Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Briony
I should've said no, but the refusal lodged in my throat.
Was he out of his mind? Or still half asleep? A few hours ago, I'd woken in his arms, then bolted like a coward while he slept. Now he stood here, announcing to the entire office that I was his new assistant.
My cheeks burned. What the hell was this man playing at? Was this his way of reminding me that no matter how fast I ran, he could always step right back into my path?
Even more absurd—I'd barely been here a month.
Assistant positions went to women in sharp suits who juggled three meetings at once, not to someone who hadn't even warmed her desk chair yet.
"I—" I tried to fight back.
But I'd barely gotten one syllable out before his eyebrow lifted.
That wasn't a question. That was a man used to giving orders, hearing someone try to refuse him for the first time.
"I mean, I'm not qualified." I forced the words out under his stare. "I've been full-time less than a month. You need an experienced assistant, not a wedding planner who just lost her intern tag."
"You ran yesterday's wedding."
"That doesn't prove I can work for you. Planning weddings and being your assistant are completely different."
"Your wedding design was flawless. And when two assholes deliberately humiliated you, you didn't smash the mic or wreck the ceremony." He looked down at me, dead serious. "You controlled the situation and saved the client's wedding. That's enough."
My throat tightened. He'd actually noticed all that.
To get promoted, I'd done countless things no one saw—memorized every last-minute seating change, every demand too ridiculous to be real. But to everyone else, that was just grunt work for a newbie.
Varlam saw it. He'd actually evaluated my performance, recognized my ability. And that validation came from a man at the top of the food chain. The weight of it pressed down, making any argument feel flimsy.
"Or—" His knuckles tapped the desk twice, voice dropping low, "you're not worried about ability at all. You're worried that being too close to me will make you lose control."
A dangerous thrill rippled under my skin. This man belonged to a world I'd only heard about in rumors. He couldn't be measured by ordinary rules. And he was my ex's brother. One step closer and the life I'd barely stabilized could completely implode.
But when he looked down at me with that weathered confidence and calculated aggression, it had a way of dissolving judgment.
"You think pretty highly of yourself." My mouth said one thing while my body said another.
"I've got reason to." His gaze lingered on my flushed neck, his tone maddeningly certain. "Last night proved it."
Damn it. Did he have to bring up last night here? With dozens of eyes still on us?
"This is an office." I reminded him through gritted teeth.
"I know." His tone stayed infuriatingly calm. "That's why we're discussing work."
"Doesn't sound like it."
"Then let's talk salary." He finally straightened. "Five times your current pay."
My prepared rebuttal died on my tongue.
"You can't think money solves everything."
"It doesn't." His voice stayed flat. "But it'll solve your problems. You need money."
He'd looked into me. Or at least checked my employee file and salary records.
That realization should've made me uncomfortable, but I couldn't quite articulate why. His tone held no mockery—if anything, it sounded like he was mapping out a real way forward for me.
Five times my salary meant paying off my parents' medical debt faster. It meant when the fridge broke, I wouldn't have to choose between repairs and rent. It even meant I could actually take Rory to Canada, to that Royal Tyrrell Paleontology Museum he'd been talking about for two years.
My instincts screamed, "Refuse him. This man will wreck your life."
But bills, rent, and Rory's hopeful eyes formed another voice, louder.
"Do you investigate everyone you hire?" I asked.
"Only the ones who run from my bed."
My breath hitched again.
"Fine." I drew in air. "I'll take the job. But it's just work."
Varlam's mouth curved slightly, like a winner who'd finally heard the right answer.
"Of course." His gaze swept down my body—suggestive but not uncomfortable. "When you want to offer extra services, we can negotiate separately."
"Dream on."
"Already did. Last night."
I was starting to suspect that teasing people with loaded remarks was his hobby. But images from last night crashed into my head anyway. Varlam naked above me, rough palms gripping my waist, making me come again and again.
"Pack your things." He nodded toward my desk, as if he hadn't just sent my heart racing. "Report to the top floor this afternoon."
"Top floor?" I frowned. "That's not our company."
I remembered floors sixteen and up belonged to Norsman Business Consulting. I'd delivered documents there for a client last month. Independent visitor elevator, appointment-only reception, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking downtown. Regular employees didn't even have elevator access.
