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The slight shudder in her breath doesn’t escape me. The silence stretches out. I let it hang between us for a while, knowing that it’s unnerving her.
“Screw up,” I continue, my voice dropping to a predatory growl, “and you won’t just be saying goodbye to Chicago.”
In the quiet that follows, tension snakes around us. And then her chin lifts, and her eyes flash. I fucking love it. Her defiance fuels me. I’m a man who enjoys games, especially when I’m certain to win.
“I want the job,” she fires back, her voice filled with fiery determination.
I lean back, grinning like the devil. “Good,” I answer, my tone icy, as if the exchange was nothing more than a business transaction.
The room halts at my words. But the real show? It’s between Sophia and me. A silent tug of war under the public eye.
She holds my gaze. A challenge. I don’t back down. It’s a standoff, a silent countdown before an explosion.
I can sense the room heating up with shock, anger, and, of course, jealousy. The whispers in the group give away their bruised egos.
“Why the hell her?” a woman sneers, her words dripping with pure envy. Doesn’t matter; Sophia’s my choice. It was always going to be that way. From the moment that I saw her, I knew she was the one.
Svetlana’s eyes widen for a split second, and I can practically hear the cogs turning in her head as she processes my demand. She quickly masks her surprise with a stern expression, her professionalism taking over.
“You heard him,” she snaps, her voice like a whip cracking through the charged atmosphere. “Out. Now.”
A sultry blonde, her lips puckering in disappointment, flips her hair, scowling. “Can’t believe he picked her,” she grumbles, her words audible through the buzz.
I turn toward her, raising an eyebrow. “Got a problem?” The question hangs in the air, a silent warning.
She recoils, stammering an apology before scurrying away. The room empties, leaving just Sophia and me.
She meets my eyes, the sass radiating from her.
“So, what’s next?” she says, sticking her jaw out like a prize fighter.
“Next…” I start, but I don’t continue. Instead, I snag her chin between my fingers, and she gasps softly. I’m against her in an instant, my lips barely touching hers, just a whisper of a contact. Yet, it’s like a fucking wildfire, a shockwave of heat that scorches everything in its path.
Her chest lifts as she sucks in a breath, and I feel it – the slight hardening of her nipples against the thin fabric of her dress. My smirk widens.
I pull away, fighting the pull that’s drawing me back to her. I hover there, close enough to feel her uneven breath, to see the alarm flare in her eyes.
“What comes next, krasotka,” I rumble, my voice dropping into a threatening purr, “is that you become mine. My employee, my rules. You step into my world, you follow my orders. No arguments.” My words hang heavy between us, a stark threat. She reels back as if slapped. She retreats, her body forming a fortress, arms crossed defensively over that killer chest of hers. But her tongue darts out, sweeping over her lips, tasting the ghost of our kiss.
“Don’t call me kraso-…whatever it is,” she bites out. Her voice bristles with rebellion. Her cheeks are flushed red, her breathing shallow.
“My house, my rules,” I repeat, my voice steady, firm.
“Should I also remind you, sir…” she retorts, her tone cutting through the air like a frosty dagger.
Sir. Fuck, the word sends a jolt straight down to my cock. It’s so out of place in this charged atmosphere, but it strikes a chord in me I didn’t know existed. It’s infuriating and insanely hot at the same time.
Blyat, she’s going to be trouble.
“I’m here to babysit your…your kid.” There’s a pause, a hesitation before she tries to cover it, but it’s too late.
My kid? She thinks Yulia is my kid. Ha! This just keeps getting better.
Wait, can it be…?
I can practically taste the jealousy laced in her words. It’s delicious.
“You think Yulia is my child?” I ask.
