Sold to the Hitman: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance Novel(96)
After all, I have a hot date to prepare for.
Totally neglecting my freshly-made coffee, I all but skip to my bathroom to take a shower. As I shampoo my hair, I imagine the inevitable conversation I will have to have with Natalie and the crew about why I’m not at work today. I can already tell she’s going to give me hell for it. And I can’t really blame her. I was all prepared to bite her head off if she dared ask me for the day off! But, I reason with myself, if she really is dating Ashton, then at least being at work will also allow her to hang out with her girlfriend.
So, really, I have nothing to feel bad about!
I blow-dry and curl my hair to create subtle waves, and then I stand looking at my naked body in the mirror, the fog slowly clearing away from the mirror’s surface. I turn and look at myself from every angle, wondering what exactly Ivan sees in me. Sure, I’m decent-looking enough, I suppose. But I’m boring. Or, at least I must be in comparison to the kind of lifestyle Ivan leads. With his sharp good looks, money, and dangerous charm, I’m sure he can get any woman he wants.
Why me?
I put on some soft pink lipstick and smoky eye makeup before standing in front of my closet staring pensively at the clothes hanging there. I’m realizing that I have no clue what kind of date Ivan is taking me on.
“What the hell should I wear?” I wonder aloud. Finally, I decide on a knee-length, flouncy lavender dress, thick leggings, a khaki pea coat, and a purple woolen scarf. I check the time and realize it’s now almost noon! So I tug on a pair of brown boots, grab my purse, and head downstairs to the lobby to wait for my rugged, Russian mobster date.
I stand near the entrance, looking out the window at the snowy scene outside. There isn’t a whole lot of snow on the ground yet, but the people walking by are bundled up in light sweaters and scarves. I can see puffs of air when they breathe. Finally, a chilly New York winter day, after months of dreary rain! My phone vibrates in my hand and I look down at the text.
“Come outside.”
I walk through the doors to stand on the sidewalk looking around for Ivan.
My phone buzzes again. “Look left.”
I glance to my left to see a big white taxi cab pulling up to the pavement. I start walking over to it when the back passenger door opens and Ivan steps out, dressed the most casually I’ve ever seen him. He’s wearing dark, neatly-pressed jeans, a grey sweater, a perfectly-tailored black jacket, a steel-blue scarf, and black oxfords. He looks absolutely delicious. Ivan reaches out a hand to me and I take it, meeting his dark-blue gaze a little nervously.
“You look radiant,” he says, his voice deep and gravelly. I give him a smile.
“Thank you.”
Something from my childhood, my mother warning me not to get into strange cars with bad boys, flutters in the back of my mind. I brush it aside and let Ivan help me into the taxi. I’ve already done a thousand things my parents told me not to do — might as well add another one.
“So, where are we going?” I ask brightly.
Ivan reaches over and places a hand on my thigh. “A beautiful place.”
“That’s not very helpful,” I reply teasingly.
“Just wait and see.”
We ride along for about an hour, and I’m wondering how expensive this taxi ride is going to end up. With my financial struggles, I try to avoid cabs unless absolutely necessary, resigning myself to the buses and subways. But glancing at the fancy clothes Ivan is wearing, I am reminded that he can absolutely afford it.
We drive up through Brooklyn and Manhattan, occasionally getting stuck in traffic for a few minutes here and there. It’s a mostly silent drive, except for the small talk Ivan makes with me, asking about the club, about the burgeoning romance between Ashton and Natalie.
“I love that you’ve noticed that, too,” I laugh.
“It’s incredibly obvious. They aren’t exactly trying to hide it, are they? If so, they aren’t doing a very good job of it,” Ivan replies, a smile warming his face. It’s remarkable how drastically a simple smile can change his countenance. When his lips are in that hard, resolved line, he certainly looks the part of a hit man. But as soon as he smiles, he looks like Prince Charming. It’s a bizarre and intoxicating dichotomy, and I can’t help but want more.
“I hope they aren’t mad at me for not coming in today,” I admit, the guilt weighing on me. After all, I am the owner. If I can’t show up to work, how can I expect anyone else to?
“I spoke to Natalie about it last week,” Ivan says breezily.
“You what?” I retort. Ivan gives me a raised eyebrow.
“I knew it would burden you, but you need this day off. So I told Natalie you would be out today. She took it very well. In fact, I think she enjoys getting to be the boss when you’re not around. Might want to watch out for that one,” he jokes with a wink.