“You won’t tell anyone about that evening, understand?” he says, harsh and uncompromising. He forcefully grips the hand with which I wanted to slap him.
“Understood,” I hiss through my teeth. “Let go!”
He suddenly loosens his grip and steps back from me, like from a leper.
“Especially your sister,” he уточнює so crudely that goosebumps run down my spine.
“I won’t tell anyone,” I lower my gaze and, like a mantra—more for myself than for him—I repeat: “You’re your sister’s future husband.”
“Right,” he nods with satisfaction and clicks out: “And from this day on—you’re my boss.”