Page 3 of The Bratva's Secret Twins

His mouth fell open, and he straightened his shoulders. “Oh, my God. I didn’t know it was you, sir!” He tossed me a raging glare, and I knew then I was in trouble.

“I’m sorry, sir. I was just telling him that he can’t be in here….”

“You were doing what, now?” The manager jerked his brows at me, like I wasn’t just following store policy, and walked over to the man. “Good day, sir. Please, pardon her ignorance. She recently just got employed.”

“It’s fine,” the man replied coolly.

My manager grabbed me by the hand and, through gritted teeth, muttered, “Do you have any idea who this is? He is Asher Mickelson, one of the lead designers of this brand.”

Lead designer of the…? Oh, fuck. What’s with my luck today?

Immediately, my face heated, red surely crawling up my neck and cheeks. My stomach curled in embarrassment.

I turned to Asher Mickelson and bowed my head slightly. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn't know.”

He was studying me weirdly—not in a creepy or intimidating way, but with a speculative glance that implied he was mulling over something.

Hopefully, he’s not considering firing me….

“Mr. Mickelson, what brings you here, if I might ask?” my manager inquired.

“I was passing by, and I decided to drop by the store to attend a call,” he replied, his eyes still fixed on me.

My manager turned his narrow gaze on me. “What’re you still doing here? You’re dismissed,” he barked.

“No, no, no!” Asher’s voice prompted me to stop in my tracks just as I’d begun to make myself scarce and turn back to face them.

I wondered what he was up to as he approached me, light on his feet.

He paused in front of me and was quiet momentarily, examining me with a pensive expression. “Can you walk for me?” he asked bluntly, breaking the silence.

His words hit me, and I squinted at the random and sudden request. “I beg your pardon?”

“A catwalk.”

I wasn’t a model, but I did know some moves.

“Like, like right now?” I asked with raised brows.

“Yes. Can you do it?”

I pondered this a bit and shifted my gaze to my manager, but he was just as confused as I was, practically gaping at the unfolding scene.

Does he want to hire me as a model for Solenoir? No, that’s not possible. They’re very picky. Plus, they only hire top models.

What did I have to lose?

“Of course, sir,” I agreed.

“Fantastic. Let’s have it.” He clapped once, concealing his excitement.

I stepped away from him and prepared myself with a soft exhale.

Here goes nothing.

I pretended that I was in my room while doing the catwalk for him, oblivious to the stares of those around me. My movement was still crooked and needed more work, but my limbs felt light, and my steps were elegant.

When I was done, I saw in his face that he was impressed.

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