The temptation to talk to Jolie churned over and over in my belly, my mood deteriorating the more Irina held her spot just to make a point. I should have left, there was no reason to stick around, yet I couldn’t bring myself to move. Just the smallest sideways glimpse I got of Jolie was worth the uncomfortable company of Irina. I had to try damn hard not to double take when I saw her hair was no longer the bubble gum pink it had been the last time I’d seen her. Bill had told me her mother had died, I didn’t know enough about her family life, bar what she’d briefly touched upon, but I imagined her death would have had an impact. She’d been off work for two weeks, and as much as I couldn’t see any trace of sadness about her from the brief looks I allowed myself to sneak, I knew looks were deceiving.
Nothing had changed in the past two weeks except I’d officially moved out of the house I’d lived in with Irina for years, and Lev had given the go ahead for me to make my plans. I was still smuggling, running and cutting drugs, still doing dodgy deals, still fucking watching my back while trying to figure out how to manoeuvre into a position to make an escape without the whole lot toppling down on someone else’s head.
I was tired, so goddamn tired. If I had to sit there and pretend Irina’s presence didn’t make my skin crawl, for a quick glance at the ray of sunshine serving the other side of the room, I was bloody well going to do so. Just seeing her helped me breathe easier, helped solidify I was doing the right thing. I wanted my life back, my life, even if I wasn’t a hundred percent sure how it should be.
When Jolie disappeared through to the back hall, I took my opportunity.
“Order me another, then I’m calling it a night.” Getting up, I took off without giving her an explanation, not bothering to look back and see if she was watching. She would think I was just going to the bathroom.
Timing it perfectly, I came face to face with Jolie when she exited the break room, almost smacking into her as she turned the corner. On reflex, my hands grabbed the tops of her arms and steadied her while she held her hands out in front and tried to shove me away, muttering an ‘excuse me’ in the process. She gasped as I walked her backwards, away from the eyes of the main bar. Without thinking, I pushed her into the small storeroom where I’d stolen my first kiss from her, shutting the door firmly behind us. Letting go of her arms, I took a step away, digging my fists deep into the pockets of my trousers so I wouldn’t be tempted to reach out and touch her again.
“Mr Ischmov.”
I shook my head, frustrated at her formality. I’d had my dick in her for fuck’s sake, I didn’t want Mr fucking Ischmov. “It’s Yannick, or Yan, if you prefer.”
“Mr Ischmov,” she repeated, and I almost growled at her, trying hard to suppress my unjustified anger.
“I’m sorry about your mother,” I said, offering my condolences. I’d itched to seek her out when I’d heard but dared not, knowing the reaction I’d get, especially when she was grieving, it wouldn’t have been fair.
“Thank you.” Her head tilted down, and waves of sorrow poured from her as she clasped her hands in front of her. Christ, I wanted to pull her into my arms and soothe all that hurt, make her smile again, because there was nothing brighter in the world than Jolie smiling. “I need to get back to work.”
“Bill will give you five minutes, I’m sure.”
“I don’t need five minutes.”
“What happened?” I asked, genuinely bewildered.
“That’s your wife?” She nodded her head toward the door. “The business contract?”
“Yes.”
“She’s extremely beautiful.”
“She’s a bitch, Jolie. Ugly as sin. She doesn’t hold a candle to you. What happened?” I asked again.
Jolie toyed with a bracelet around her delicate wrist for a moment before looking me in the eye. “I’m not a game to be played between you and your wife. The night was fun, thank you. It’s not something I make a habit of doing and not something I want a repeat of. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve had six shifts off, I need to make it up.”
“I wasn’t playing you.”
“Of course not. That’s why you’re sitting having a night out with your wife in a bar where I work, and not once have you bothered to get in touch with me. My mother died, were you expecting me to come running to you?”
“You walked out, Jolie. What was I supposed to think?”
“And I’m walking again. Please move, Mr Ischmov.”
Five minutes in a store cupboard would in no way cut it for an apology. I pulled out my wallet and whipped out a business card with my details on it, handing it toward her.
Glaring at me, I watched in slow motion as she tipped over into anger. “Fuck you, Yannick. Fuck you.”
I had no choice but to move out of her way; she was a storm brewing, a whirlwind of fury I’d brought upon myself and I had no desire to make things worse. When the door slammed behind me, I deflated and let out a groan. She was going to be a tough nut to crack, but I would. First, I had to deal with Irina, get my divorce, figure out how to sever
