Page 5

I can’t stop scrolling. Ella’s social media is tightly secured, which means I’m limited to just a few pictures on each platform where I’ve managed to find her so far, but it hasn’t stopped me from spending way too much time staring at each one. She’s breathtaking in every single photo; it’s like the woman can’t take a bad picture.

There’s one I keep returning to: her college graduation. She’s in a cap and gown, wearing a big smile, with curls in her dark hair, but there’s no one next to her. No proud parent with an arm wrapped around her. No group of friends cheering for her. She’s alone, apart from the person taking the picture, and there’s something in her soft brown eyes that makes me reach out and touch the screen, as if I could walk back in time and be there for her.

What I don’t see are vacation photos or party shots—her feed is entirely empty of fruity cocktails on the beach and little black dresses in poorly lit clubs. Maybe they’re locked behind some privacy barrier I don’t have access to, but my gut tells me otherwise. Either Ella isn’t the relaxing sort, and that night out where we met was a fluke, or she doesn’t have the means to take that time for herself, which doesn’t sit right with me.

My girl works hard. She’s a total professional in the office, no matter how much I try to break her down and trust me, I’ve been trying. I’ve been doing everything in my power to bring out the woman I danced with at the club and took home that night, but Ella’s got her locked down, hard. I can’t shake her.

I growl in frustration and toss the phone away, but thoughts of Ella fill my mind, whether or not I’m looking at her pictures. It’s Friday night, and I should be out partying, blowing off steam after a long week, and maybe finding a few girls who could help me forget Ella. But I know that’s pointless. The moment she walked into that club, she became the only woman I cared about. But to her, I’m just the boss.

As big as it is, my apartment feels like a cage tonight. I get up from my desk and pace the room. Her work ethic and lack of a social life make me think she’s living a frugal existence, the kind that doesn’t allow for any fun. Suddenly, I picture her in a rat-infested apartment on the edge of town, eating soup from a can. Vulnerable. Desperate.

She can’t live like that. I won’t allow it. The money she’s making now should be enough to get her a decent place, but I need to know that she’s safe and happy right now, even if she’s not with me.

I grab my laptop and pull up her file, everything that Luka’s got on her. Down at the bottom is the stuff a regular employer wouldn’t dig into—her personal life, close contacts, family history, and connections, and there it is, her address. Got it. It’s a shit neighborhood, like I thought, and the idea of Ella living there has me on edge.

The clock on the wall ticks impatiently behind me. I should call her and… what? Demand that she move? I’m her boss, but that doesn’t extend to her personal life. Outside of work, we’re nothing. I’ve got no power over her.

Anything could happen to her out there. Luka promised she’s safe from Bratva stuff, and that her plain background will protect her, but in that neighborhood, another family could easily arrange a hit. There’s no protection there, and I’m so far away I might as well be in another state. I need to see that she’s safe. Bars on the windows, a good security system, a solid lock. Once I’m sure she’s taken care of as best she can in that dump, I’ll be able to sleep tonight, but until then, not a chance in hell.

My fingers hover over the button to call for my car and driver, but at the last second, I change my mind. I’ll drive myself.

Five minutes later, I’m in my Audi, flying down the road as fast as Friday night traffic allows. I was right, it takes way too long to get there, and my hands are white-knuckling the steering wheel by the time I pull up in front of her place. I double-check the apartment number and count the floors, finding what I suspect is her window. The light is on, and the curtain is open. Dammit, Ella, anyone could look in .

Double parking, I hop out and scan the street. There’s no floodlight, no cameras that I can see, just a dull grey apartment building that looks like it was built about a hundred years ago. Who knows if it’s even up to code? I make a mental note to look into that—if I can get the building condemned, she can’t live here, and I can help her find a much better place that’s closer to where I live, preferably in the building.

A flash of movement catches my eye, and I spot Ella moving past her window. Heat prickles on my skin, and I shove my hands into my pockets to keep from punching something. If I can see her, everyone else can, too. It’s dangerous, and it's completely stupid. She should know better.

I want to charge up to her apartment right now and tell her that, but I settle for making my way toward the front door of the building. Time to find out how secure, or not, this place is. Twisting the knob answers my first question, as it spins with ease and opens. Not even locked. There’s no doorman either, so I can walk right through the dingy lobby to the staircase. A walk-up, of course. No elevator in sight, not that I’d trust it anyway.

