The Only Woman to Defy Him(19)

                It had had little to do with work.

                ‘Alina!’ Pierre came over. ‘Leave that and get table four ready.’ Table four was the best one and already taken. Alina glanced over and saw an extremely put-out couple walking past. ‘I had to move them—Zukov is coming here.’

                Alina felt the colour drain from her face.

                ‘Demyan Zukov?’ She had this brief surge of hope that it might be Nadia, she had been here a couple of times for lunch after all, but even before Pierre answered, the smile on his face told Alina the bad news.

                ‘None other.’ Pierre grinned. ‘Oh, my God, he’s here!’

                ‘Pierre...’ Alina started, but what could she say? That she didn’t want to wait at his table? Pierre would simply tell her that she was fired there and then. Pierre was probably going to fire her soon anyway when he found out that she had lied and told Demyan that there was a wedding on.

                The restaurant fell silent for a second as guests realised just who had entered and then there followed a buzz of excitement.

                ‘This is Alina,’ Pierre introduced them, ‘and she will be looking after you this evening, as will Glynn, our wine waiter.’ Alina saw Pierre frown at her less-than-effusive response so she quickly plastered on a smile, though she felt as if she were about to wet her pants.

                ‘Alina.’ Demyan frowned and repeated their very first conversation. ‘That is a Slav name, no?’

                She simply couldn’t answer.

                Instead, Demyan did. ‘Or is it Celtic?’ he mused, as he took his seat.

                ‘Both,’ Alina croaked. She was nearly in tears but still frantically smiling.

                ‘Thank you for accommodating us.’ Demyan turned to Pierre. ‘I know that you are exceptionally busy tonight.’

                ‘We’re never too busy for you, Demyan.’ Pierre blushed, as he gushed, as he flirted shamelessly. ‘Any time.’

                Any time at all.

                ‘Thank you.’ Demyan turned his attention back to Alina, who then had to go through her spiel about the menu.

                ‘What would you recommend?’

                He’s enjoying this, Alina realised.

                Demyan was.

                At first, he hadn’t recognised her. He’d been far too busy admiring a bottom and tanned, freckled, rather heavy legs, and then Alina had turned around and he’d realised they belonged to her.

                His missing-in-action PA.

                Poor baby!

                That had been his first thought, yet, rather than put her at ease, teasing Alina was the most fun he had had in...

                Ages.

                ‘The lobster in lemon butter sauce—’ she started.

                ‘No,’ Demyan interrupted. ‘I think I’ll go for tenderloin.’

                She heard that word so many times a night; not once did it make her burn, never had it made her loins feel tender.

                Till tonight.