What I’ve let him do to me.

What I'd let him do to me again, if I'm being brutally honest.

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