Page 5 of Claimed By the Boss

I shrug. “It was appropriate. She was working, for fuck’s sake.”

“Whatever,” he mutters. “I’d say you’ve gone soft, but I think we both know you’ll be taking a cold shower tonight.”

I roll my eyes, but he’s probably right.

When I’m home, in the comfort of my own place, I won’t be able to help myself from thinking about her. And I know it. She was extremely stunning, obviously, but there was also a sweetness and naivete about her that was damn near irresistible. And something about her struck me as intelligent. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but she seemed like the kind of girl who’s too good to be waitressing.

I close my eyes and picture those innocent green eyes in my mind. I imagine putting my hands on those supple curves and hearing her moan out my name as I make her come. And then… what? I’d fuck her and never see her again.

That’s how it goes in my life. Women are great for scratching the itch, but I don’t have the space for anything more. My business demands too much from me. My family demands even more, though the two usually become indistinguishable from one another. The point is, Lyra would be great for a night, but I could never let myself have more. And she doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman who would want that. I could tell she had respect for herself and didn’t want to impede on that.

Still, I left my card on the table just in case. The ball’s in her court now, and if she wants to pursue this any further, I’ll just have to make sure she knows what’s what.

Alek shifts in his seat, checking his phone before sliding it back into his coat. The car hums through traffic, muted city lights reflecting in the tinted windows. I watch him from the corner of my eye. He’s waiting, calculating. That’s what he’s best at. Well, that and reading me, even when I wish he wouldn’t.

Finally, he clears his throat, casual as can be. “Anyway, when do you want to make the move on the Vasilievs?”

I grunt, not looking at him yet.

He keeps going, voice even. “I heard they’re snatching up women at the docks. Broads who look just as good as the waitress. He’s loading them into shipping containers like fucking cattle.”

The words land hard, and for a second, I don’t say anything. I stare at the streaks of rain on the glass. My hand flexes once against my thigh. He says it deliberately. He knows it’ll get a reaction.

Because I see her face again, those bright green eyes. I swallow the tightness in my throat before it can show. When I finally speak, my voice is even. Deadly calm.

“Tonight,” I tell him with finality.

Alek nods without surprise. “I’ll make it happen,” he says, obedient as ever.

We don’t speak for the rest of the drive.

My mind is already there. At the docks. Planning. Measuring. Every time I see Rurik’s smug, scarred face in my head, my jaw tightens until it aches. I tap my fingers once on the leather seat, forcing the tension out.

Alek makes the calls. Even as he gets out of the car, I hear clipped Russian instructions, careful deployment. My men know how to move quietly until it’s time to be loud.

I nod at him. “Don’t fuck this up.”

Alek gives me a wry half-smile. “You know me.”

“That’s why I’m reminding you.”

He chuckles, then slams the door shut behind him.

The driver doesn’t need further direction. He glances at me once in the mirror, gets nothing back from me, and starts the slow turn uptown toward my place.

I lean back again, staring at the ceiling, letting my eyes close for a minute.

Lyra’s face drifts back into my mind without my permission. In my imagination, her strawberry-blonde hair comes loose from that careful bun, her eyes burning brightly as she kneels before me, opening her mouth to take me in.

I sigh once, sharp, and push the thought away. No time for that, especially not tonight.

The car crunches on the long drive on my property. Security lights flick on, illuminating stone façades, dark windows, and silent statues.

My driver stops. I don’t say goodnight. I just get out and slam the door shut, my shoes feeling heavy on wet stone.

I click the lock shut behind me and pause in the entryway for a second. The place is way too big for me. My father built it to be opulent and intimidating, to show the world the Morozov power.

He’s gone now, and I’ve inherited the gigantic mansion along with the ghosts.