It went ignored so he sighed again and again and again until Ivan Vetrov snapped from the other side of the table, “I’m not asking you what’s wrong.” Konstantine’s brows lowered. “Why not?” “Because I want to sit here, drink a beer, shove a burger halfway down my throat and—” “Think about all the ways you’d like to dirty up poor innocent little Miss Margo?” He caught the glare from eyes and a face so similar to his own that he couldn’t be mistaken for anyone else’s son. Konstantine knew he’d hit the nail on the head. No matter how many different ways his father denied it, the man had it bad for Margo Davis. Konstantine had noticed at a very young age that there was something between Ivan and the woman with the sparkling brown eyes, the gorgeous smile, and the ability to make the best goddamn burgers they’d ever had. The Manhattan native had one of the most successful businesses this side of East Village. The moment a completely cooking-deficient Ivan discovered her, he and Konstantine had occupied Margo’s at least four times a week from then on.