"It is now." Varlam's answer was simple enough to confuse me more.
"What do you mean, 'now'?"
"After the equity transfer finalizes tomorrow, the entire building becomes my asset." He said it like commenting on the weather.
The previously quiet office erupted. My brain went blank for several seconds.
I was only now realizing what kind of power this man actually wielded.
"You bought out an entire office building's worth of companies just to move your office to the top floor?"
Varlam glanced at me. That look made me instantly realize how stupid the question was.
"I don't acquire companies for trivial reasons." He paused. "Though as my personal assistant, you don't need to understand all my business on your first day."
His answer sounded reasonable. But that faint curve at the corner of his mouth made me think there was more to it. How many companies he owned, what industries he controlled, what this building's companies meant in his empire—I had no idea.
"See you this afternoon, assistant." With that, he strode out.
That victor's posture made my shoulders feel heavy.
After Varlam left, everyone stared at the door like they hadn't processed what just happened.
The redhead found her voice first.
"Oh my God." Her eyes went round. "He's like the ultimate silver fox. And he actually bought the whole office building?"
The office exploded.
"There's at least four companies here." Another girl marveled. "Wedding planning, logistics, investment management, business consulting. Totally different businesses, different owners."
"Not anymore." Someone mimicked Varlam's earlier tone.
A few people laughed, tension breaking.
I kept my head down, gathering things from my desk. I still didn't fully understand what happened. How did the whole building just become his?
"How much does it cost to buy four companies at once?" The redhead was still buzzing. "When he announced it, he sounded like he'd just bought coffee."
"Wait." One girl frowned thoughtfully. "Petrov. I've heard that name somewhere."
"Financial news?"
"Not just financial news." She glanced toward the door mysteriously, like checking for eavesdroppers. "I've heard rumors before. The Petrov family doesn't just do legitimate business. Lots of New York's casinos and smuggling operations connect back to them. People say they're bratva."
The atmosphere shifted. The excitement about money and looks mixed with real wariness now.
"You mean... mob?"
My fingers stopped on my water bottle. Winnie had been watching the other girls, but now her gaze landed on my face.
This wasn't the first time I'd heard what Varlam was. But hearing the word "bratva" from my colleague's mouth made it split away from Makar's vague stories and become something real.
"Keep your voice down." The girl who'd dropped the bomb lowered hers. "These aren't people we can gossip about."
Winnie kept staring. I deliberately avoided her eyes and kept organizing my desk.
Makar once said that if Varlam wanted, a debtor could disappear from New York's streets without a trace. And people who betrayed the family—Varlam tortured them half to death in interrogation rooms.
Once when Makar was drunk, he told me Varlam broke traitors' fingers one by one during interrogations. It scared me then.
But thinking back now, Makar never told me why those people got punished. Never explained why he described his brother that way.
He only said what Varlam did, never how it started. Just like when he talked about our relationship, he'd probably only tell people I betrayed him before the wedding, never mention he'd been sleeping with Chloe the whole time.
That thought dulled my fear a bit.
"So our new boss might actually be a mob boss?" The redhead's fear lasted seconds. "Rich, gorgeous, dangerous, and he bought the whole building in one go. This is more dramatic than TV."
"What's more dramatic is Briony." Someone turned to me. "He moved her to the top floor as his assistant. That can't be coincidence."
They'd obviously adapted well to Varlam's new identity. And I had no idea how much of my conversation with him they'd heard.
"Definitely not. When he held her, he looked ready to bury the supervisor who touched her alive. You're telling me nothing happened between them?"
Several pairs of eyes swiveled to me in unison. That synchronized movement made me want to crawl into my desk drawer.
"Briony, what's your relationship with Mr. Petrov really?"
"Boss and unlucky employee," I answered too fast.
"Unlucky?" Lily joined in now, her voice dripping acid. "Barely promoted and the new boss personally moves you to the top floor with five times the salary. How come that kind of unlucky never happens to anyone else? Who knows what methods she used."
The jealousy practically spilled out of her. Winnie's chair whipped toward her.
"If jealousy counted as job performance, you'd have been promoted ages ago." Winnie's smile was sugar-sweet. "Too bad Mr. Petrov was here all that time and didn't even ask your name."
Someone nearby couldn't hold back a laugh.