Chapter 7 #2
"I was just making conversation." Lily bit her lip.
"Then you should make less of it." Winnie turned back slowly. "Before everyone figures out that besides touching up lipstick, you really don't have anything worth the new boss's attention."
Lily pounded her keyboard and shut up. The others realized pressing me further wasn't appropriate and gradually returned to work.
"Don't ask." I glanced at Winnie, who clearly wanted more intel, and said wearily, "We spent one night together. What I know about him mostly comes from Makar. And this man has appeared in my life exactly twice and completely upended it both times. That's not a good sign for me."
Winnie shot me a confused look.
"But at least right now, he's basically perfect, right?" She helped me pack files into my box. "I think this might be good for you. Maybe it's the beginning of your romantic story."
"Romantic story?" I couldn't help laughing. "Him and me? Don't be ridiculous. Last night and what just happened were only—"
An accident? Coincidence? I didn't know how to describe it.
Like a train that derailed but kept barreling forward. Honestly, I had no idea what any of this meant.
"Relax, Briony." Winnie's arm settled around my shoulders. "That's how novels go. Beautiful encounter, impulsive night, unexpected workplace reunion. Then two people attracted to each other, falling in love..."
"You need to read fewer romance novels." I cut her off.
But some door in my heart loosened anyway.
Who would've thought? After that ridiculous one-night stand with my ex's brother, the silver fox from that bed became my boss. The doubled salary and this vaguely intimate assistant position made it hard not to let my mind wander.
But I shook off those extra thoughts and packed them away with the last item from my desk.
At two that afternoon, I walked into the top-floor office carrying my box. Varlam already sat behind that massive desk.
The entire floor felt quiet, sealed off from the chaos below. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows stretched New York's blue skyline and bright sunlight. Inside, traces of the previous occupant's woody cologne lingered, but with Varlam sitting there, this was completely his territory now.
He'd removed his suit jacket, wearing only a black shirt. Sleeves rolled to his elbows, exposing solid, powerful forearms. Relaxed and magnetic.
My heart shamefully quickened. But that wasn't why he'd moved me here to share his space. Assistants at big companies had their own offices. They only appeared when handling the CEO's work.
Now, my workstation sat not far from Varlam's. The desk held a new computer, office phone, and stack of files waiting to be processed. The two desks were inappropriately close—I'd bet he didn't even need to stand to see what I was doing.
This wasn't a normal assistant position. It was more like surveillance.
"Logistics, investment, business consulting, plus wedding planning." I set my box on the desk. "I can understand why all four companies would be worth acquiring."
Varlam didn't look up, just turned a page. That composure only frustrated me more.
"But putting me under your nose—is that part of your business plan too?"
Varlam's hand stopped mid-turn. He raised his eyes, steel-gray gaze resting on my face for several seconds.
"You think this is all about you?"
"Of course not," I answered quickly, as if being one second slower would let his next accurate denial wound me. "Whatever we had ended when I left this morning. I'm clear on that."
I also understood Varlam wouldn't lack for women. They'd be perfect, tall and slim, good at pleasing men. Definitely not my type—someone who couldn't even afford proper clothes.
"But you look like you want confirmation."
This man could see through everyone so easily.
"I just don't understand why you suddenly became my boss today and put my desk less than six feet from yours." My voice came out flat.
"You don't need to understand." He stood, circling the desk, walking toward me step by step. "You just need to understand that sneaking away only counts as running. Not ending things."
We were too close. The previously spacious office suddenly felt cramped. Even the air thinned.
"Adults spend a night together sometimes. They don't need a meeting the next day to define the relationship."
"You're right."
His agreement was too quick, making me more wary. I wanted distance, but Varlam's arm swept around my waist first. Before I could react, my body left the ground.
"Varlam—" I grabbed him instinctively.
He lifted me with one hand at my waist and set me on the desk. Like my weight had been cut in half. The position made my skirt ride up. I instinctively pressed my legs together, but Varlam had already stepped between my knees.
"But that's assuming one person didn't disappear from the other's bed without a word," he continued.
He made my leaving sound like deliberate provocation, but I'd just wanted to leave that out-of-control night at the hotel before he woke.
"So this is revenge?"
"My patience was tested."
