Chapter 10 - Gela
Valentin’s in some kind of broody mood today, and for some reason, that makes it hard for me to focus. Ever since I started working in this office a week ago, we’ve established a routine that allows us to coexist without getting in each other’s way.
Usually.
But day by day, the lines of our work are blurring, and I sometimes find myself watching him, wondering what’s going on in his part of the world. I don’t mean to get sucked in, but he’s always there, and I’m right across.
“I don't care what excuse he gave you,” Valentin bellows into the phone. “This was supposed to be handled yesterday.”
His voice drops to an octave of aggression that, for some reason, sends shivers down my spine. I try to focus on my analytics report, but my eyes keep wandering back to him, as if he has his own magnetic pull.
“No. That's not acceptable.” He starts to pace the floor now. “You tell him he either delivers by tonight or the deal is off. Permanently.”
When Valentin’s brows furrow, I notice the lines around his eyes crinkle even further. It’s strange how outside these walls, I never truly think about his age. Yet, in his office, his magnetic presence echoes the wisdom of age.
He didn’t survive to be a powerful Bratva leader at forty-one by sitting back and staying mute.
Everything he does is lethal, and that’s how he stays in control.
I’m starting to understand that now. When he delivers orders, he leaves no room for negotiation.
This isn’t a democracy. It’s Valentin’s world, and he keeps it his by leaving nothing to chance.
Being in my mid-twenties and someone who straight-up went for the start-up world, I hadn’t seen my fair share of leaders. But Valentin’s teaching me more than he knows, just by allowing me in the same room as him.
Maybe that’s why I stare. That’s why I listen to every word he says.
I hate that I'm noticing how powerful and commanding he is, though, and admiring him for it even. I should be repulsed. This man basically kidnapped me, forced me to marry him, and has kept me here with no talk of when I can leave. And yet, I’m impressed.
He hangs up with a curse and tosses his phone onto his desk. His shoulders are tense as he has his back to me. When he runs a hand through his dark hair, messing it up deliciously, I find my body jolting awake.
I look away and clear my throat before my mind goes to places it shouldn’t. “All okay?” I turn a page on the file I’m reading, just to look busy, so he doesn’t think I’ve been watching.
He turns with a groan, and the golden hour light from the window frames his body, making the blue in his eyes shine even brighter from across the room. “It would be, if my men learned how to listen.”
“Maybe you should learn to give your orders better,” I tease, trying to lighten the mood because he looks so damn miserable, and usually, he enjoys a healthy dose of banter.
“My orders are just fine,” he snaps and shuts me down.
I don’t say anything more. God. He’s really touchy today.
For the next few hours, I watch him from the corner of my eye. He's clearly still fuming about whatever went wrong on that call. He keeps checking his phone, sending out frantic messages, and occasionally muttering under his breath in Russian.
The evening turns warmer, and Valentin loosens his tie in rapid movements that shouldn't be as sexy as they are. He pulls it off completely, tossing it onto his desk before unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt.
I swallow hard and go back to pretending to focus on the email I've been trying to compose for the last twenty minutes.
But then I hear the sound of rustling fabric and look up again. He’s rolling up his sleeves, and I actually forget to breathe for a second. His arms are beautiful in this light, corded with muscle, the black ink from the tattoo sleeves reflecting all light.
God. There's something ridiculously hot about a man in a business shirt with the sleeves rolled up, especially when that man looks like he could bench press a car.
Once again, I pry my eyes away, but it takes a lot of mental force to do so.
His phone rings away, and I don’t bother looking up this time, knowing all I’ll see is a frown.
But it’s the softness in his voice that surprises me. “Hello, Darya.”
It’s his sister. My eyes flicker over to him, and he’s leaning back in his chair now, a small, gentle smile playing on his face. Is this the same Valentin I’ve spent the day with? Impossible.
“Is everything okay, little sis?”
He calls her little sis, and I near melt.
It's like watching a different man emerge. His entire posture relaxes, and the hard lines of his face melt into a soft kindness. His voice, which had been cold and fierce moments ago, now flows like warm honey.
“Of course I'm coming to your art show,” he gushes. “I wouldn't miss it... No, Nadya already told me what to wear... Yes, I'll bring flowers... Don't worry so much.”
