No, he didn’t. I know what it sounds like when he says my name. I’ve had countless dirty dreams of nothing but him saying my name. I would know if he’d said—
“Margaret?” Mikhail taps his pen on the table like he’s trying to get the attention of an easily-distracted cat. “Can you hear me, Margaret?”
Oh. He didn’t buy the fake name before. He definitely won’t buy it now.
I smile politely at him, my cheeks practically cracking under the strain. “Yes?”
“Do these valuations look right to you?”
God, he’s gorgeous. Mikhail arches a brow, highlighting the angular slant of his cheekbones and the square line of his jaw. This man might as well be carved from marble. How am I supposed to think about any numbers with this face in front of me?
How am I supposed to think about these numbers when t
