The hand upon her squeezed, pulling her attention back to her rescuer. He turned her away from the group, parting the crowd with a leading shoulder as he motioned toward the bar. “Is okay, da?”
She nodded, relieved. “Yeah, thank you.”
He led her to the bar, the weight of his hand like a cuff on her shoulder. He didn’t speak again until they reached their destination. There were no vacant stools, but as he pushed his way in, the people on either side gave him as wide a berth as they could. Whether it was his size or the fact that people knew him, she couldn’t say; either way, there was soon standing room for them both.
He propped an elbow on the bar, his hand drifting down between her shoulder blades to usher her forward. Since there wasn’t enough room to stand freely side by side, she had to angle to face him as she sidled up to the bar top.
The weight of his fingers on her coat lifted, moving now to gesture at himself. “Evgeni. Eugene, as you say in States.”
“Elena.”
When he grinned, his entire face changed. The seriousness bled away, laugh lines crinkling the corners of his eyes in a charming, weathered sort of way. Two dimples, not one. Elena’s heart fluttered annoyingly.
“Is nice to meet you, Elena.”
Elena bit her lip and dipped her head, feigning interest in the approaching bartender. The less time she spent noticing how attractive this man was, the better. He had to be at least ten, fifteen years her senior. New to town in a foreign country, the last thing she needed to do was pick up some dangerous-looking guy in a bar.
That accent, though, and that bodybuilder physique his clothes did nothing to hide? They were hard to resist. She had a difficult time not imagining what he looked like without a shirt.
He waved the bartender over, sparing the man a brief glance before he returned his focus to her. “What you drinking, eh?”
Elena’s eyes widened, her mouth forming an “O” of surprise. She should have seen that question coming. “Oh, I’m not, actually. Thanks.”
Evgeni looked skeptical. “No drink, in a bar?”
“No,” she admitted. “I’m actually just here to see if they might be looking for part-time help.”
He quirked a brow, rubbing the scruff on his chin thoughtfully. “Job, eh? You work in bar before?”
Elena nodded. “Yeah, back in the States. I mean, mostly I waited tables, but I filled in for the bartender too.”
He gave a thoughtful hum, averting his gaze as the bartender paused before him.
“Luka here?” Evgeni asked him.
The bartender nodded.
“Call him up. I have friend wants to talk business. Also, two shot Beluga Gold, one water.”
The bartender eyed Elena dubiously, his lips thinning as he threw a towel over his shoulder and stalked away. The man looked put-out, but Evgeni didn’t seem to notice or care.
“You stay nearby? Hostel?”
She cast him a sidelong glance, careful to keep her expression neutral. She knew better than to answer that truthfully, even if something about his tone made her want to. “No, actually. I’m staying with family friends. They’re from here.”
“Mmm,” he nodded, as if he approved. “Is good. Safer for woman than alone.”
She nodded, clearing her throat. “So, is Luka the manager?”
Evgeni fished a package of cigarettes and a lighter out of his pocket. She watched as he pulled one free and slipped it between his lips, his eyes flicking up to meet hers as he lit it. “Owner.”
He drew in deep, the end of the stick sparking red. His worry lines were back, creasing his forehead as he studied her. This time she didn’t think it was disapproval causing those lines. The fine hairs along the back of her neck tingled a warning, gooseflesh rising along her arms. She recognized that look, veiled as it was—hunger, curiosity. He felt it too, then.
A hopeful knot of anticipation twisted her stomach, and Elena shifted uncomfortably. She hated when her body did that—responded to the presence of a man she knew any sane person shouldn’t be interested in. But here it was, tensing as if preparing for a chase.
Their exchange was interrupted by the return of the bartender and a second man. The new addition was tall and wiry, probably in his late fifties, with darting eyes that made Elena think he must be a nervous sort of person. As the bartender set the shots and glass of water down before them, the other man looked at her companion.
“Evgeni.”
“Luka.”
“Kirill says you have business to discuss?” The man’s Russian was thick and slow. He reminded Elena of some old mob boss in a movie she’d seen.
Evgeni tilted his head Elena’s direction. “My friend, not for me.”
Luka looked moderately relieved. “Oh. What can I do for you?”
“I was actually wondering if you might need any help?”
Luka frowned, assessing her more critically. “You are American?”
Elena tried not to be discouraged. She knew she’d answered him properly in his own language; it was her accent that gave her away. “Yes. I’m here for three months. I was hoping to find something part-time.”
“Is always busy. You could use help, nyet?” Evgeni interjected smoothly, blowing a plume of smoke out the side of his mouth.
“I…” Luka paused, splitting a nervous glance between Elena and the intimidating man at her side. He was scared of Evgeni, she realized. “You can count our monies?”
“Yes,” she answered with more confidence than she felt.
The man sighed. “Maybe three nights. I don’t want paperwork, so I pay 1,800 ruble a week, keep your tips.”
She did the math in her head, aware of how dismal a number he’d just given her. Wages were different here, far lower than in the States, even when you were legal. If you weren’t, you were extra screwed.
“2,450 ruble.”
They both turned to Evgeni.
“Is more fair number,” he said with a shrug as he tapped his ashes into an empty bowl nearby. Though he seemed relaxed, the look on his face said there would be no negotiating the matter.
Elena should have been offended that he’d presumed to interfere, but she couldn’t muster the outrage. It was more money than she should get. More money than anyone else in her position would be offered. The way Luka clenched his jaw told her so.
“Fine. You start Thursday, you come at four of evening.” Luka spun on his heel and walked away, hackles raised.
When she sent a disbelieving glance Evgeni’s way, he smirked and rolled his shoulders in another shrug.
“Congratulations. Now Elena has job.” He picked up the two shot glasses, pinching them carefully between his fingers, and set one down in front of her. The other he lifted in the air between them. “One drink, for to celebrate.”
“I really shouldn’t…” she muttered half-heartedly. She could see by the way he was watching her that it was a test. She’d already said no to one offer of a drink; for most people, that would be enough. To refuse a second—a toast to her good fortune, no less—would be considered an insult. He knew it, and she could tell he was banking on her being familiar enough with the culture to know it too.
Would she take the drink he wanted her to take? How far could he push?