I can't stop staring. This tenderness is so unexpected, and at odds with the criminal I know him to be. When he smiles while speaking to his sister, it lights up his whole face. When he laughs, it warms the corners of my heart. When he says he’ll do something, he sounds like he means it.
I find myself wondering what it would be like if he turned that smile on me, and whether it’d look just that innocent.
And just like that, my mind wanders to dangerous territory.
I imagine him hanging up the phone and walking toward my desk in slow, predatory steps. In my thoughts, he's still got that soft smile, but there's heat in his eyes now. He wheels my chair back from the desk and forces me to look up at him.
“You've been watching me all day,” he’ll whisper, and that voice will kiss my spine. “Did you think I wouldn't notice?”
In this dangerous daydream, I don't shrink away. I meet his gaze boldly. “So what if I was?”
He leans down, and his hands are on my armrests until he’s got me caged in. “So I think we should stop pretending.”
His face is now inches from mine, close enough that I can feel his breath on my lips. His thumb carefully brushes the corner of my chin, and I let out a small gasp.
“Pretending what?” I whisper.
“That you don't want me as badly as I want you.”
The next thing I know, he’s kissing me. But it’s not gentle. It’s ferocious, screaming volumes of how bad he wants me. I tilt my neck to make more space, and his hand slides to the back of my neck, digging in until I’m a hot mess.
I imagine his other hand trailing across my collarbone, dipping lower to trace the neckline of my blouse. His fingers brush against the swell of my breast, and even in reality, I find my thighs clench.
He breaks the kiss and whispers in my ear. “I've wanted to do this since the first time I saw you.”
His hand moves lower, past my waist to the hem of my skirt. In my mind, I don’t stop him. I part my legs slightly in an invitation, and he slides his hand up my thigh, his touch leaving fire in its wake.
His fingers slip beneath my panties, finding me already wet for him, and I jerk back to reality just as I find myself holding back an actual, real moan.
My face burns with embarrassment. What if I’d moaned and Valentin had heard me?
What the hell am I doing fantasizing about Valentin while he's literally right across the room? I shift in my seat, uncomfortably aware of the heat between my legs.
God, I'm losing my mind. I shouldn’t even be thinking of him in this way, when just days ago, he was torturing a man with pliers in his hand. I should be sick just looking at him. Instead, I’m imagining what it’d be like if he turned that smile on me.
What the hell is this…Stockholm syndrome?
I glance at Valentin, who's thankfully still on the phone and hasn't noticed my little trip to fantasy land. But watching him now, knowing what I just imagined, makes it impossible to concentrate and far too easy to forget that violent side of him.
This is his fault. If he hadn't forced me into this bizarre arrangement, I wouldn't be trapped here with no outlet for my... frustrations. I wouldn't be having inappropriate thoughts about a man who's basically my captor.
I turn back to my computer, the irritation prickling under my skin. It’s his goddamn fault I can’t work. I never should have agreed to this office situation in the first place.
The rest of the afternoon crawls by as I try and fail to catch up on my projects, hyper-aware of Valentin's every movement.
“Gela?”
“What?” I snap, not bothering to look up.
“Was just asking if you want coffee,” Valentin’s amused voice rings in my ears.
“Can’t you see? I’m working. Stop bothering me!”
I don’t mean to snap, but honestly, he’s snapped at me all day, and now I’ve got way too much work on my hands.
“Okay,” he says, like nothing even happened.
I know one more thing about Valentin Yuri to be a fact: That man’s got skin as thick as an elephant’s.
I have half the mind to storm up to him and give him a list of reasons why it’s impossible to work with him around me, but none of those reasons seem professional enough to say out loud.
What will I say exactly? Hey, Valentin, you’re way too sexy to focus around?
And just like that, I’m spiraling with thoughts of him again. But then my phone rings, and I actually sigh with relief.
Talking to someone who isn’t him will help keep me grounded.
“Gela Jones speaking,” I answer brightly, sitting up straight.
“Ms. Jones, my name is Marcus Thompson from Everest Solutions. We're interested in discussing your marketing services for our upcoming product launch.”
Suddenly, I’m on the ball. Everest Solutions is a major tech firm, and this could be huge for my business. “I'd be happy to discuss that with you, Mr. Thompson. What kind of campaign are you looking for?”
As he outlines their needs, I can barely contain my excitement. This is exactly the kind of high-profile client that could prove that our Fitness Haven account isn’t just a fluke, but that we’ve arrived to play with the big boys.
