‘Mne pohuj,’ Alina said, and she was rewarded by a brief burst of deep laughter as she told him, in Russian, what she should have said to those bitchy girls—that she didn’t care a jot, only rather more rudely. Yes, she’d picked up a few Russian swear words, being around Demyan.
‘More emphasis on the po,’ Demyan said.
‘Your language is terrible.’ Alina smiled.
‘My language is excellent,’ Demyan said. ‘In Russia swearing is an art.’ He looked at her as she happily ate another scone. ‘Say it again.’
‘Nope,’ Alina said. ‘I’ll practise in private.’
‘Did you like growing up on the farm?’ Demyan asked.
‘I loved it.’
‘Do you have brothers or sisters?’
‘No.’
‘Your mother?’
‘She’s overseas, having some “me time”.’ Alina rolled her eyes. ‘She’s earned it apparently, raising me alone.’
‘Your father?’ Demyan fished.
Alina shrugged. ‘He left when I was three.’
‘Do you see him?’
‘No.’ The sting of rejection from her father burnt so badly. ‘Apparently he always wanted a working farm—that’s how Mum and he met, she was a florist... Anyway, I came along and he decided it was all too much and just walked out on it. Mum tried to keep it going and she did well for a few years but it was tough on her, getting up in the middle of the night for the flower markets...’ Alina shook her head. If she carried on talking about it she’d start to cry.
‘So why did you decide to be a PA?’
‘Because it’s a much more reliable way to make a living. Businesspeople will always need assistants...’
It wasn’t his place to tell her she was terrible at it.
Actually, it was his place.
Were it not for a very nice kiss, she’d have been fired. In fact, had he not been so hungover he’d probably have fired her the moment he’d realised she hadn’t a clue about real estate.
He hadn’t fired her, though. Perhaps because his skin didn’t crawl when he thought about her walking through his home, his things.
He’d even allowed her to tidy Roman’s room.
Demyan wondered if she had.
‘Do you get a lot of work through the agency?’
‘Some,’ Alina said, then admitted the truth. ‘Not an awful lot. I’m very grateful for my waitressing job.’ She took another bite of her scone rather than explain to a man who would never get it anyway how much safer she felt knowing her half of the rent was covered, that even if she didn’t get any work she had a meal at the restaurant four nights a week.
Had she told him, though, she might have found out that Demyan did, in fact, understand perfectly well.
‘Do you enjoy it?’