“It’s just me,” I said, surprised my voice sounded so casual when my heart was pounding.
Without a word, he turned, heading into a living area. I followed.
Accent lighting illuminated the tasteful modern décor. Floor-to-ceiling panoramic windows offered what had to be the best view in the city. All the balcony doors were open, the sound of the waves reaching us even this high up. This place was huge, the size reminding me of my former mansion. Oh, to be rolling again . . .
He faced me. “I confirmed a woman named Ivanna. Your agency suggested her when I sent in my preferences.” His voice was deep and rumbly, his accent tingeing the words.
I was a sucker for men with accents. Edward’s slow Atlanta drawl used to light me up. Until I’d found out he was from England. “Ivanna was supposed to come tonight, but she had to call in sick.”
“I requested a tall, slender blonde, at least in her late twenties. Ideally from Europe. Perhaps her substitute could have matched any of my requests.”
Instead he’d gotten me—twenty-two, five feet two inches tall, curvy, brunette. Oh, and one generation away from Cuba. Giving him a fake smile, I teasingly said, “Isn’t variety the spice of life, querido?” Sweetheart.
He wasn’t budging. “You’re not what I ordered.”
I, above all people, knew that you shouldn’t have to pay for something you never asked for. I had a flash memory of Edward edging toward his gun, moments after declaring his love for me.
“Are you even of legal age?” the Russian grated.
“And then some.”
He looked unmoved.
I’d read and reread Getting to Yes, and I thought I could finagle one night out of this guy. But then, was I really ready to take this step? “I can’t change your mind?”
When his expression grew even colder, I was glad he was about to kick me out. I would make a better outlaw than I would an escort. Outlaw? Give it time, Cat.
In a stern tone, he said, “I never reverse myself on decisions.”
I shrugged. “Okay, your loss.” How confident I sounded! Like a working-girl pro. Relieved, I turned toward the door, sauntering away—
I thought I heard him hiss in a breath.
Mierda. Knowing my luck, I’d split the seam in my dress.
CHAPTER 2
“Perhaps I was . . . hasty,” he said. “Stay for a drink.”
Had my ass worked for me? Was I happy about this?
When I turned and traipsed back, he headed to the bar area. This was actually happening. I was going to have sex for money.
Over his shoulder, he said, “I’m Maksimilian Sevastyan.”
I turned it over on my tongue, finding his name a mouthful. In my mind, I styled him Máxim.
“Encantada. Nice to meet you. I’m Cat Marín.” I glanced around for my donation. Nothing. Which made me uneasy, but I gamely bellied up to the bar.
“Is that your working name?”
My alias. “That’s what they call me.” And that was what my fake ID said, whenever I was forced to use it.
I’d chosen my grandmother’s name of Catarina, and her mother’s name of Marín, and then I’d assumed the identity completely. Though I missed being Lucía, that life was like a distant dream.
“What do you drink?”
Good question. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had alcohol. Maybe beer after a 5K race? “Um, whatever you’re having.”