“We'd need to move quickly on this,” he continues. “Our launch is scheduled for next quarter. Could we set up a meeting at your office this week?”
“I'm actually working remotely at the moment,” I explain. “But we could do a video call tomorrow if that works for you.”
“I'd prefer in-person for this initial meeting,” he insists. “Perhaps I could come to your home office? Just need an address to send the contract over.”
This is when a warning bell begins to ring. Clients aren’t usually this pushy, and in my field of work, a remote office isn’t all that abnormal.
“We can sign contracts electronically,” I counter. “No need for paper copies these days.”
“My investors are old school,” he presses. “They insist on physical signatures. It's a quirk, but what can you do? Just give me your address, and we can move forward.”
I catch Valentin looking at me now. He's heard enough to be suspicious.
“I understand, but I’m not in town,” I lie.
“I can fly to meet you,” he says, a little too fast. Suddenly, my heart begins to race, and not in a good way. My entire nervous system is screaming at me to be alert. No self-respecting, busy executive working on a company this huge would be willing to fly for a signature.
I test my theory. “Why don’t you e-mail the contract, and I can sign and mail it back to you? There’ll be no need for you to fly.”
“No, but I must verify the signature is yours.”
Okay. He sounds paranoid as fuck, but more than that, something else echoes in my mind.
“Mr. Thompson?” My voice turns steel. “You want to sign with us without even asking for a pitch deck? Without asking for a quote? Tell me something,” I speak slowly, giving voice to my suspicions.
“These investors of yours... they wouldn't happen to be interested in more than just marketing services, would they?”
He goes silent, dangerously so, before speaking. “I don't know what you mean.”
“I think you do. You're not from Everest Solutions. You're working for the Zakharovs, aren't you?”
“Look.” His voice hardens. “We can't work with you if you won't give us an address. My funders need—” He stops abruptly, realizing his slip.
“Yeah, that's what I thought,” I bellow into the phone with rage, the disappointment washing over me. “Tell your 'funders' I'm not that easy to find. And don't call this number again.”
I hang up and slam my phone down, trying not to let the tears roll down my face. So much for my big break.
“They're still looking for you, aren’t they?” Valentin asks quietly.
I look up to find him standing beside my desk. “Yes, thank you, Captain Obvious. I figured that out all by myself.”
I expect him to gloat and remind me that this is exactly why I need his protection.
Instead, he pulls up a chair and sits beside me, close enough that our knees almost touch.
“I'm sorry,” he says, and the genuine regret in his voice catches me off guard. “I know how much your business means to you.”
I swallow hard, fighting the sudden well of tears in my eyes. “It was supposed to be my big break, you know? I got so excited when I got the call. I thought…people were starting to talk about us.”
“You don't need people to talk about your work,” he says gently, in that same voice he uses with his sisters. “What you've built is impressive, Gela. The real clients will come, and your current ones can’t live without you, remember? These things…take time. And you’re young. So, so young. This is only the beginning for you, just wait and watch.”
“You don't have to say that,” I whisper, looking up into his eyes. His words calm me more than I want to admit.
“I'm not in the habit of saying things I don't mean.” His eyes lock on mine.
Damn it, he’s right. I shouldn’t forget I’m only twenty-five. I hate that he can cut through my panic so easily, because I don’t want him to be the one I lean on.
But in this moment, he’s what I need.
“You're remarkable, Gela Jones. Don't let anyone make you doubt that.”
His words tug at my heartstrings, making it beat fiercer, and I’m lost to all sight but the blue in his eyes, all sound but the blood gushing in my ears. Every second is a loud awakening to how close we sit, his knee now softly brushing mine.
Without thinking, I place one hand on his arm, those same coiled arms I’d daydreamed about, and whisper. “Thank you, Valentin.”
He looks at me with agony, like looking at me isn’t enough, and I know then, exactly what’s going to happen.
“Valentin…” My breath comes out all heady, telling him what I can’t bring myself to.
His gaze drops to my lips for a heartbeat before returning to my eyes, and I know then that any line of restraint has just snapped.
His hand comes up to cup my face, thumb brushing gently across my cheekbone, and I lean in, my lips hovering just near his. He stares into my eyes for just a second before he takes a shuddering breath and brushes up against me.
The taste of his lips has me drowning in the best way possible. I grab his shirt and pull him closer to kiss him back harder.