Chapter 22
JENNA
One month later…
The office is alive with activity.
It’s barely past eight when I step into Abram’s office and he already looks delicious. Charcoal grey slacks, white shirt rolled up at the sleeves, top button undone, grey vest snug over his chest like it was custom-stitched for his body.
He looks up from whatever document he’s destroying with that predator stare of his.. His mouth curves into something I’ve learned to translate as, good—you’re here. I need you.But he doesn’t say anything.
I shoot him a smirk. “Good morning to you too, boss man.”
He grunts, then motions for me to sit.
“Two things from legal,” I say, clicking open my tablet.
“One, our Nevada liquor license renewals for our food and drink properties are squared away through next year. And two, your signature’s needed on the zoning variance for the downtown property.
I emailed it over, but the city’s asking for a hard copy. ”
Abram nods, already scribbling something down. “Have Julian handle the courier. I don’t want to babysit city paperwork.”
“Done. Also, FYI. Your little side venture in Prague? We got confirmation that the shell company’s now fully operational. Even the tax nerds were impressed.”
His smirk returns. “Tell them I’m touched.”
I cross my legs and lean back in the leather chair. “Don’t tempt me, Vasiliev. I’m trying to be professional this morning.”
“Trying,” he murmurs, eyes flicking down my body before snapping back to mine. “Keyword.”
A beat of silence, thick and charged, passes between us. Then he straightens, his mood shifting. “Did you nail down that meeting with Nico yet?”
I exhale, tapping to my notes. “I’ve tried every number I’ve got. Twice a week, for the past three weeks. They keep telling me Don Agosti is too ill for a formal meeting.”
Abram’s brow tightens. “I smell bullshit.”
“Yep. And now two of your guys have reported issues at the Blue Anchor.”
His hand clenches where it rests on the desk. “They’re testing us.”
I don’t answer, letting the silence speak for itself. Because I believe they are testing him. I’m not exactly a Bratva expert, but it’s not a stretch to imagine the Agostis are sniffing around for an opening.
Abram leans back in his chair, staring at the skyline. “You’ve been trying to reach Nico for three goddamn weeks. He’s dodging me. Either because he’s up to something, or he’s too stupid to see how important it is that we meet.”
“Want me to try again?”
His jaw flexes. “No. I’ll handle it.”
I don’t press. Not when he’s like this—calm on the surface but starting to crack underneath.
I close my tablet, acting more casual than I feel. Something tells me this Agosti situation is only getting started. And it’s not going to have a pretty ending.
Abram exhales heavily then pushes back from the desk. He circles around like a lion in a cage, stopping in front of me.
“Come here.”
I stand, almost as if gravity itself pulls me to him. He wraps his arms around my waist, firm and sure, pulling me flush against his rock-solid chest. My palms settle lightly there, the scent of him wrapping around me like silk.
“You,” he murmurs, brushing his nose against mine, “are too brave for your own good.”
I grin up at him. “Funny. I was just about to say the same to you.”
He huffs something close to a laugh, and I rise on my toes to kiss him—slow and warm—teasing just enough to make him tighten his grip on my hips.
“So tell me,” I whisper, lips still brushing his, “what would you like your too-brave assistant to do?”
He leans back just enough to meet my eyes, a flicker of something sharp in his expression. “It’s time I make a call to Don Agosti myself.”
I blink. “Wait, you’re bypassing Nico and going straight to the don?”
Abram nods, his jaw tight. “Nico is the one showing disrespect. And I don’t believe for a second that Don Agosti’s too sick to meet. My sources say he’s still taking visitors.”
I shift slightly in his arms. “You sure you want to poke that bear? Didn’t you say that old school men like him care about hierarchy? Protocol?”
He brushes his knuckles down my cheek. “If the messages aren’t reaching him, that is the breach in protocol.”
The heat in his voice gives me goosebumps. He kisses me again, slower this time, hands slipping down to cup my ass with zero shame. It’s the kind of kiss that says he’s not thinking about organized crime anymore.
“Enough business talk,” he says, lips trailing toward my jaw. “I’ve been imagining bending you over this desk since you walked in.”
It’s tempting. Very tempting. But one of us has to stay on task.
“Oh really?” I chuckle, sliding a palm between us and patting his chest twice. “Hate to break it to you, boss, but you’ve got a meeting with Mikail and Denis in an hour.”
He groans.
“Which means,” I add, stepping out of his arms with a little sway in my hips, “you’ve got exactly fifty-eight minutes to review their proposal before you start winging it in front of your two most important lieutenants.”
“You’re no fun.”
I flash a grin over my shoulder. “Oh, I’m a lot of fun. Just not the kind you can squeeze into an hour.”
With a sassy wink, I head for the door—hips swaying, grin wicked, leaving him to his meeting and his frustration.
“We could accomplish a hell of a lot in an hour, ya know,” Abram calls after me, tone laced with a smoky promise.
I pause at his door, glancing back over my shoulder with a teasing smirk. “And yet, think of all the ways I can reward your patience tonight.” My voice drops into a playful purr. “Trust me—it’ll be worth the wait.”
