The guy straightened. He nodded just as the doors dinged open. We stepped in, and there was a moment I felt like making conversation to fill the silence, but I didn’t know what to say and worried anything I said would sound stupid.
Did he know what I was there for?
Did he know Mr. Hail paid for my company?
Shaking my head slightly, I pushed all thoughts out because none of it mattered. Nothing mattered except getting my head in the game. I wasn’t sure my mind would ever really be in the game, though, not at the moment anyway, not since it was my first night. My first client.
My heart galloped in my chest when the doors dinged open. The guard stepped out first. I followed and waited behind him, since he stopped just outside the elevator doors.
A sudden urge to pee filled me when I heard heavy footfalls on the polished wooden floors.
Then he was there. I peeked over the guard’s shoulder when the guard dipped his chin, saying, “Mr. Hail.”
“Ostav’ nas,” Mr. Hail barked.
Oh boy, he had a thick accent. A Russian accent that shot a tingle to my balls.
That wasn’t good.
It wasn’t good at all.
The guard didn’t say anything back to whatever Mr. Hail said. Instead, he turned and jolted slightly when he saw I was behind him. He nodded at me and stepped back into the elevator, pressing the button to close the doors.
I’d turned to watch the guard and realized it would have been better to keep an eye on Mr. Hail. If I had, I wouldn’t have been shitting bricks to have to face him. However, I couldn’t stay looking at the doors forever. It started to get to the point of awkwardness.
Sucking in a breath, I slowly moved back to where Mr. Hail still stood. His arms were crossed over his broad chest now. A chest that was covered in something I didn’t expect. He wasn’t in a suit. No, he dressed casually in jeans, boots, and a T-shirt with what looked like some band’s logo splashed over the front of it.
I really felt overdressed and uncomfortable.
“You wore suit.” His accent rolled through me and lit up my nerves. I’d always been a sucker for accents.
I swallowed, looked down at myself, nodded before lifting my gaze back up, and up some more, since he was taller, before nodding again. The whole time I gave myself a pep talk: I had to harden myself against his voice. “Yes,” I said softly.
He grunted. “Come,” he ordered before spinning around and stalking off.
He scared me, aroused me, and intrigued me—all within a matter of moments since I’d seen him.
I took a step his way and then back again.
Shit, shit, shit.
I wanted to run, but I couldn’t. Clenching my fists at my sides, I walked around the corner, which opened into a large, pristine living room. Only, Mr. Hail wasn’t there. Thankfully, I heard clattering coming over from the left side of the room where another doorway stood. I made my way over with my stomach threatening to throw up the minimal food it had in there.
The doorway was a hallway. I started down it until I found another opening, which led me into a chef’s dream kitchen. Mr. Hail was at a counter, placing plates down.
“Dinner,” he clipped. His accent sent a shiver down my spine.
He wanted me to eat dinner with him? Did he realize how late it was?
Stepping in, I walked over and stopped on the other side of the counter. I wiped my sweaty hands on my pants before holding on to the edge of the counter. “Um, do you need help with anything?”
His gaze rose slowly and locked on to mine. I gulped as he studied me. Hoo-boy, the room seemed to heat even more, and all on its own, because he certainly hadn’t moved to turn up the thermostat.
“Yes? No?” Crap, did he understand what I was saying? He spoke a few words in English, but maybe he preferred Russian? Had Saint or one of the other bosses messed up and sent the wrong person for Mr. Hail? “Sorry, I don’t know Russian. You probably prefer to speak that, and I’m unable to, but I promise I can try to understand if you still want to have dinner with me. I’m good at charades. We could act out what we want to say if you can’t understand me.”
Charades? Seriously, why did I fucking say that? I could have nut-punched myself.
He turned to the stove. “Russian is my first language, but I understand English.”
A blush hit my cheeks. Now I felt like a complete moron.
“Right, of course. Sorry for thinking otherwise.” I stared down at the counter and ran my fingers over the cool marble. “So,” I drew out. “Did you want a hand with something? I’m not a good cook, but I can cut, boil, bake treats, and plate up like a pro.” I blanched. My eyes widened, and I looked up to see him watching me. “Not a pro as in prostitute, but a professional. I meant professional.”
His stern gaze softened for a second, not even that, maybe a fraction of a second before he said, “Go. Sit.” He nodded behind me, and I looked over my shoulder to find a table, which was already set.
“Right.” I nodded. God, he probably wanted to eat already so he could get me out of there. I was an idiot to think I could act cool and aloof with clients when deep down, I was still a bumbling idiot. I quickly moved over to the table and sat. I wasn’t foolish enough to sit at the head of the table. Mr. Hail certainly looked like he was in charge, and his position was set in stone. Even with the small amount of time I’d spent in the building, I could see the man wasn’t one to be messed with.
It had me wondering why he needed company from an escort in the first place. Why didn’t he just have one of his friends over for dinner and a chat?
Whatever it was, it wasn’t my place to question his motives. I was there to do a job, and if Mr. Hail wanted to eat dinner with me, we would. Besides, it smelled amazing.
I jolted when a bowl was placed in front of me. I glanced down, and my mouth watered.
“Beef stroganoff,” Mr. Hail stated as he put his own bowl down and sat.
I smiled. I didn’t let it wither when he just stared at me, giving me nothing. Instead, I said, “Thank you. It looks and smells amazing.” I picked up my fork and took a mouthful, moaning as the taste exploded in my mouth. I opened my eyes, which I hadn’t realized I’d closed, to see Mr. Hail had been watching me still. He didn’t pick up his fork until I nodded and mumbled, “It’s great.”
He grunted and started eating. Silence rent the room except for our forks and the slight sound of munching. I really didn’t do well when things got quiet. In fact, I got more nervous. I felt like I needed to speak and make things comfortable, but I was fighting myself, unsure Mr. Hail was looking for someone to start dribbling shit about nothing in general.
So, I would sit there in silence.
I could.
I had to, because he certainly wasn’t saying anything.
Silence was good.
Oh, look over there to the row of floor-to-ceiling windows that I can jump out. I just have to move the transparent curtains. Why do people get see-through curtains? Wait, it looks like there’s a balcony. At least I won’t have to climb out a window.
Yep, silence was so much fun.
Well, what do we have here? There’s a dead plant sitting in a pot at the end of the row of windows. Maybe the silence killed it.
On my last forkful, the silence got to me, and when I placed the fork down in the bowl, I rambled, “My mom cooked beef stroganoff once, but it was nothing like this. She also couldn’t say the words as well as you do.” Heat hit my cheeks, and I quickly went on. “But when Dad complained about the meat being too tough, she never tried again and stuck to her normal meals she was used to cooking. They mainly contained sausage and vegetables. Meatloaf and vegetables. Lamb stews and chicken and rice. There were other plain dishes, but nothing to rave about. It wasn’t until I reached high school and was allowed to attend my first and only sleepover that I discovered pizza.” I groaned. “I never knew love until I had my first taste.”