Page 7 of The Bratva's Plus-Size Bride

“Do you need something, Mr. Milov?” I prompt when he just stands there, leaning against the doorway with his eyes locked onto me. He’s testing me, and I know it. He wants to see if he can break through this flimsy facade of professionalism I’m keeping up to stop myself from melting around him.

“It's lunchtime,” he replies. “Take a break.”

It can’t be, I think. I feel like I've just started working, but the clock says otherwise. I turn back to my laptop and begin typing nonsense into my document, as if I’m too busy to take a break, even for lunch. “I have some things to finish up first. I’ll eat later.”

When he’s not on break, I’m sure he’s not eating lunch in the staff break room or anything. However, being on lunch at the same time only increases the risk of non-work-related fraternization, which I’m trying to keep to a minimum.

He runs a hand over his jaw. “You can’t work through lunch.”

His eyes go so dark when he’s being defied, the same color they flashed when I wouldn't give him my name last night.

“Is that a direct order from my boss? Are you saying I have to go on break right now?” I challenge, dropping my eyes back to my document because otherwise, the way I’m soaking in the sight of him in that suit is going to become super obvious. It’s just a suit. How does he make it look so good? Like I want him to wear it forever and also tear it off of him all at the same time.

Mr. Milov pushes himself off the doorframe and steps into the room, pitching his voice for my ears only. My pulse thrums. “I know how much you like being ordered around, butno, it’s a polite request that my new assistant take care of herself. I don’t need you burning out in the first week.”

Heat rushes to my face, and I know I’m bright pink from the way the corner of his mouth lifts in a smirk. Bastard. He knows just how to get under my skin.

“I’m fine,” I insist, flashing him my blandest smile, trying to ignore the need building low in my belly. My traitorous body has other ideas about how this interaction should go, and it involves this desk and his hands. “I’ll eat later.”

“Suit yourself,” he says, turning on his heel and walking out of my office.

I listen to his footsteps recede down the hall, and my body relaxes. When he's around, it’s on high alert, ready to jump when he says so, practically purring every time he looks at me. Just then, my stomach grumbles with a pang of hunger. I’m starving, but there’s no way I’m walking out to grab lunch now with my tail between my legs. It will just have to wait until dinner.

Diving back into work takes my mind off of Mr. Milov, barely. I manage to finish the report he’s requested and am just starting on tomorrow’s tasks when he’s back, darkening my doorway. He’s unbuttoned the top of his shirt and taken off his tie, leaving a patch of skin at the top that I’m dying to touch. I know with just a few more buttons undone I’d be able to see that patch of golden hair in the center of his chiseled chest, the one I rested my cheek on just last night while we were still panting and sweating after our second round.

Get it together. I cross my legs beneath my desk and look up at him, aiming for prim and proper. “Yes, Mr. Milov?”

He stalks closer, his long legs eating up the distance in just a few strides, and sets a brown paper bag down on my desk. “Call me Anton. We know each other better than that, don’t we?”

“I’m not sure what you mean,Mr. Milov,” I say, with a sarcastic emphasis. If he’s going to break the unspoken rule of not talking about our night together, things are going to get messy.

Anton moves around the desk, coming to stand beside my chair, close enough that the smell of his cologne hits me hard. Suddenly, I’m back in his bed, breathing in this smell straight from the source at the base of his neck. He pushes closer, using his foot to spin my chair around so I’m facing him, and grips either side of my chair with his arms so I’m caught between them.

The door is still wide open. Anyone walking by could see what’s happening in here with a single sideways glance, but he doesn’t seem to care. Which tells me he knows he’s the king of the place and that whatever he says goes.

“I think you know exactly what I mean,” he says, catching my chin with his fingers so I can’t look away, his eyes pinning me in place.

It’s hard to breathe, hard to think, with him this close to me, with his hands on my skin. All I want is to lean forward and steal another kiss, just to taste him again. I force my hands to stay at my sides, digging my nails into the leather of the chair.

He’s living for this. Watching me fight to resist. Tormenting me with little reminders from our night together. I can only hope I’m putting on a good show because if he got even a glimpse of what’s happening inside me right now, he’d know that I’m putty in his hands.

Then he stands, back in boss mode so fast it gives me whiplash. “I brought you lunch. I wasn't sure what you’d like, so I got a few things.” He taps the paper bag. “Take a break and eat.”

He stands there waiting for a response, and I can tell he’s not going to take no for an answer. At this point, I’d do anything just to create some distance between us—I’m not sure how long I can maintain this unaffected act when every nerve in my body is crying out for his touch. Even if I didn’t know what a monster he is in bed, Anton Milov is incredibly hot, and I’d want him. Unfortunately for me, I know exactly how good he is, and that makes the whole not sleeping with my boss thing ten times harder. I’m going to need the restraint of a monk to make it through this. The thought of a comfortable life, not struggling every month to come up with the money for bills, is the only thing that keeps me from giving in.

I can’t help just one more dig. I’m stubborn, and he looks like he’s winning. “I’m not hungry. You can take that with you when you leave.”

My stomach, the great betrayer, lets out the loudest grumble yet, and Anton raises one eyebrow in response. “You’re a terrible liar, Ella Matthews.”

The way he says my full name sends a shiver down my spine. I watch every step he takes out of my office, unable to look away from the way his suit hugs his back muscles. I can’t believe the material can even contain them.

I’m so screwed. Every time he leaves the room, I’m like a puppet with my strings cut, collapsing from the knot of tension he winds me into. How am I going to survive this every single day? Anton Milov is going to be the death of me.

Chapter 5 - Anton

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.

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