7
NIKOLAJ'S POV
I hadn't been on the road long when Tray, my Beta, called. I forced the lingering thoughts of the mystery woman to the back of my mind and cleared my throat before answering.
"Nikolaj. Where are you?" he asked the second I picked up.
"What, you can't even give me a few hours of peace after landing in LA?" I shot back. I could practically hear his grin through the phone.
"You know how it is—the chaos waits for you to touch down. It was quiet while you were in Cheska, but the moment you're back, things get 'urgent.' I'd apologize, but we both know I'm not sorry."
Tray and I had been best friends since middle school. We were notorious troublemakers back then, and though he showed me the necessary respect now that he was my Beta, it didn't dampen our friendship. He still lived to annoy me with work.
"Alright, what's so 'important'?"
"Mrs. Morona is officially deciding if she wants to sign the contract. She sent her granddaughter to vet you. Apparently, whatever the girl tells her grandmother will be the final word on the deal," he explained. I let out a long, weary sigh.
"Mrs. Morona... she's one partner I can't afford to lose. When did the granddaughter arrive?"
"Yesterday. I meant to tell you sooner so you could meet today, but you were off the grid. By the way, how was the trip?"
"Exhausting. I didn't sleep a wink on the flight, and I ended up doing something... complicated last night," I said, the image of the stranger flickering in my mind again.
"Complicated?"
"I'll fill you in later. Where is Miss Morona? Is she waiting?"
"Correction: she insists on 'Miss Sara.' She's picky about the name," Tray noted. I rolled my eyes.
"Like grandmother, like granddaughter. They both obsess over the small stuff," I muttered.
"Don't let her hear you say that. She's waiting for you at a restaurant near the office. Let me remember the name... it's, uh..."
"Taste? The Kitchen?"
"No."
"Perfection?"
"That's the one. Perfection."
"Great. And let me guess—she expects me to pick up the tab?"
"As if that's a problem for your bank account. Anyway, Alpha, she's already there."
"Already? Doesn't she know what LA traffic is like?"
"She called me just before I called you. She's already seated."
"Why are women like this?" I asked.
"No clue. They've all got their reasons for being difficult," he replied. "I'd love to chat more, but the 'secretary' you forced me to become has a mountain of your paperwork to finish. See ya."
My "soon" turned into a two-hour delay thanks to a total gridlock. By the time I reached a shop near the restaurant, I was sweating through my shirt. I bought a fresh one, changed in the restroom, and finally walked into Perfection to meet Sara.
She stood up with a polished, bright smile the moment she saw me. She was of average height with long, silky dark hair pinned back on one side with an expensive-looking clip. She was dressed in a bold red blazer with gold buttons and matching red heels, carrying a small black clutch.
She was undeniably beautiful, but she didn't have that magnetic pull that had derailed my senses the night before.
"Good afternoon, Miss Sara," I said, extending a hand.
"It's a pleasure to finally meet the man behind the reputation, Mr. Dashton," she said, her hand slipping into mine.
Small, soft, well-manicured... but it didn't feel like the skin I'd touched last night. I gave my head a small shake. Was I really going to compare every woman I met to a one-night stand?
"The pleasure is mine," I said, gesturing for her to sit. "I apologize for the delay. The traffic was worse than usual."
"Oh, don't worry about it. I know how LA is. I actually enjoyed the wait—I just caught up on some comics and watched the world go by. It was quite relaxing."
"Then I suppose I should thank the comics for keeping you patient," I said. She laughed—a melodic, practiced sound that felt a bit too choreographed. Still, I offered a polite smile.
"What about you, Nikolaj? What would you do if the roles were reversed?"
"I'm a busy man," I said bluntly. "I likely would have canceled the meeting and moved on to something else."
She gave me a coy, flirtatious smile. "The man who doesn't wait. We're opposites, aren't we? But they do say opposites attract." She lowered her voice suggestively.
I bit back the urge to roll my eyes. It was painfully obvious she had maneuvered this meeting just to get close to me. I have zero patience for women who treat business like a dating show. I was almost ready to scrap the Morona contract just to avoid being polite to her.
"Is that what you think? That opposites attract?" she asked, tapping her fingers on the table.
"In my experience, I prefer people who think the same way I do."
"Oh, come on. We might have more in common than you think. Tell me... what's your type? Maybe I fit the bill."
"I thought we were here to discuss a contract," I replied coldly.
"We are, but I waited two hours for you. I think you owe me thirty minutes of light conversation before we dive into the boring stuff."
"And you consider my 'ideal type' to be light conversation?"
"Every woman wants to know what a man like you is looking for."
"Fine. I like simple women. I detest the pushy, clingy ones—the ones who try to force a connection. As you can see, Miss Sara, I appreciate luxury and quality. I like 'expensive' women, not cheap ones."
I looked her dead in the eye. Her smile faltered, and her eyes twitched with a flash of realization. She licked her lips nervously.
"That's an intense look. You almost sound like you're describing me."
"I'm saying I'm not interested, and I never will be. Now, do you want to talk business, or should I leave you to your comics? I don't like wasting time on things that make me uncomfortable."
She scoffed, the hurt visible on her face. "That's incredibly cold. Most men would at least pretend to be interested to secure a deal this big. Don't you care about the money?"
"I don't bow to anyone for money. I have plenty of it. If you expected me to play along for a signature, you've miscalculated."
"Then maybe we shouldn't bother with the contract at all," she snapped, her eyes brimming with frustrated tears.
"Have a nice day, Ma'am," I said, standing up and walking out without a second glance.
The sun was starting to set as I got back to my car. The day had vanished. I checked my phone and saw a call from Tray.
"What did you do to Sara?" he asked, laughing.
"She called you already?"
"Yeah. She told me to rip up the Morona proposal."
"Good. I sign contracts with my pen, not my heart," I said. It took Tray a second, then he roared with laughter.
"She hit on you, didn't she?"
"It was pathetic."
"Don't blame her; blame your face. Where are you? Still at the office?"
"Near there. Want to grab a drink?"
"Sure. Meet me at the coffee shop down the block."
I met Tray and ordered some food; I was starving. Tray was my polar opposite—a massive flirt who lived for the thrill of the chase. He was the type who could have a one-night stand and sleep like a baby afterward.
"You really should have played along with Sara," he teased. "This is why your dating life is a disaster. You got straight A's in school, but in dating, you're failing."
"When I decide to date, I'll do fine," I said, checking my watch. "Hell, I'm late. My nephew is waiting."
"Oh right, you're staying at his place until the new wing of the estate is finished."
"Yeah. He's cooking, and you know me—I won't eat a cold meal. I've got to run."
"Heartbreaker," Tray joked as I rushed out.
I drove to my nephew's house, picking up a few gifts on the way. But as I walked up to the porch, I heard a woman's voice—loud, sharp, and furious. She was laying into him, and he was barely getting a word in. It had to be the fiancée he was always talking about.
What could have happened to make a woman that angry?
Then, I heard her say it was over. I decided to step in and play peacemaker. I punched in the door code and walked in.
"Jaime?" I called out.
The woman spun around to face me, and the world stopped.
The soft skin. The beautiful face. The voice.
Jaime's fiancée was the woman I'd slept with last night.