Page 58 of Bought By the Ruthless Pakhan

Then his fingertip tapped the edge of the paper, on the outline of that tall figure. He didn't say anything, but that look had hooks in it, making my heart skip a beat.

That figure. He drew him. He knew damn well.

I looked away, turning toward the kitchen, and sent Chris a text. "Free tonight? Come over for dinner."

Within seconds, my phone buzzed twice. Chris replied quickly, saying he'd just wrapped up his work and could be there in about an hour.

I let out a breath and shoved the phone into my apron pocket.

I didn't want to, but Chris seemed like a good excuse. If he could help me shut down whatever Ivan was thinking, maybe I could get back to my quiet life.

The light over the stove glared white, shining on the vegetables spread across the counter and the unwashed tomatoes in the sink.

I turned on the faucet. Water hammered down. I kept my head low, turning the lettuce leaves over and over under the stream, but my mind kept turning over that look Ivan gave me.

Like his fingertip hadn't tapped the paper at all. Like he'd tapped my heart.

I shook my head. Shook all that nonsense out.

An hour later, I set the last dish on the table just as the doorbell rang.

I wiped my hands on my apron and opened the door. Chris stood outside in a light gray sweater, holding two boxes of fruit, smiling as he shook them at me. "Anna, I'm not late, am I?"

"Perfect timing," I said.

I stepped aside to let him in. Ivan walked out of the bedroom with Alex.

I stepped forward and looped my arm through Chris's, turning to Ivan. "This is my boyfriend."

The living room went silent.

Ivan's gaze dropped to where my arm linked with Chris's. The smile that had been at the corners of his eyes froze over.

He didn't look at Chris. The whole time, his eyes stayed pinned on my face.

I felt Chris's arm tense beneath my palm.

But only for a moment. He glanced at me, didn't call me out, and smiled as he extended his hand toward Ivan. "Hi, I'm Chris Harris. Nice to meet you."

Ivan didn't reach back.

He just stood there, a few steps away, arms hanging at his sides, no intention of shaking.

His gaze slid off my face and landed on Chris. A brief glance, like he was sizing up the quality of an object.

Then he looked back at me.

That look held nothing—no anger, no hurt, no questions. Just empty, like a wall scraped clean by wind.

I wished he'd gotten angry. Him looking at me like that, so quiet—it sent chills down my spine more than any accusation could.

Alex held his hand, tilting his little face up, piping up sweetly. "Ivan, this is Chris. He's really nice. He brings me toys all the time."

Ivan's Adam's apple bobbed. Finally, he reached out and shook Chris's hand.

"Ivan Volkov."

His knuckles went white. The handshake lasted just long enough to be polite, and short enough to make the coldness clear.