“Malkova, we need to talk. A business proposal.”
“What kind?” Polina burst out, tilting her head and trying to see Stasov’s eyes.
Arseniy Stasov had invited her to dance, and now he was closely studying her forehead, because Polina barely reached his shoulder even in heels.
“… What kind?” Polina demanded again, seeing that Arseniy had slightly zoned out.
“Marry me, Malkova. I need a wife—I’m going to Africa, and my future management prefers serious, settled employees. You’re a good fit.”
“What—?! Have you lost your mind, or are you just messing with me for the last time?” Polina snapped angrily and shoved him away, turning toward the exit.