Chapter 5 - Josiah
Watching Kayla in the morning as she sorts out the girls' breakfast, I sit quietly and admire her. Sipping my coffee, I feel out of place as the twins giggle and push their blueberries and yogurt around the bowl.
“Come on, you two, eat up,” she says, standing behind Kelsey, busy doing her hair into a very cute high bun like a ballerina.
“I want two of those,” Kira declares, pointing to her sister’s hair.
“Did you bring two elastic hair bands?” Kayla asks.
Kira holds up one fat pink scrunchie.
“You can’t do two buns with one scrunchie, baby,” Kayla says.
Stella is currently in the kitchen making their lunch for preschool.
“Why doesn’t Stella do all this?” I ask thoughtfully. Kayla hired help, but she still seems to do so much on her own.
She looks up at me with her head tilted to the side.
“Every moment I get to spend with them is treasured. Even if it’s just doing hair and having breakfast,” she smiles a little.
“Some mornings are far too chaotic, but then Stella will take over, but if I can, most mornings, I like to be with them before I rush off to work.” She leans over and kisses the top of Kelsey’s head.
“Mama is the best at doing hair,” Kelsey informs me.
“Well, that is a very important skill to have,” I nod seriously.
I admire that Kayla somehow manages to fit everything in. I don’t know how she does it. It makes me reflect on my life and wonder how I would have managed two little girls and a full-time career. When I think about that, I can’t help but realize that she is some kind of Wonder Woman!
I saw her resume. She’s clearly brilliant at work, but now I get to see first-hand that she is also brilliant at home.
She’s wearing a tightly fitted knee-length, high-necked white dress with white high heels.
There is a pale blue jacket waiting over the back of her chair at the breakfast table, next to her leather work bag.
Her dark brown hair is braided in a very neat French plait down her back, and she has elegant, tiny diamond earrings on and a delicate silver chain around her wrist. Nothing else.
Her outfit is simple, sophisticated, and absolutely gorgeous.
Never mind the fact that it sits tight against her skin, hugging her shape like it was painted on. I almost want to forbid her from wearing it in the office because of the number of people who will be staring at her all day…including myself.
“Are you ready?” I ask, standing up as I glance at my watch. If I sit here any longer with my eyes grazing over her, I’m not going to be able to stand, given the way my cock is stirring.
“Um, yes, but are we…are we going in the same car?” she asks under her breath with her brows knitting.
I cock my head to the side. “Yes, why?”
“Don’t you think, um…” she bites her lip, and it sends a ripple of excitement through me.
“You’re worried about what people will think?” I ask.
“I just got the job. I don’t need people saying I did things to get it…before I’ve even had a chance to prove that I deserve the job,” she says.
“Right, yes, I understand. I’ll have Dante arrange a driver for you. He will take you today, if that's alright?”
“Thank you,” she smiles, clearly relieved.
***
I arrive at the office ten minutes before Kayla and immediately have her new desk moved closer to the viewing window in my office.
Right up against it, actually. If I had my way, I’d put her desk in my office, but I must respect her request; she does have the right to not have rumors flying around the building about how she got the job.
And unfortunately, office spaces are breeding grounds for gossip.
My employees know I don’t tolerate it, but that doesn’t mean it stops. It just means they do it quietly.
When Kayla arrives, and Bianca shows her to her desk, I am sitting at mine, watching through the glass. She scrunches her nose and glances at the window, at me.
“Wasn’t this desk over there last week?” she gestures to the wall on the other side of the space.
“Yes, but Mr. Belov requested it to be moved closer to make it easier for himself,” Bianca says stiffly. I smirk. It’s easier to keep my eye on her.
She offers no further explanation before she says, “Can I get you a coffee? How do you prefer it?”
“Yes, thank you. Cappuccino with one sugar,” Kayla says, setting her work bag down and unpacking her laptop and notebooks.
She sits down, her chair facing the window. She steals one quick glance up at me, and even from here I can see her cheeks flush rose-pink before she hurriedly looks away again.
Bianca returns with Kayla’s coffee and sets a document down in front of her.
“These are all of the logins to the programs you will be working on. If you need assistance setting it up, just go down to the tech guys; they'll do it for you,” she says.