Her name is listed right on the directory, E. Matthews, and we’ve officially gone from bad to worse. Zero security. Like, laughably bad. I march up the stairs in the pulsing yellow light, dodging suspicious stains on the carpeting. Fourth floor. The smells of cooking and mildew swirl together into a nauseating haze, and I’m amazed Ella can smell as good as she does, like cotton candy and heaven, living in a place like this.

Her door. It’s made of cheap, thin wood, the kind I can kick down with minimal effort, along with a flimsy doorknob. There’s a deadbolt, at least, but what are the odds it’s locked? Judging by the open curtain, the chances are low. She’s home, and I don’t want to startle her, so I press my ear to the window and listen, holding my breath. Music thumps from the floor above, but Ella’s apartment is quiet—no footsteps.

I twist the doorknob slowly and, to my surprise, meet resistance. It’s actually locked. Thank fuck. I exhale and take a step back into the hallway. No matter how good my intentions are, I can’t be caught here by Ella, so I waste no time heading back down to my car. It’s still there, rims intact.

Before I drive off, I take one last look up at Ella’s window. She’s seated now, must be on something tall like a barstool, and I can only see the back of her head, that long cascade of brown hair I want wrapped around my fist. Whatever it takes, I’m going to get her out of here.

Monday morning rolls around, and I’ve got a plan. A phone call from a friend in Miami on Saturday tipped me off to a business opportunity over there, and it’s the perfect opportunity to get Ella out of the city for a mini-vacation of sorts. Hopefully, while we’re gone, I can pull some strings and get an inspector out to her building, bribe him into condemning the place, and hook her up with a new one. But one thing at a time.

I grab the still-warm paper from the printer and head to Ella’s office. Her door is open, always, and I give a perfunctory knock before stepping inside. She’s working, head down, hair falling forward to veil her face, and when she looks up at me, I forget to breathe. So goddamn beautiful.

“Can I help you, Mr. Milov?” she asks sweetly, as if she doesn’t have my heart in a vise. “I don’t have those numbers for you yet, but I’ve already called Mr. Stevenson.”

There she goes again with the formalities, doing everything in her power to keep this relationship strictly professional. “It’s Anton, and the numbers can wait. This can’t.”

She has this way of crinkling her nose when she’s confused, which makes me want to kiss her, but then, everything she does makes me want to kiss her. More than kiss her. Possess her. Ravish her. I pass her the paper, an itinerary for the upcoming trip, and wait for her response. Instead of the delight I expect, her face begins to take on a distinctly perturbed expression.

“Miami?” Her teeth snag on her lower lip as she straightens in her chair. “I’ve got so much work to do here.”

I plant my feet, ready for a fight. “This is work. It’s a business trip. Surely Luka informed you that travel would be included in this position? It’s a big part of the job, in fact, given that you’re my assistant, and my plan involves opening multiple properties around the world.”

This is the right angle to go in at, I’m sure of it. Make it about work. She wants this job more than anything, more than she wants to avoid me, and she wants to be good at it, too.

Her poor, abused lip is freed, and she smooths her expression back to that professional face I’m so tired of seeing. I want the other Ella—the one whose smile is quick and easy, who can’t keep her hands off of me.

“Of course,” she says, with a little shake of her head. “He did mention that. I just didn’t expect it to be so soon.”

“You do have your passport, don’t you?” It’d be a pain in the ass, but I can get her one in time if she doesn’t.

“Yes, I do. This is really soon, though. Like, I’ll have to start packing tonight, and that means I won’t be able to get all this,” she says, waving vaguely at her laptop, “done in time.”

“We can work on the plane. Take the afternoon off and get packed, I’ll have a car pick you up and bring you to the airport.” I cross my arms, waiting for her next argument against this trip.

She sighs like a trip to one of the most beautiful spots in Miami is an inconvenience for her. What a workaholic. I can’t wait to show her that there is so much more to life than work. That she deserves so much more.

“That’s an order, Ella. If I catch you working here after—” I glance at my watch, “two o’clock, there will be consequences. Get home and pack your things.” Her eyes narrow, and I know she wants to dig in her heels and argue.

