left.
Glynn had done everything he could to tempt him with dessert wine or cognac but to everyone in the restaurant’s disappointment, all too soon, though respectably late, Demyan and his guest left.
‘Off to cause mayhem,’ Pierre sighed, swiping the wallet containing his tip before Alina could and then watching Demyan’s suited shoulders depart.
Alina was beyond confused.
He hadn’t told her off, he hadn’t even seemed offended or slighted.
As they all huddled together at the end of the night, waiting for Pierre to put them out of their misery and tell them how big his tip had been, Alina’s mind wasn’t on the money—instead it was replaying Demyan’s words. I will deal with you later.
It wasn’t so much what he’d said, more the way that he’d said it, that had brought a flurry of unfamiliar nerves.
‘Did you smell him?’ Pierre asked, handing over their envelopes.
‘No,’ Alina lied, because she wanted to bathe in a scent named Demyan and then went very pink when Pierre gave out the divided-up tips and she realised how generous Demyan’s tip had been.
He wasn’t cross.
It was so warm that Alina hadn’t brought a jacket. She grabbed her bag and though usually she walked quickly to get her bus, tonight she lingered a little, looking at the beautiful Opera House, when usually she dashed past, just enjoying the vibe of a warm Sydney night.
For once she was going to be reckless, Alina decided. Instead of adding the tip to her savings she was going to put the deposit down for a market stall.
For her, that was wild.
She wasn’t petrified of blowing the money, she was just petrified of revealing her work and the appalling vision of no one caring to stop.
She was going to do it, though, she decided. Tonight he had made her feel just a little bit wild.
‘Hey.’ A hand tapped her shoulder and Alina’s first instinct was to walk faster, not because she was scared of a stranger, this was no stranger to her brain for she knew Demyan’s voice, would never forget it, yet instinct told her to run from him. ‘Alina!’ He caught her wrist and turned her around and the scent that had driven Pierre crazy was doing the same to her now. Yes, she wanted to run, for he was more than her senses could deal with.
‘I have to get my bus.’
‘You’re so not getting a bus.’
‘I’m sorry about yesterday.’
‘First-day nerves.’ Demyan shrugged. ‘I’m very used to them. I will see you on Monday.’
‘No.’ It wasn’t selling the penthouse that terrified her—it was him, it was the way that he made her feel.
‘I’ll drive you home.’
‘The answer will still be no.’
‘I won’t ask again,’ Demyan said. ‘I loathe nagging.’
‘Begging,’ Alina corrected.
‘I don’t beg,’ Demyan said.
Nag still wasn’t the right word. Didn’t nagging mean constantly pushing for something the other didn’t want?
No, he wasn’t nagging, she was simply too scared to say yes.
‘Maybe we could go to my hotel and discuss it.’
‘No!’
Oh, my God, Alina thought, he said it so easily. She tried to tear her mind from sex to the conversation in hand but they matched perfectly anyway. ‘Demyan, I can’t work for you. I don’t have any experience.’
‘I think you will do very well.’ Demyan said. He was speaking the truth as he looked into brown, caring eyes. Those eyes were the reason that he had not fired her and why he had not called the agency today. It was not a nameless transaction. Selling up was difficult and Demyan had soon realised that Alina would take the care that the memories of his home deserved. ‘Anything you’re not sure of you will speak with Marianna. If she’s a bitch to you, tell her I said not to be.’
‘Why didn’t you tell the agency I’d walked out?’ Alina couldn’t help but ask him.
‘No need to. I was always going to ring you tomorrow. I thought I’d give you today to calm down. It didn’t work, though, did it?’ Alina stared into his
Glynn had done everything he could to tempt him with dessert wine or cognac but to everyone in the restaurant’s disappointment, all too soon, though respectably late, Demyan and his guest left.
‘Off to cause mayhem,’ Pierre sighed, swiping the wallet containing his tip before Alina could and then watching Demyan’s suited shoulders depart.
Alina was beyond confused.
He hadn’t told her off, he hadn’t even seemed offended or slighted.
As they all huddled together at the end of the night, waiting for Pierre to put them out of their misery and tell them how big his tip had been, Alina’s mind wasn’t on the money—instead it was replaying Demyan’s words. I will deal with you later.
It wasn’t so much what he’d said, more the way that he’d said it, that had brought a flurry of unfamiliar nerves.
‘Did you smell him?’ Pierre asked, handing over their envelopes.
‘No,’ Alina lied, because she wanted to bathe in a scent named Demyan and then went very pink when Pierre gave out the divided-up tips and she realised how generous Demyan’s tip had been.
He wasn’t cross.
It was so warm that Alina hadn’t brought a jacket. She grabbed her bag and though usually she walked quickly to get her bus, tonight she lingered a little, looking at the beautiful Opera House, when usually she dashed past, just enjoying the vibe of a warm Sydney night.
For once she was going to be reckless, Alina decided. Instead of adding the tip to her savings she was going to put the deposit down for a market stall.
For her, that was wild.
She wasn’t petrified of blowing the money, she was just petrified of revealing her work and the appalling vision of no one caring to stop.
She was going to do it, though, she decided. Tonight he had made her feel just a little bit wild.
‘Hey.’ A hand tapped her shoulder and Alina’s first instinct was to walk faster, not because she was scared of a stranger, this was no stranger to her brain for she knew Demyan’s voice, would never forget it, yet instinct told her to run from him. ‘Alina!’ He caught her wrist and turned her around and the scent that had driven Pierre crazy was doing the same to her now. Yes, she wanted to run, for he was more than her senses could deal with.
‘I have to get my bus.’
‘You’re so not getting a bus.’
‘I’m sorry about yesterday.’
‘First-day nerves.’ Demyan shrugged. ‘I’m very used to them. I will see you on Monday.’
‘No.’ It wasn’t selling the penthouse that terrified her—it was him, it was the way that he made her feel.
‘I’ll drive you home.’
‘The answer will still be no.’
‘I won’t ask again,’ Demyan said. ‘I loathe nagging.’
‘Begging,’ Alina corrected.
‘I don’t beg,’ Demyan said.
Nag still wasn’t the right word. Didn’t nagging mean constantly pushing for something the other didn’t want?
No, he wasn’t nagging, she was simply too scared to say yes.
‘Maybe we could go to my hotel and discuss it.’
‘No!’
Oh, my God, Alina thought, he said it so easily. She tried to tear her mind from sex to the conversation in hand but they matched perfectly anyway. ‘Demyan, I can’t work for you. I don’t have any experience.’
‘I think you will do very well.’ Demyan said. He was speaking the truth as he looked into brown, caring eyes. Those eyes were the reason that he had not fired her and why he had not called the agency today. It was not a nameless transaction. Selling up was difficult and Demyan had soon realised that Alina would take the care that the memories of his home deserved. ‘Anything you’re not sure of you will speak with Marianna. If she’s a bitch to you, tell her I said not to be.’
‘Why didn’t you tell the agency I’d walked out?’ Alina couldn’t help but ask him.
‘No need to. I was always going to ring you tomorrow. I thought I’d give you today to calm down. It didn’t work, though, did it?’ Alina stared into his
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