“Thank you, I’ll be fine sorting it out on my own,” Kayla replies, sliding the document closer. “Thank you for the coffee,” she adds.
Bianca nods and comes into my office. “Do you need another coffee, sir?”
“No, thank you. You can bring in the five most urgent files on top of my list for this week,” I tell her.
She nods and leaves.
“Kayla,” my voice booms from my desk out of the open door.
Kayla immediately glares at me in horror, but she stands and walks into my office, remaining a few feet from my desk with her hands folded in front of her. “Yes, Mr. Belov?”
“I want you to put some time aside in a few moments to take a look at one of the files I’ll be working on today,” I inform her.
“Which file is that?” she asks.
“Plato and Associates,” I tell her.
“I’ve already gone through the file in full over the weekend. Would you like me to send you the report I put together?”
“Mm. Yes, you may bring the report in and go through it with me,” I insist.
“Very well,” she says stiffly. Kayla turns to leave, then turns back to face me. “If you want to call me into your office, don’t call me like I’m your dog. Use the intercom system on your desk…please.”
Her voice is professional but stern.
The corner of my lip curls up ever so slightly. “Very well,” I agree.
I should leave her to settle in.
It’s her first week here.
She needs time to get used to our routines and methods. But I can’t seem to stop myself from constantly finding reasons to pull her into my office.
I can see it’s getting on her nerves, but somehow, she is maintaining this professional calm about her, even though once or twice I think she wanted to take a hammer to the intercom system on her desk. Eight out of ten times, when it buzzes, it’s me.
Kayla walks into my office with purposeful strides and drops a document onto my desk. She glares at me. “Was there anything else?” she huffs through clenched teeth.
“Yes, actually,” I muse, enjoying how she’s struggling to maintain the aloof facade as I continue to provoke her and push her buttons. Does she know I’m doing it on purpose? Has she worked it out yet? If she has, she isn’t showing it.
She raises her brows, waiting for me to hurry up and tell her what I want.
If only she knew. This whole week so far, I’ve watched her move around the office in those gorgeous dresses.
None of them are revealing, not other than being tight.
They are professional and businesslike. But fuck me, they are all so damn sexy that there have been one of two real occasions where I couldn’t stand up from my desk for a while.
“Yes, uh, I want you to sit down with me over lunch to go through the report you did for Dr. Baker,” I tell her.
“My lunch is my private time, and I expect you to respect that,” she demands.
I chuckle quietly. “So, you never worked through lunch at your other companies?”
“Oh, I worked through lunch all the time at my other companies,” she says pointedly, glaring at me.
“Very well,” I smirk. “After lunch, then.”
Kayla leaves, and my grin grows wider.
“Kayla,” I call her back just before she manages to escape the office.
She spins around with her lips pressed together, practically rolling her eyes.
“Yes, sir?” she says tightly.
“Did you want a copy of this?” I ask, holding up the document she just handed me.
She takes a moment to compose herself, then speaks slowly, as though I might be lacking in the intelligence department. “Sir, I printed that for you. I am the one with the original document. So, no, I don’t need you to give me a copy of my own document,” she states.
I clench my jaw to stop the chuckle from escaping. “Of course, of course.”
She spins to storm away, and I call her again. “Kayla.”
She pauses in the doorway with her back to me. She doesn’t turn to look at me when she snaps, “Yes, sir?”
“I just wanted to remind you that I have asked you on numerous occasions to call me Josiah, not sir.”
She doesn’t answer, but nods curtly, then hurries away before I can call her again.
I lean back in my chair, stretching my legs out beneath the desk and folding my arms across my chest.
Why is this bringing me so much joy? Each and every little interaction, every conversation, every time I make her mouth twitch in annoyance…I am absolutely loving it.
Her cheeky, subtle jabs at me are the best.
I’ve been pushing her to her limits, and somehow, she’s remained professional, yet stood her ground. And on top of all of it, she’s doing a fucking brilliant job with regards to her work. I guess some people really do thrive under pressure.
Or perhaps she would be even more efficient if I left her the hell alone, but that certainly isn’t going to happen. I wonder what people would think if I did move her desk into my office. I am the boss, after all. This is my company.
I groan silently, reminding myself again that I need to respect her and not start rumors.