The Bucket List

3 The Contract

"Breathe, Amara."

"I am breathing." I look up from my shoes to pin TJ with a look. "Just...not in his vicinity."

Appropriate arrangements. Well. If Nicholai considers cornering me at work as appropriate, then we need to have a very serious conversation, indeed.

"Come on. Just get it over with." TJ tries to guide me to his station. To Larissa and Alexei. And to Nicholai, who's joined them at the bar. He peels off his navy blue coat with expert precision and drapes it over his arm. Alexei gestures to an empty stool, but Nicholai shakes his head.

Probably afraid he'll get grime on his perfectly pressed pants.

The Ivanov brothers look out of place in our seaside dive bar. Their clothes. Their cologne. Even the way they hold themselves—as if they could throw down a check and buy this bar and everyone in it, if they felt so inclined.

Granted, they probably could do just that. Which only serves to make them even more insufferable.

"Hell. No." I swat TJ's hands away and retreat back to the safety of the boozy golfers. "Handle it."

"Fine." He gives me a shit-eating grin. "I'm gonna do some recon."

"Recon?" My eyes widen with horror as he saunters back down the bar, his sights on Nicholai. "TJ—"

Gabby is making another circuit to the linen closet when she bumps her hip into mine. "He'll be fine," she reassures me. "Let TJ do his thing. He'll feel better about your...situation."

I sigh but take her advice, busying myself with a rush of customers trying to squeeze in a final round before closing. Even that distraction can't keep my focus from drifting back down the bar, skipping over Larissa—she really pulled out all the stops with that red dress—and landing on Nicholai.

Each and every time, our eyes meet. As if he is the one watching me.

I scowl and look away.

After what feels like an age, Gabby cups her hands around her mouth and hollers, "Last call!"

I wilt in relief. Simultaneously, David reaches across the bartop, straining to grab my hand. Again.

I take his fingers and push them back to his drink, giving him a gentle smile to soften the blow of my rejection. "What's up, sweetheart?"

"One more," he slurs, indicating his full glass.

I nod, but I have absolutely no intention of giving the man one more. He doesn't need it. He probably won't even finish the one right under his nose. I'll just go through the motions, pretend to pour a splash of liquor into his glass. He'll never be the wiser.

I grab the bottle of scotch and turn, only to find Nicholai standing over David's shoulder, drink in hand. He raises the glass to his temple. A mock salute.

"Here you go," I tell David, pushing the scotch against his fingers.

"Thanks, darlin'," he mumbles, shoving away from the bar. "'Scuse me."

Abandoning his scotch, David teeters over to the bathrooms, bouncing from one wall to the next. Nicholai slips into the now-vacated seat and smirks at me, smug.

"Darlin'," he greets, a mocking edge to the words.

Eyes on the prize, Amara. This man is trying to do you a solid.

I try for a winning smile. "Sir."

Nicholai takes a swig of the clear liquid in his glass. "That has a nice ring to it."