Page 200 of Hate to Love You
“Of course, girl!” Lizzie says, slamming her hand down on the table, before jumping up and giving me a finger salute. “I’ve got you!”
Without another word, she turns and heads toward VIP, even if she wobbles a bit on the way there.
And just as I suspected, the gatekeeping bouncers let Lizzie past the line of eager hopefuls and open the rope for her.
Admittedly, my stomach lurches watching her walk up the stairs, and my mind screams to stop her, repeating once again that Roman is mine.
No. I can’t get distracted. I have work to do.
I make my way through the throngs of people on the dance floor, being pushed and pulled left and right. I’ve never been to a switch night at The Studio before, and honestly, I never want to come to one again.
The energy is a lot different tonight, darker even. This usually wouldn’t bother me, but the mounting sexual tension is fueling my restless demons, tempting, and taunting them.
Oleg has been sitting solo at the bar for the last fifteen minutes. A few girls have approached him, but he’s waved them all off, which is a bit unusual for a ladies man like him.
Maybe he’s just not feeling it tonight.
I would’ve already approached him if not for Roman’s eyes on me the entire night, everywhere I go, the burning sensation drilling into my skin.
But my plan to send Lizzie his way and distract him, has apparently failed, as I now see her drunkenly straddling a friend of hers.
Well, clearly that didn’t work.
However, glancing around, I don’t see Roman anywhere, and coincidentally, I no longer feel the burn of his eyes on my skin. He seems to have just…disappeared.
Perhaps he had mafia business to attend to.
But that just means this is my window of opportunity.
Slowly I make my way off the dance floor and find a spot on the wall with a good view. Leaning against it I feel the coolness on my bare back. I take a few deep breaths, inhaling in and out, trying to ground myself before approaching my mark.
It’s now or never.
Oleg is still alone, his shoulders hunched as he leans his elbows on the bar.
So, after taking a deep breath, I make my way toward him.
Grabbing the attention of the male bartender was easy, as all I had to do was lean forward on the bar, and his eyes were instantly drawn to my chest.
With a smirk he walks over, before resting both hands on the bar, caging me in as he runs his nose over my cheek to yell in my ear.
“Pretty lady, what can I get ya?”
“Whatever he had,” I yell back, biting my lip and nodding my head toward Oleg.
“Coming right up, sweetheart.”
Before I know it, he’s slid a glass of amber liquid across the bar, a sphere of ice filling nearly the entire glass.
Clicking my tongue, I smile sweetly at him.
“Could you take the ice out?” I ask, batting my lashes.
Ice is my archenemy, as my Widowmaker would stick to it, stopping it from dissolving in the liquid and giving me away. It also waters down dosage, and if it isn’t just right, it could allow my mark enough time to get treatment.
Which is the opposite of what I need.
“Sure, sugar!” He says, his southern accent more pronounced.