Page 6 of Forced to Marry the Russian Bratva

“Well, thanks again for the coffee,” I say, suddenly needing to escape before I make it obvious that I’m staring at him like eye candy. “I should get back to work.”

“Of course.” He smiles a full one at last, and his serious face transforms into something that should come with a warning label. “I hope we run into each other again, Gela Jones.”

“Boston's a big city,” I say hoarsely.

“Not that big,” he replies.

***

The next day, I'm back at my usual coffee shop table, this time with slightly more sleep, thank god. It’s an easy workday today, where I get to do the stuff I love—content creation. I've just settled in when I see someone put a to-go cup on my table.

“Your debt collection service has arrived.”

That voice…

I look up to find Valentin standing there. “Hope you like coffee.”

“You're kidding,” I say, unable to stop the smile spreading across my face.

“About the debt? I swear I’m not.”

My heart does a little somersault. Shit. How could I forget? “Oh, of course, just give me a moment.” I reach for my bag, flustered like hell, when I feel his hand over mine.

I let out a little gasp and look up, only to see his eyes alive with something amusing. For a moment there, we stay transfixed. “I was joking, Gela Jones,” he says my name like a shared secret again.

When he lets go of my hand, I find it shaking. I quickly reach for the coffee cup, just to do something with it.

He gestures to the empty chair across from me. “Mind if I join? Unless I'm interrupting your work.”

“Just some boring analytics,” I say, closing my laptop slightly. “Please, sit.”

He does, and I notice again how well his suit fits him. Now that I think of it, I don’t think I’ve seen a man look this good in a suit before, and I belong in Corporate America.

“So,” I say, taking a sip of the coffee, “Thank you for this. Do you often buy drinks for people at this coffee shop?”

The minute I ask the question, I wince. He notices, for he chuckles. “Well,” he says, leaning forward and locking eyes with me. “That would be a strange habit, don’t you think?”

“I…guess so,” I say, trying to keep my tone even. But the truth? Having him in my orbit set my skin on fire.

What I want to ask is why he bought me a coffee today. Yesterday, I understood. Now? It feels dangerously like attention.

I feel heat rise to my cheeks at that thought. I'm not used to this—especially from extremely attractive men.

“Well, thanks for the caffeine,” I say. “Now I don't have to bother with that hundred-dollar bill again.”

“Happy to help.” He leans back, studying me. “So, you work around here?”

And somehow, I find myself telling him about my agency.

He listens, really listens, asking questions that show he's actually paying attention. It's disarming.

“What about you?” I finally ask. “What brings you to this coffee shop two days in a row? Besides debt collection, of course.”

Something flickers in his expression. “Business meetings nearby.”

“Ah,” I nod. “Hence the suit.”

“Hence the suit,” he agrees. “Though trust me, I'd rather be in anything else.”