His eyes darken in that way I’ve come to crave, and he closes the distance in two long strides, taking my face gently in his hands. “Are you sure you want to wait?”
God, the way he kisses me—possessive yet tender—melts every last ounce of my resistance. My fingers thread through his shirt, tempted to tug him back toward that damned irresistible desk. I pull away just enough to catch my breath, my lips tingling with the ghost of his kiss.
“Barely,” I whisper honestly, feeling the heat rising within. “But yeah. I’m sure.”
Abram chuckles, giving my ass a playful slap as I finally turn away.
I whirl back around, mouth dropping open in mock outrage. “You’re going to pay for that!”
He leans casually against the wall, those ice-blue eyes gleaming with mischief. “And you’re going to love every minute of it. I’m well aware how much you enjoy a little spanking, Jenna.”
A blush heats my cheeks. Damn him. He’s right. “Behave,” I scold, closing his office door firmly behind me but not before I catch the smug grin spreading across his face.
God, he’s trouble.
Smiling to myself, I cross to my office, my pulse still pleasantly buzzing. I groan at the clutter before me. Papers are scattered everywhere; I’ve let it get completely out of hand.
I sit down and start sorting, stacking papers into tidy piles, trashing useless printouts and sticky notes. As I file and organize, my mind drifts inevitably to Abram. That little slap echoes in my memory, stoking a fantasy that slips in uninvited:
Abram bends me over his desk, his hands firm on my hips, pressing himself against me, while whispering dirty promises that send heat shooting through my entire body. His hand slides slowly up my thigh, teasing my skirt higher until…
I catch myself, cheeks heating again as I smile like an idiot. I’m hopeless around that man.
Determined to regain focus, I move onto the drawers, pulling them open and sorting out pens, paperclips, and random office supplies. Satisfied, I tug open the third drawer, and stop cold.
A box of tampons stares back at me.
I frown, confused, and pick it up slowly. When was the last time I…?
Oh.
A flicker of unease ripples through me. My period. When exactly did I have it last? I rack my brain, trying to remember.
I glance at my desk calendar, then open my phone and swipe through my cycle-tracking app. My heart jumps unpleasantly. According to the app, I’m overdue. A full week overdue, to be precise.
This doesn’t happen; I’m never late.
I stare at my phone, trying not to panic. It could just be stress. I have been busy—working long hours, sleeping with my sexy-as-hell boss in between. Stress can definitely delay periods.
My phone buzzes suddenly, causing me to nearly drop it. Claire’s name pops up on my screen. I open the text.
Remember—happy hour at five o’clock! Don’t stand me up!
I reply immediately, fingers trembling slightly.
Wouldn’t dream of it. See you there.
My heart pounds hard against my ribs. Happy hour with Claire is usually my favorite way to decompress, but today it feels daunting.
If anyone can see right through my carefully constructed wall of composure, it’s Claire.
I haven’t even told her I’m seeing him. How am I supposed to casually mention I might be pregnant with Abram’s baby?
Oh, God. Could I actually be pregnant?
A million thoughts spin through my head. We’ve been careful, but not every time. My stomach tightens with an odd combination of nerves and excitement.
I exhale slowly, forcing myself to calm down. Jumping to conclusions won’t help anything.
I give the box of tampons one last glance, then close the drawer slowly, willing my heart rate to return to normal. Pregnant or not, panicking won’t change anything. I’ll buy a test on the way home, take it in the privacy of my apartment, and go from there.
Until then, I have work to do.
I busy myself again, tidying my desk with renewed determination. But no matter how hard I try, my thoughts keep drifting back to the possibility that there might be a tiny life already growing inside me.
Abram’s child.
The idea simultaneously thrills and terrifies me. Abram’s world isn’t exactly white picket fences and suburban bliss. Could I bring a child into it? Could I handle it? How would Abram react?
My pulse quickens and I press my hands to my face, breathing in and out slowly. I’m getting ahead of myself again. I don’t even know if I’m pregnant, and already I’m spiraling.
Pull it together, Jenna. One step at a time.
With a deep breath, I glance at the clock. It’s nearly noon. Drinks with Claire is just a few hours away, and I need to look like I haven’t just had my entire world potentially flipped upside down.
I head to the restroom, taking a few moments to freshen up. I stare at myself in the mirror. I appear calm and collected on the surface, but beneath that facade, my nerves are uncertain and jittery.
“No matter what, you’ve got this,” I say to my reflection.
My voice sounds unconvincing. I splash cool water on my face, dab away any stray mascara smudges, and smooth my hair, trying to look and feel normal.
When I return to my desk, my phone vibrates again.
Abram.
I swallow hard as I open the text.
Have a good rest of the day. I’ll be counting the minutes until tonight.
Warmth floods me despite the anxiety humming beneath my skin. I reply quickly.
Counting them myself. Behave while I’m gone.
His reply is swift.
No promises.
I laugh softly, shaking my head. Even through the haze of worry, Abram still manages to make me smile.
Maybe that’s a sign.
Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out.