Page 47 of The Pakhan's Sold Bride

I choose my usual business dress. Black slacks, a shirt, leather suspenders that cross behind my back to hold my gun, and a jacket.

Lara is in the kitchen when I get down there, eager for a cup of coffee.

She smiles when I walk in.

“Morning,” I say.

My eyes trace over her body. Perfect, with her petite waist and wide hips. Those jeans look far too good on her.

I clear my throat.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, her bright eyes studying me.

“Much better than I expected. Hardly hurts at all. You did a brilliant job tending to it last night.” I tap my side, nodding.

“Don’t you think you should rest for a day or two? My body hurts just from the accident, never mind the fact that you got slashed by glass.”

“No, I’m alright. I don’t have a lot to do today, but I did want to ask.”

“Ask what?”

“If you’re up for it, do you want to join me? I’m heading to one of my warehouses, and I know you want to know what I do—so I thought maybe I could just show you.”

“Really?” she asks, perking up, setting her coffee mug down.

“Yes, really. I’m leaving once I’ve had coffee.”

She glances down at her jeans and cream lace blouse. “Do I need to change?” she asks, scrunching her nose, looking cute as hell.

I look at her bare feet, her little toe wiggling as she stands there, her nails painted pink. “Wear some comfortable shoes. Sneakers maybe. The warehouse can get chaotic.”

“Alright. I’ll be quick.” Lara bolts out of the kitchen, and I chuckle, enjoying her enthusiasm. I hope I’m making the right choice. But what choice do I have, really?

***

We arrive at the warehouse late in the morning.

I specifically brought her to this one because we have some product that has just arrived, and they’ll be unpacking it.

She is close to my side when we step into the massive space. It’s noisy, men shouting to each other, the clank of metal on metal, the beeping of forklifts as they reverse away from trucks holding pallets of goods.

“These two trucks arrived this morning. We’re busy unloading the delivery, and it’ll get taken to that side of the warehouse, where quality control checks it.” I gesture towards the forklifts.

One of the drivers waves at me. “Hi, boss,” he shouts.

“Hi, Tiny.”

“Tiny?” she asks, scrunching her brows.

I grin. “He lost both his legs years ago when he was young and stupid and drove his motorbike too fast.”

“How is he using the forklift, then?”

“We had one of them modified for him when we hired him. He’s a good member of our team. It was worth it.”

“That’s nice of you,” she says, looking around at the other guys.

“We need to trust everyone who works here, and the best way to do that is to give them a reason to want to be here. For them to be part of something that adds value to their lives.”

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