Much as I love the fiery side of her, what I want from her right now is obedience. To my surprise, I get it.

She stands and snaps her laptop shut, shooting me a not-so-professional glare as she bends to pack her bag. I take the opportunity to admire her round backside, flicking my gaze back to her eyes just as she turns to face me.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” She sweeps by me, adding emphasis on her last words. “ Mr. Milov.”

***

“This is… holy cow.” Ella’s breathless wonder is all the payoff I’ll ever need in life.

She’s wide-eyed, taking in the hotel room as if she’s won the lottery. I’m relishing the high from her awe and couldn’t give a shit about the bay view just off the bedroom or the private terrace with a plunge pool. Luxury now has a whole new definition, and it’s Ella’s happiness.

“Not bad for a business trip, eh?” I can’t help prodding after how reluctant she was to come on this trip at all. Even with our first-class plane seats, she didn’t indulge in the champagne, and I was starting to wonder if she could relax or if that night at the club had really been a one-off event after all.

I follow her from room to room as she takes in the full spread of the suite, savoring her little gasps each time she spots a new delight. She stops suddenly and spins, and I’m only a few inches behind her, close enough to count the freckles on the bridge of her nose.

“This is your room, though, right?” she asks, tilting her head to look up at me. “Mine isn’t like this, is it? Palatial, I mean.”

Now the fun part. “Oh, did I forget to mention? It’s our room.”

Her face goes white. She takes a tiny step back from me, but I push forward into her space.

“You can’t be serious,” she sputters. “There’s only one bed!”

“I’ve noticed,” I reply, catching the way her chest starts to rise and fall with her nervous breathing. Her low-cut shirt has been teasing me all day.

“We can’t,” she protests, shaking her head in denial. “I’ll go to the front desk and see if they have a second room available. They must have something. Anything.”

She begins to walk past me, and I catch her wrist, stopping her abruptly. My fingers wrap around her arm, gently but firmly. “Ella. This is our room. This is where we’re staying. We’re sharing a bed.”

Another head shake. She’s refusing to look at me. “Absolutely not. It is so inappropriate.”

“Ella,” I repeat, tugging her closer, and she doesn’t resist. “We’re sharing a bed.”

Her cheeks are pink. She stares at the ground like it might save her, but she’s not pulling away from me. “I’m not sleeping with you.”

She’s quiet as a mouse, but I catch the words. “I won’t have sex with you. I promise.”

Finally, she looks up at me with that innocent, doe-eyed face I remember from our very first night. Her lips are slightly parted, and it takes everything in me not to kiss her. I lean in close, my lips just brushing her cheek on my way to her ear.

“Not until you beg me to,” I add.

She makes a soft little gasp that sends blood rushing straight to my dick, and I almost take my promise back right then and there.

“That’s never going to happen.” Ella’s denial is firm, but her body is making a liar of her, the way she’s pressing against me like she can’t make herself step away. “We could spend a thousand nights in this room, sleep next to each other for all of them, but I still wouldn’t give in to you.”

I bring her hand up to my mouth and flip her hand palm up, exposing the soft underside of her wrist. The skin there is translucently pale, and I kiss the blue veins, following their winding path down her arm. This woman completely undoes me. Even this, a few chaste kisses, are enough to make my head spin with desire.

“We’ll see.”

“I mean it,” she insists, but her voice is high like she can’t catch her breath. “Do you believe me?”

There’s not a chance in hell I’m not getting her naked again, and I’m pretty sure we both know it. She’s got her pride, though, so I choose my words carefully.

“I believe you spend every minute beside me thinking about how good it felt to have me between your thighs,” I reply, punctuating my sentence with another kiss.

When I reach the crook of her elbow, she shudders and comes to, drawing her arm back and clutching it to herself, wrapping it around her body like she needs protection from me. She does. The things I would do to her if she only let me. The way I’d devour her. I just need her to see that it’s inevitable.

“I’m going to unpack now.” She spins around and marches over to our luggage, dragging her suitcase toward the dresser. “And maybe you should go take a cold shower.”

I laugh. “We’d run out of water before I washed you out of my system.”