Page 2 of Sexting My Bratva Boss
“Good. Because as always, Miss Wolfe, I expect you in my office promptly at 10 a.m.”
I nod, unable to look up for fear that I’ll do something stupid, like damage my ankle even more by letting it give just so I can fall into his arms again.
In a moment, Mr. Martynov and his men are gone—disappeared down the hallway behind double-thick cement walls and bulletproof glass.
“Shit,” I murmur, hobbling back to my desk and falling into the chair. Chrissy is at my side immediately, concern and suspicion in her eyes.
“Are you alright?”
“Yeah, I just feel like an idiot.”
“Don’t worry about it. It was…awkward,” her narrow eyes suggest that ‘awkward’ isn’t what she’s actually thinking, “but Idoubt he’dkillyou over tripping over a pen, Aud. Is it just me, or was there some tension between you two?”
I shoot her a glare. That’s a dangerous thing to whisper in this office. And a man like Konstantin Martynov would never give in to fucking the help, I’m sure.
“No, there most definitely was not. And don’t even think about saying that in front of Sal.”
Her features twist briefly, and my stomach drops. I know how Chrissy feels about Sal, even if she’s never told me to my face. It’s easy to see she despises him and can’t figure out why I’m with him.
Too bad I can’t tell her I’ve been doubting that decision lately. There are some things that are safer kept to myself.
Like how often I imagine Mr. Martynov stepping in, claiming me, and scaring my boyfriend off. Ugh.
“You have the reports ready, right?”
I flop the folders onto my desk, giving her a half-hearted smile. She returns to her desk with a curious glance over the shoulder, and my own eyes flick to the clock on the wall.
9:45 a.m.
I have fifteen minutes.
Chrissy is right—Konstantin Martynov, ruthless Russian mob boss, wouldn’t kill me over stumbling into his path.
But he would if I was stupid enough to put myself in his path by doing something reckless.
Like stealing from the company.
Two minutes shy of 10 a.m., I stand and gather my things. It’s not much, but in the last ten minutes I’ve set myself back to rights: tucked my hair behind my ears, made sure I smell like thespiced vanilla scent I love and not sweat, and wiggled the heel of my right shoe to make sure it won’t snap off.
Chrissy gives me an encouraging smile. Two of the other accountants don’t even glance my way; it’s a consuming job, making sure the books for Martynov Global Holdings reflect only legal transactions. No hint of the safehouses, money laundering, or silent auction income anywhere on the lines.
But Duscha rolls her eyes.
It’s easy to catch, and expected. She doesn’t try to hide her dislike of me. Duscha has been working for Konstantin Martynov for… forever, maybe. She’s a Russian immigrant-turned-recent-citizen, and is stunning for a woman of her age. Her features are sharp, skin pale and clear, eyes cutting and hair pin-straight. If she wasn’t such a bitch I’d be jealous. Duscha trained me and hated me as soon as she realized that I not only knew what I was doing, but that I was doing itbetterthan she was.
Taking a deep breath, I start toward the glass door that separates our room from the hallway that leads to Mr. Martynov. It’s only a moment, but Duscha… smiles.
Andthatworries me.
Mr. Martynov’s favored guard, a young man named Lev, is sitting outside the door with his legs spread wide and a casual posture. Casual, but I’m pretty sure Lev could tear a man’s spine out with his bare hands. He’s huge, almost as big as Martynov himself, and also mute. I give him a small smile, but his face doesn’t change. He’s learned well from his master.
My knock is like music on the high-end glass. Mr. Martynov is standing at the window, staring down at the city. Two fingers on his right-hand twitch, signaling me to enter. I try not to think of how confident that little gesture is, and what else he could use it for.
“Mr. Martynov. I apologize for earlier, and thank you again?—”
“No need to thank me, Miss Wolfe.”
He turns, his eyes dragging down my body. Once more every inch of my skin reacts to just hisgaze. It’s amazing I didn’t combust under his hands earlier.