The Professional (The Game Maker #1)(46)
Author: Kresley Cole

Dinner last night had been a miserable experience. I hadn’t realized how much I would miss his company. No, he hadn’t spoken to me much over the last two weeks, but at least I’d felt his presence, his palpable strength and protection.

Both Paxán and I had been out of sorts. Though he always politely turned off his cell phone during meals, last night he’d checked every message, every ring. He hadn’t seemed to know what to do with himself, so unused to any conflict with the man he considered his son.

I’d felt a pang, wondering how much more Paxán could be expected to deal with. Aside from danger and unrest, he now had to live with this drama between his daughter and his enforcer?

Not to mention the tension between Filip and me. The guy must’ve heard I’d had a falling-out with Sevastyan, because he’d showed for dinner. Too bad that he’d been uncommunicative and drunk. Which had seemed to perplex Paxán.

After dinner had been just as miserable. All night I’d watched for Sevastyan’s return. He hadn’t come home, had probably spent the night in some other woman’s bed.

At dawn, I’d clutched my balcony rail, anger ripping through me. He’d expected me to make all the right moves, all the time—though I had no reference to guide me. That anger had a way of clarifying my thoughts. I’d screwed up; he’d screwed another, removing himself from any chance of reconciliation.

He’d axed his limb off my decision tree. Which was a kind of decision.

With one decision down, I’d formulated others. Hence my meeting with Paxán this evening.

As I tromped down the stairs, I wondered if I’d see Sevastyan. I figured he’d be back today, if for no other reason than his undying loyalty to his boss.

Speak of the devil—I reached the gallery leading to Paxán’s study just as Sevastyan did. On his way there as well? “You’ve returned?” My voice was scratchy, and I sounded as exhausted as I knew I looked.

“I still work with him,” Sevastyan said in a low tone when we both slowed to a stop, as if by silent agreement. “I won’t be kept away right when he needs me most.”

Finally we were on the same page. “We need to talk.”

Sevastyan canted his head at me, much as he had at that bar the first night I’d met him. His pupils dilated, his eyes lit with more than simple interest.

Realization hit me. “You think I want to talk about . . . you and me? That ship has sailed.”

He narrowed his gaze. “You are angry with me?”

Utterly pissed! But I needed to keep a lid on it, to calmly state my new proposal.

“You have a lot of nerve, Natalie.”

“I’ve got . . . I’VE got nerve?” There went the lid. “Listen up, manwhore, you don’t get to talk to me like that anymore. You revoked that privilege with your behavior yesterday.”

“My behavior? You’ll have to enlighten me.”

“When you heard something out of context, flew off the handle, and headed out to bury your relationship sorrows—balls deep—in another woman.”

He eased closer to me. “You’re jealous.”

I rolled my eyes. “Please. My shallow infatuation with you is done. As they say in the movies: you killed it dead.”

That jaw muscle ticked away as he grated, “Then what did you want to talk to me about?”

In the dim light of dusk, rain pattered the gallery windows, casting shadows over his face. The face that I’d lovingly kissed. Stay on topic, Nat. “I’m worried about Paxán. He’s got enough on his plate without all this.”

“Agreed,” Sevastyan said. “What do you suggest I do?”

“I suggest we go in there and tell him that we’ve worked out our differences and can be civil. We’ll tell him that we’ve ended whatever it was between us, so you can continue to live here. I think if we present a unified front, it will ease his mind.”

Sevastyan parted his lips, but I interrupted him: “This isn’t up for debate.” I turned away and strode toward the study.

He passed me to open the door, saying over his shoulder, “I haven’t been with anyone else.”

I stutter-stepped. My heart did the same. “Should I believe that?” For the second time in as many days, I found myself mentally urging him: Say yes, say yes.

“I don’t care if you do or not.” I’d never seen the Siberian this ice cold.

But I did believe him. Well, hell, then he hadn’t been axed from my decision tree? Maybe that meant it wasn’t over with him?

He added, “I was called away by work concerns.”

In other words, he’d merely taken a rain check on the manwhoring. So over! “You’re such a dick,” I muttered. Yet when we entered the room, I pasted a huge smile on my face for Paxán.

He called to us, “Good evening to both of you. Aleksei, it’s good to see you here. And with Natalie!”

“Can we speak with you for a minute?” I asked, nearly wincing when his eyes twinkled even brighter than usual. He must think we’d come to announce something more than: we’re totes just friends!

“Of course. Sit, sit.”

Sevastyan sank back on one of the settees, resting an ankle over the opposite knee; at the other end, I perched on the edge of the cushion.

Wasting no time, I said, “Paxán, we want you to know that there won’t be any future improprieties between us.”

He raised a disbelieving brow at Sevastyan. In response, the Siberian stretched his arm across the back of the settee toward me, all casual. But I sensed tension thrumming in him.

Heedless, I carried on. “So it shouldn’t be a problem for both of us to be here at Berezka. I know you would feel more comfortable if Sevastyan was on site, helping to keep everything safe—and so would I.”

Before I changed my mind, I plowed onward to announce one of my new decisions. “And there’s more. I’d like to stay on here permanently. When this danger ends, I’ll start looking into transferring schools.”

I noticed Sevastyan stiffen beside me. Because he was surprised? Pissed? What?

Paxán, of course, beamed. “You mean that?” Then he slanted Sevastyan an expression that looked a lot like I told you so.

I nodded firmly. Over the long hours of the previous night, I’d grasped how much my indecision and hesitancy were limiting my life. I’d done a postmortem on my past and concluded that I needed to be bolder in my future. Yes, I’d acclimated to the new things Sevastyan and I had done with a certain cheek, but rolling with the punches was not the same as swinging first.