Time Stood Still (Volkov Bratva #3.5)(7)

It was no secret that she wasn’t very good in a kitchen—not that he cared much about that—but he had to wonder about her motives now.

Placing the plate in front of him, she continued standing, smiling proudly as she gestured with a tilt of her head for him to eat. Though Mishca picked up his knife and fork, he made no move to actually cut into the omelette. Truthfully, he was working up the nerve to do so.

“I do love you,” he tried instead, glancing back down at her offering. “But I’m not sure about this.”

She didn’t look disappointed by his statement, just laughed instead. “It’s not like I poisoned you, Mish. Swear. I even got lessons.”

As she talked, he did finally cut off a small piece, spearing it with his fork. “Oh? You never told me about this.”

It was almost to his mouth when she answered. “Yea…well, it was with Luka.”

This time, he put the fork down and pushed the plate away.

She shook with laughter, trying to explain. “You’d be surprised. Luka’s actually a great cook.”

“I have no viable proof of that.”

“But you trust me and that should be enough.”

He tried to keep the look of disdain off his face, but he didn’t know if he was successful as she pushed the plate back towards him. As he finally took his first bite, he figured there were worst ways to go out.

“There’s a few things I need to talk to you about while you’re here.”

“Is that why you’re buttering me up?” He asked, chewing slowly, surprised that he actually liked it.

With a satisfied smile, she turned her back, grabbing a rather large-sized envelope. “I’ll refrain from saying I told you so.”

With a shrug and a point of his fork to what she was holding, he asked, “What is that?”

She lost her smile, anxiety replacing the happiness in her eyes. Placing it face up between them, he read the letterhead. University of New York: School of Medicine. Had it been that long ago that she had applied? After her initial application, she’d gone for two separate interviews, and now tis envelope held their final decision.

He’d only placed his hand on it when she grabbed hold of his hand with both of hers, preventing him from moving it. “What if I wasn’t accepted?”

“Lauren—”

“I mean, my grades were good, right? I thought the interviews went well, but you never know.”

“Lauren. You’ll never know until you open it.”

Nodding, she pulled her hand away, but didn’t try to take the envelope from him. She looked so apprehensive that he didn’t bother asking her if she was ready just picked it up and tore it open, dumping out the documents inside.

“Blink once for yes, twice for no.”

Trying not to smile at her, his eyes skirted over the first few lines, already knowing the answer as soon as he read them. Her entire face fell as she waited for him to answer, but when he smiled, winking at her as he slid the papers in her direction, she lit up, snatching them up as she scanned them for herself, spinning in a circle.

“One step closer then, yes?”

She came around to his side, still grinning. “Absolutely. I’m one step closer to becoming your mob doctor once I graduate.”

Mishca glared at her even as she laughed. “I fail to see how that’s funny.”

“That’s because you have a very dry sense of humor. Luka would have laughed.”

Rolling his eyes, he went back to his breakfast. “That’s because he’s an idiot. What else did you need to talk to me about?”

Now, as she tucked her hair behind her ear, breaking eye contact with him, he knew it was something that nothing to do with her school.

“Remember how you were thinking of bringing Klaus in? Well, I kind of asked him about it yesterday… ”

“We talked about this, Lauren.”

“I know, I know. “I’ll keep you apprised of the decisions I make, but you will not get involved.’”

Though he wanted to be upset with her, the way she spoke with a terrible Russian accent lessened some of that frustration. “Exactly.”

“But I got him to agree.”

“And…”

“And?”

“Knowing Niklaus, he probably had conditions.”

She rubbed the back of her neck, glancing away. “Maybe a few.”

Of course. “Name them.”

“He wants to fight.”

His eyebrows bunched together as he turned her to face him. “I don’t understand.”

“You. He wants to fight you. If he wins, you pay him three times his current rate, but if you win, he’ll start calling you by your name and work towards mending his relationship with you, but regardless of the outcome, he does plan on working with you.”

“Do you know what his current rate is?” Mishca asked dryly, knowing that she more than likely didn’t, otherwise she might not have agreed to his terms.

She winced. “I’m assuming a pretty big number?”

He laughed without humor. “You’ve no idea.” He went on before her face well. “—But thank you for your help, though I think this should be your last barter with a mercenary.”

“Did I mess up your plans?”