Champagne Venom (Orlov Bratva, #1)(61)

I exhale. “You’re asking for too much.”

“I want her gone, Misha.”

My eyes snap to her face. Her cheeks are blush pink, her eyes are bright with determination—and my cock is hard as fucking stone.

“Althea is well qualified for the position. She’s a hard worker and—”

“I don’t care what Althea is,” she snaps. “I want her gone. Move her to another department like you moved me. Transfer her, fire her, make her the fucking CEO; I don’t care! I don’t want her to be your secretary.”

I examine her indignation. Realization settles low in my gut. “You’re jealous.”

“Don’t,” she snarls. “Don’t you dare fucking smile at—”

Before she can finish the sentence, I grab her by the waist and pull her flush against me. “How can you be jealous of that girl out there?” I press. “She’s a woman I hired to do a job. She gets nothing from me but a paycheck. She doesn’t get diamonds or attention or sex. She doesn’t get to storm into my office and talk to me the way you are right now.”

Truth be told, no one has ever stormed into my office and spoken to me like this. Or, if they have, they didn’t survive the encounter.

“Only you have that right, Paige Orlov,” I finish quietly. “Only you. Only my wife.” I can see the anger drain out of her. I tighten my hold, pinning her against me until she squirms. “But your fight and your fire? I will tolerate it behind closed doors—but not in public. Never in front of my men or my employees. Is that understood?”

The conflict is transparent on her face. She strains against rules and orders like a pet on a leash, always wanting another inch, another foot. It’s in her nature to want to break free.

But after a moment, she nods. “Fine. I’ll take your damn promotion. On one—no, two conditions.”

My erection is pressing into her hip bone, and I’m about to add a third condition of my own. But Paige ignores my desire and carries on.

“Condition one: get rid of Althea and let me choose your next secretary.”

She lets that sit for a moment, waiting for me to protest. I don’t. “You said there were two conditions.”

“Condition two: I want a promotion for Rowan De Silva, too. She’s been a P.A. for far too long. She would have been promoted two years ago if that pig, Samson Montgomery, didn’t want her all to himself.”

I absorb that for a moment. “Very well.”

She looks momentarily stunned, like a dog who finally caught the car she was chasing and doesn’t know what to do with it now. I really need to teach her how to put on a proper poker face. “You’re agreeing to my conditions? Both of them?”

“Both of them. That’s how far I’m going to make you happy,” I tell her. “I’m agreeing to even your most irrational requests.”

“It’s not irrational to want to pick your husband’s secretary.”

“The fact that you know that’s the condition I was talking about tells me you know exactly how irrational it is.”

She rolls her eyes and tries to push away from me, but I grip her hips a little tighter. I curl a finger under her chin. “Jealousy looks good on you, Mrs. Orlov.”

“Let me go.”

I hold her for a moment longer, just because I can. Or, more accurately, just because I can barely bear to let go.

Then, finally, reluctantly, I do.

She barely meets my gaze as she rounds the table and heads for the door. But no amount of coldness can hide the truth.

No woman looks like that at a man she doesn’t care about. That realization probably scares her as much as it’s scaring me.

I want to stop her. I want to tell her to wait.

But for what? I’m not sure.

So I let her go.

For both our sakes.





45

MISHA

“Mr. Orlov.” Nikolai pokes his head around my office door. “Do you have a moment?”

“You keep my schedule. You tell me.”

He laughs nervously and shuffles into my office, a stack of papers in his hands. “I have a few things that need your approval, and Legal sent up a contract. Your personal lawyer looked it over and left a few notes. I highlighted those with yellow tabs. The red tabs are where you need to sign.”

It’s been a week since Nikolai took over as my administrative assistant. Loathe as I am to admit it, I’m not sure how this office ever survived without him.

Paige is mostly thrilled he doesn’t wear low cut blouses and tight pencil skirts.

“Leave them on the desk.”

Ian places the files there and then remains in front of me, hands folded behind his back.

I arch a brow. “Is there something else?”

“Um, yes. Ms. Paige wanted me to pass along a message.”

Ms. Paige. In my head, I can hear her demanding he refer to her that way when delivering the message. God forbid she let my staff call her “Mrs. Orlov.” This promotion has gone to her head already.

Albeit for good reason. She’s doing well as head of the marketing department. Promoting Rowan proved to be a good move, too. The staff already knows and trusts her, and she has Paige’s back unquestioningly. If anyone thinks Paige slept her way to the top, they won’t say anything along those lines for fear that it might make it back to Rowan. Or me.