Champagne Venom (Orlov Bratva, #1)(15)

“Konstantin!”

His focus breaks and he walks reluctantly to my office. I slam the door closed.

“Whoa,” he breathes. “That is your new P.A.?”

“Nothing gets by you, does it?”

“She’s a stunner.”

I pretend like his assessment of her doesn’t bother me as I stride to my desk. “I thought you were partial to blondes.”

“I’m partial to beauty,” he corrects.

“Konstantin.”

“What?” he asks with that idiotic smile still plastered across his face.

“She’s my assistant.”

He frowns. “Yeah, I know. So?”

“Meaning she’s off-limits.”

His smile melts into disappointment. “Is this a finders-keepers scenario?”

I scowl. “I have no interest in that regard. But I need a competent assistant and she’s grossly overqualified for the job. I need her to stay.”

He raises his hands in surrender. “Then I’ll turn my charm in another direction. But… can you do me a favor in return?” he asks.

I raise my eyebrows. “That wasn’t a favor, Konstantin. It was an order.”

He sighs. “I hate it when you pull rank.”

“Believe it or not, I hate it, too.”

“Really?”

“No.” I smirk as he rolls his eyes. “What’s the favor?”

“Friday dinner—”

“Didn’t we just discuss that? I gave you my answer.”

“Just come,” he insists. “Make your mother happy. Ilya misses you, too, you know? Hell, I think they all do. Although I really can’t put my finger on why. You’re such a grumpy bastard.”

I used to make it to every Friday night dinner. I’d keep Ilya up too late, eating junk food and hiding from Maksim when he said it was bedtime.

That was before Maksim died.

Before I had to stop being Ilya’s fun uncle and had to start being a don.

Before life changed forever.

Maksim would hate me if he knew I wasn’t taking care of his son to the best of my abilities. That alone is a compelling reason to try and make it. Leave it to that smug bastard to make me do what he would want, even from six feet under.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Konstantin sighs, but he doesn’t push it. He’s the only one still trying to keep me grounded. Everyone else has given up hope.

Nikita thinks I’ve lost sight of my priorities. Mama assumes I’m too busy. Ilya and Cyrille believe that I just don’t care anymore.

The actual truth is both pathetic and simple: I just don’t want to sit at the head of that fucking table.

That was Maksim’s place, not mine.





11

PAIGE

I wait until Misha’s flirty colleague leaves before I grab the signed NDA and walk into his office.

This will get easier, I tell myself. This won’t always make my cheeks flush and my heart race and the squirmy feeling between my thighs intensify.

I have to believe that—otherwise, I’ll sprint towards the door and never come back. Paycheck be damned; I’ll sleep under a bridge, if that’s what it takes. Because the way it is now, staring into the brooding eyes that hovered over me in the half-dark of that windswept hotel balcony, remembering the way he felt inside of me, isn’t something I can do every day.

It will get easier.

It has to.

Misha makes a big show of glancing down at his diamond-studded watch. “Three minutes to spare.

Cutting it a little close, Ms. Masters.”

“I like living on the edge.” I hand him the signed document. It takes me half a beat to realize the unintended pun I made, then my cheeks pick up right where they left off in full blush.

He checks to make sure I’ve signed in all the necessary places, and then glances up at me like he’s surprised I haven’t left yet. “Is there something else?”

I clear my throat. “There’s a clause in there that says, no matter what I see or hear, I can never divulge them to ‘enemy entities.’”

“And your question is…?”

“‘Enemy entities’?” I repeat. “That makes it sound like you’re at war.”

“Maybe I am.”

“That would be a little… odd.”

He smolders. “Once you’ve worked here long enough, you won’t think so.”

That right there is enough to make me regret signing his damn NDA.

“Who are the Ivanovs?” I ask. “The name was mentioned several times in the NDA. It said I can’t have any contact with them or anyone associated with them. Why not?”

“Because I’m your boss and I require it of you,” he says curtly.

I stare at him, waiting—hoping—he will elaborate. He just stares back at me with an impatient look on his face.

“I, uh… I guess I’ll be going then.”

He looks away like I’ve already left the room, so I turn and walk back to my desk.

The moment I sit down, I bury my face in my hands. What have I gotten myself into? The night we met, I knew Misha was no ordinary man. I was happy to sign up for that—for an evening. Especially one spent the way we spent it.