Chapter 5
ALEKSEI
I close the door to my office and lean against it, eyes squeezed shut.
My pulse is still racing from that accidental collision in the pantry.
I didn’t even say a word to her—barely managed a glance—but the scent of her, fresh and a little sweet, is stuck in my head, as vivid as that voice that’s been haunting me for days.
I wasn’t ready for her. I thought I was, after hearing that recording a dozen times, tracing every curve of her voice like a man tracing a lover’s spine.
I’d pictured someone sultry, a platinum blonde with practiced smiles and curves poured into a red dress—someone who would walk into a room and claim it.
I’d built that expectation like armor, something I could control.
But she’s nothing like that.
A femme fatale out of a bad noir film, long legs and a mouth that spells trouble. A woman who could look you dead in the eye and not flinch.
But she’s nothing like that.
She’s…smaller, for one. Barely comes up to my shoulder, even in her sensible shoes.
Dark hair tucked into a messy knot, a few stubborn curls escaping to frame a face that’s more open than sultry, eyes impossibly big and brown.
Not movie-star beautiful, not in the traditional way, but arresting.
There’s a kind of vulnerability there that makes me want to look twice—and a stubborn tilt to her chin that suggests she’s braced for a world that’s already been rough with her.
Her clothes are simple, careful in her dark jeans, a blouse that’s seen better days, sleeves rolled just so. Her hands shake a little when she nearly spills coffee on me, but there’s determination in the way she straightens up, tries to meet my gaze.
I meant to ignore her. I told myself I would.
But now, with the image of her in my mind—real, flesh and bone, nothing like the seductress from my fantasies—I find myself distracted, unsettled.
I can still hear her voice in my head, low and sure, saying words she’d never speak out loud in an office like this.
I settle behind my desk, coffee untouched, the city spread beneath my windows. I try to focus on work, on contracts and deadlines and the relentless churn of business. But it’s no use.
Her face keeps rising up before me. Her scent—a faint trace of something floral and cheap, clean, not like the cloying perfume I’d expected. Her voice, when she apologized… It was soft, almost timid, nothing like the wicked confidence of her recording.
She shouldn’t interest me. Not this way. She’s not what I pictured. Not my type, not even close.
And yet, I can’t stop thinking about her.
Maybe it’s the contrast—the innocence in her eyes and the memory of her words still echoing in my head. Maybe it’s the way she looked at me, flustered and trying so hard to hide it. Or maybe it’s just that, for the first time in a long time, I can’t predict what happens next.
I take a long sip of coffee, cold now, and lean back in my chair, staring at the ceiling.
This is going to be a problem.
I try to work.
I really do.
Emails blur together, numbers lose meaning, and words slide off my mind like rain on glass. Every few minutes, my attention drifts—unbidden, unwelcome—back to the hallway outside my office. To the faint echo of footsteps. To the possibility of her.
This is ridiculous. I’ve handled hostile takeovers, negotiations that ended with men bleeding in alleys, situations where one wrong word could cost lives. And yet my body refuses to listen to reason.
I’ve never been this unmoored by a woman, and it makes me restless, irritated, almost…hungry.
There’s a knock at the door before it opens.
Ilya strolls in like he owns the place, jacket slung over his shoulder, expression far too knowing. “So,” he says casually, dropping into the chair opposite my desk. “Progress?”
I glance up. “On what.”
He rolls his eyes. “The assistant. The wife problem. The whole your-grandfather-hates-you-from-beyond-the-grave situation.”
I lean back, jaw tight. “Too early.”
“That’s lawyer-speak for something interesting happened,” he says. “Did you even meet her yet?”
Before I can answer, movement catches my eye.
She walks past my office, visible through the glass wall for all of three seconds, but and it’s enough.
She’s carrying a folder, hugging it to her chest, brows slightly furrowed in concentration. Her hair has come loose from the ponytail, strands brushing her cheek. She’s biting her lower lip like she does when she’s thinking—something I somehow already know.