"Sounds like the same thing." I looked up at him with that challenged expression, couldn't help teasing, "Men always mistake one impulsive night for some kind of ownership."
The last warmth in Varlam's eyes drained away.
"Are you comparing me to other men?" His voice stayed calm, but his jaw tightened.
"I'm just confirming if this is your standard pattern." I sensed danger and worked to keep my tone steady. "Keeping women around, controlling their work and whereabouts. You do this with other women too?"
Brief silence fell. Varlam stared at me, something dark and cold in his eyes I'd never seen before.
"Control." He repeated the word quietly.
Then he straightened, withdrawing the arm braced beside me. The pressure vanished, but I felt no relief. He returned to his desk, settling back into his chair, tapping his cigar box. Each tap hit my taut nerves.
"You seem very interested in how I treat other women."
"Just asking." I slid off the desk.
I already regretted my stubbornness.
"Then do your own job first." He pushed the cigar box to the desk's edge, steel-gray eyes landing on me again. "Open it."
His tone went cold, like the earlier spark never existed.
I resignedly walked over and opened the box. Inside lay several Cohiba cigars, with a silver cutter and lighter beside them.
"Cut it. Light it."
I looked at the cigar, then at him.
"This is assistant work?"
"This is the first thing I'm giving you to do." His voice wasn't loud, but somehow reminded me of people downstairs holding their breath in his presence.
It wasn't difficult. Dad occasionally smoked Cuban cigars—I'd seen him handle them.
I took one from the box, carefully cut the cap, then slowly toasted the edges with the lighter until the faint tobacco aroma spread. The flame finally burned evenly. I handed him the cigar carefully.
Varlam took it, brought it to his lips for a draw. I was about to step back when he suddenly exhaled the smoke in my face. The harsh tobacco scent invaded my nose, the acrid sting shooting straight to my eyes. I coughed unprepared, stumbling back two steps.
"Mr. Petrov." I wiped the water from my eyes with the back of my hand, glaring at him. "If you just want to make things difficult, there are more mature ways than blowing smoke in my face."
I'd misjudged him. He was just a nasty fake gentleman. Smoke rose slowly, making his features look even deeper. His gaze traveled slowly up from my heaving chest.
"Like?" He made the word sound low.
I knew that look too well. This wasn't what I meant to say. I hated anyone toying with me like this.
"I mean you could make the work harder. I'm sure I can handle it."
"Anything I give you counts as work."
As he spoke, he flicked ash. A small gray-white flake fell on the carpet.
"Clean it up," he said.
"You did that on purpose." I bit my lip, didn't move.
I knew my earlier teasing had displeased him, like I'd touched something he couldn't have mentioned. But I completely didn't understand what that had to do with him deliberately flicking ash on the floor, then ordering me to clean it.
"Is that expression telling me being my assistant makes you feel wronged?" He raised one eyebrow.
If not for that salary, I'd have wanted to dump the whole cigar box in his face. But reality cost more than dignity.
I pulled out tissues and crouched in front of him.
My previously neat skirt kept riding up my thighs.
I reached to hold it down, but found my neckline had opened instead.
Couldn't manage both. When my inner thighs felt the chill, I could only press my legs together.
One hand covering my chest, the other awkwardly wiping the carpet.
The room went too quiet. Varlam didn't rush me, but I felt his gaze hotter than smoke. Everywhere he looked left a brand. Damn it. I should've stood and cursed him out, but even my knees went weak.
Just as I finished cleaning and prepared to stand, a large palm pressed down on my head. Varlam's fingers threaded through my hair, tightening slightly, forcing me to look up and meet his eyes.
"What's the hurry?" His voice softened, but the undisguised hunger in his eyes alarmed me. "I haven't given you permission to stand."
He stubbed out the cigar, then leaned back in his chair.
"In the car, you were much better at pleasing me than this."
My face flushed instantly, his thick hardness appearing uncontrolled in my mind.
"That was just—" I wanted to argue, to say it was all impulse, I'd just wanted revenge on Makar.
But my already dampening core betrayed me.
"Like then. Take me in your mouth." He issued the command again.
My stomach tightened slowly with anger and resentment. But my knees had already surrendered to him. No matter how I resisted, they kept moving toward him.