“Blyat’,” Yulian curses under his breath, right against my parted lips. “Must be Maksim.”
“I’ll get it.” I make my escape like a thief: head low, feet light, heart pounding in my ears. What the hell is wrong with me? Have I learned nothing from last time I woke up in Yulian’s bed? That I let him squeeze my heart until there was nothing left?
Have I learned nothing from my ex?
He’s different. You know he is.It’s that tiny voice at the back of my mind, the one I’ve tried so hard to suppress. My constant companion in all these sleepless nights.He’s far from perfect, but he cares about you. He cares about Eli.
He wants you to be happy.
Soothed, I throw the door open. “I hope you’ve got snacks for the road, because?—”
But it’s not Maks.
“Ms. Winters,” the frosty, nasal voice of Howard Lee greets me. “May we come in?”
45
YULIAN
The guy at the door looks like someone jammed a stick up his ass and then left it there, indefinitely, to fester.
He sounds like it, too. His words may be polite on the surface, but his tone isn’t. Snotty, holier-than-thou, an idealist who thinks he’s never made a mistake in his life and, therefore, believes people who do are inferior.
He isn’t talking to Mia—he’s talkingatMia.Downat her, specifically.
Next to him, an older woman with thick glasses and a cane smiles up at me.
I don’t smile back.
“Right! Introductions,” Mia interjects quickly, sliding between me and the rat-faced prick at the door.
Smart. She must have caught my death glare and decided she didn’t have enough medical supplies in her home to reattach a head to a body, nor enough bleach to hide the fact.
“These are Mr. Lee and Mrs. Deloera,” she explains. “Eli’s caseworkers.”
“Charmed.”
I don’t offer my hand to shake. The smiling old lady seems to know better than to expect it, but Rat Face turns up his nose. “And this would be…?” he demands.
“Him? Well, he’s, err?—”
I reach for my business card, but Mia stops me, white in the face.
“Boris!” she blurts. “He’s, um, Boris.”
Lee eyes me with impatience. “Boris what?”
“Uhh—” she falters. “J-Johnson.”
What the hell?
She squeezes my hand, a silent plea to play along. I decide she must have a good reason to conceal my identity from her caseworkers.
Although, I won’t lie: She could have done a less shit job of it.
Predictably, Lee’s eyebrows scrape the ceiling. “This isBoris Johnson?”
“Well, obviously, nottheBoris Johnson,” Mia laughs awkwardly. Her palm has started to sweat. “Just, you know…ABoris Johnson.”
