Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 52355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
“Reservation for Pavlova,” I tell the hostess.
“Right this way.”
She leads me to a table for two in the back, where Colby stands up from his seat. He’s wearing jeans and a gray Coyotes polo, which doesn’t really compliment my charcoal-gray business suit, but at least he’s here.
“Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t realize this place was so formal,” he says as I take my seat, and he sits back down in his.
“You look fine. How are you?”
“May I offer you a glass of wine?” our server asks, holding out a bottle of merlot.
“You read my mind,” I say. “We’ll take the bottle.”
“I’ll have a Sapporo,” Colby says.
I give him a puzzled look. “You don’t want wine? That’s a great red; I’ve had it.”
“I hate wine.”
Shit. These are the kinds of rookie mistakes we can’t afford to make. I smile tightly at the server.
“Yeah, you can still leave the bottle.”
I’ll be falling down drunk if I drink the entire thing myself, but damned if I don’t want to. I don’t even know Colby, and I’m marrying him in forty-eight hours. What if we don’t get along?
“So I bought a dress,” I say. “And Quentin made us a private appointment with a local jeweler for after we’re done here.”
“Okay. What else do you need from me?”
“We have to go get our marriage license together tomorrow.”
He nods, furrowing his brow in thought. “That’s game day. I can only go late morning.”
“That’ll work. Do you need me to talk to Ron?”
That’ll be an awkward conversation with my head coach. Hey Ron, Colby will need some extra time away from the arena tomorrow because we’re getting married. Surprise!
He shakes his head and looks away, exhaling hard. “No, and while we’re on the subject, don’t ever try to call in favors for me with him or anyone else.”
I study his sulky expression, wondering why he’s so surly tonight.
“Are you hangry?”
His brows drop even lower. “No, I’m not hangry. We need to get something straight—I’m not your pet.”
“My pet?” I’m taken aback by his defensiveness. “Is this about me ordering the wine?”
“Yeah, and offering to talk to…” He can’t seem to use his coach’s first name. “My coach. I know it’s not in your nature to let a man take any sort of lead, but you’re going to need to work on that.”
I’m able to keep myself from bursting out laughing, but I can’t keep from smiling a little bit.
“You want people to think you wear the pants?”
“I do wear the fucking pants, but I respect that you’re also a pants-wearer. Don’t try to railroad me.”
I run the tip of my tongue over my inner cheek, taking in his words. Railroading people is what I do. It’s who I am. It’s how I’ve managed to build a successful business empire.
I need this marriage to happen, though. Peter texted me while I was in New York today about a court date for my deportation hearing in four business days. If I’m not legally married by then, I’ll be taken from the hearing to the airport where I’ll be escorted onto a plane bound for Moscow. No return ticket. I refuse to let that happen.
“Okay,” I say, trying to sound conciliatory.
“Did you make the call we discussed?”
“Yes.” I look over both shoulders, making sure no one is within earshot. “Your brother will get a call by the end of today.”
“He’s coming to the wedding.”
“Great.”
I stick to light small talk until we’ve ordered dinner and gotten our food. Once Colby is through his first sushi roll, I broach the next difficult conversation.
“I think we need to discuss your house.”
His blue eyes lock onto mine. “What about it?”
Look soft, Mila. Feminine. Sweet. Try for big, innocent eyes.
“I think we should sell it,” I say.
He furrows his brow and looks over his shoulder. “What? Your eyes are like saucers, did you see something?”
So much for demureness. I just don’t have it in me.
“No, I just…what do you think about selling your house?”
He pops another piece of sushi into his mouth, shaking his head. “No fucking way. I love that house. You can move in with me if you want.”
Somehow, I don’t think I’ll like his house as much as my downtown penthouse, but that’s a conversation we can delay.
“You could always lease it,” I say. “How’s the sushi?”
“It’s great, how’s yours?”
“Really good. I don’t usually order this much, but I was starving. Quentin wouldn’t let me eat before I tried on dresses and then there was nothing but mixed nuts on the flight back.”
“Which you can’t eat because you’re allergic to hazelnuts,” he says.
I smile, impressed. “You’ve been studying.”
“Have you?”
“Yes, but I think it’s easier to get to know each other by talking, don’t you?”
He nods, setting down his chopsticks. “Did you have any pets as a kid?”
“I had a white cat named Ivan. How about you?”