She glances toward my office, uncertain, then looks quickly away. I feel my body respond—my cock thickens, pressing uncomfortable and insistent against my trousers. I shift in my seat, jaw tight.
Ilya follows my gaze, a smirk blooming as he puts two and two together.
“Well, well,” he murmurs, “who’s that?”
I don’t answer at first. I just watch her disappear around the corner, my pulse thudding harder than it should.
“She’s the new assistant,” I say finally, my voice low, strained.
Ilya leans back, studying me with interest. “You look like a man who’s just been punched in the gut. Or something lower.”
I force a scowl, but my body betrays me, half-hard and aching, wanting things I have no business wanting.
He grins. “Careful, Aleksei. This marriage project is going to be a lot more interesting than I thought.”
I shake my head, exhaling slow, trying to will my blood to settle. But the damage is done. Ilya is still grinning, amused, and I can’t stop thinking about her—her voice, her eyes, the promise in every potential accidental touch.
This was supposed to be simple. Business. Transactional.
But now, with her just a wall away, nothing feels simple anymore.
He leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes sharp now. “Aleksei. Who is she? You must have a reason. You never do anything without it.”
I don’t answer right away. I watch the hallway, now empty. The air still feels charged, like she left something behind.
“She’s competent,” I say finally.
Ilya snorts. “That’s not what I asked.”
I exhale through my nose. “You said I needed someone reliable. Discreet. Intelligent.”
“And attractive?” he adds mildly.
I glare at him. “Irrelevant.”
He laughs, full and unapologetic. “You’re half hard in the middle of a workday. Forgive me if I don’t believe that.”
I look away, toward the window, toward the city. Toward anything that isn’t her.
“This is a bad idea,” I say quietly.
Ilya’s voice softens. “You didn’t plan on wanting her. That much is obvious.”
No. I didn’t plan on this at all.
I planned on a solution. A transaction. A name on a contract.
Instead, I hired a woman whose voice crawls under my skin and whose presence makes my body forget who’s in charge.
And she doesn’t even know what she’s done to me.
That’s the most dangerous part.
Ilya leans back in the chair, watching me too closely. “So, are you going to bed her?”
The question hangs in the air, heavy as a thundercloud.
I don’t answer. I can’t. Not honestly. I stare at the city beyond the glass, jaw tight, hands curled on the armrests.
I have considered it. Of course, I have. The thought crept in the second her voice spilled through my speakers, and it hasn’t left since I saw her—awkward, real, nothing like the fantasy, and so much more dangerous for it.
Ilya waits, that damn knowing grin lurking in the corner of his mouth. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of a response.
Instead, I say, “It’s complicated.”
He laughs quietly. “That’s not a no.”
I look away, unable to hide the truth from myself, if not from him.
No, it’s not a no.
Ilya smirks, tapping the side of his nose. “I thought you were into blondes, my friend. Tall, icy. The ones who look like they want to bite you.”
I roll my eyes. “Fuck you, Ilya.”
He grins wider. “Just making sure your type hasn’t changed overnight. Should I put in a requisition with HR for a six-foot runway model?”
“Put in a requisition for your own sanity,” I snap, but there’s no real heat in it. “And close the door on your way out.”
He stands, stretching. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone the boss has gone soft for the new girl.”
I glare at him, but he’s already heading for the door. Ilya pauses at the door, glancing over his shoulder. “So, does she know why she’s here? The real reason?”
I clear my throat, not quite meeting his eyes. “Not yet.”
He grins, all teeth and trouble. “Would be complicated for her to find you a bride if you want to fuck her, you know?”
I shoot him a look that should kill. He just laughs, slipping out the door
The echo of it lingers even after he’s gone.
I lean back in my chair, jaw set, staring at the empty hallway.
Blonde, brunette, redhead—it was never about the hair.
But this one is different. And I’m in trouble.