Page 1 of Claimed By the Bratva Brothers

1

Lyric

Imanage to reach the front desk without coughing my lungs up all over the smartly dressed receptionist. “Hi, sorry, I’m… oh, gosh, I need to catch my breath, hold on,” I gasp.

“Take your time,” the young woman replies as she looks up at me, a concerned expression on her face.

“I’m… damn, how did I get so winded from simply crossing the street?” I nervously laugh as I struggle to pull my thoughts back together. “Right, okay…”

“Can I help you?” she giggles, giving me a warm and welcoming smile.

“Yes. I’m here to meet with Mr. Jack Bowman,” I say, checking my phone messages again. Mr. Bowman’s assistant sent me the details earlier this morning, reminding me to be on time. Oh, the burning irony. “I know I’m a little late.”

“That’s alright, Mr. Bowman checked in just a little bit ago. He should be upstairs, waiting,” the receptionist replies as she checks her computer. “We had drinks and a light brunch sent upstairs about ten minutes ago. I’m sure there is plenty leftover.”

“Ten minutes ago, great,” I mumble. “Okay.”

“Second floor. Just follow the signs and you’ll see it at the very end of the hallway.”

“Thank you,” I reply and immediately head for the elevator. However, I stop after taking two steps when I realize I have no idea where it is. The lobby is spacious and gorgeous, luxury oozing from every corner and ceiling pendant. It is also generously illuminated, but I cannot, for the life of me, spot the elevator.

“It’s over there,” I hear the receptionist say.

I give her a grateful smile and follow her gaze. A few seconds later, I’m on the elevator, waiting for the stainless-steel doors to slide open onto the second floor. The minute the doors open wide enough, I slip through and race down the hallway, following the signs as instructed. I slow down as I approach Executive Suite 208, taking deep, measured breaths in an attempt to appear as calm and controlled as possible.

“You got this,” I tell myself.

I knock once, and after what feels like forever but is closer to a minute, the door opens.

But it’s not Jack Bowman who greets me.

Instead, it’s a very tall man significantly younger than the sixty-something entrepreneur. He’s ridiculously handsome, with short brown hair and a trimmed beard, fine lines showing around his piercing blue eyes. His shoulders are broad, the dark grey, custom-tailored suit he’s wearing hugging his muscular frame in all the right places.

“Can I help you?” he asks. His voice is low and gravelly, dripping with a sweet kind of darkness that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“Um, hello. I’m here for the appointment at eleven?” I manage, barely able to form a proper sentence.

He measures me from head to toe, and I suddenly feel naked and vulnerable, also hot.

“We ordered a less ingenue kind of girl, but I think we can roll with this virginal thing you’ve got going on,” the man replies.

“Wait, what?”

“Come in,” he sighs, and takes a step back.

My first thought is to turn around and leave, because clearly, there’s a misunderstanding here. But I can’t leave until I’ve had my interview with Bowman. I know it’s the right room, I’m only fifteen minutes late, and the receptionist just confirmed that Bowman had already checked in.

“Am I being punked?” I chuckle softly as I step inside the suite and cautiously look around.

The door closes behind me as I move further into the room. The man in the grey suit is not alone. My heart skips a beat upon seeing two more tall, dark, and handsome gentlemen come in from the terrace, both of them looking just as confused as the first one.

“Max, what the hell did the agency send us?” one of them asks.

He’s less bulky and more athletic. I’m guessing he plays a lot of tennis, judging by his spry figure, toned, long arms, and muscular legs. His black hair falls messily over his boyish good looks, while his grey eyes drill holes into my soul. He looks annoyingly sexy in tailored beige slacks and a button-up white shirt. He also appears younger than the other two mystery fellas.

“I know,” Max replies with a casual shrug. “But I believe we can make it work.”

“Make what work, exactly?” I cut in. “Excuse me, but I’m here to see Mr. Jack Bowman. We have an interview scheduled for eleven a.m. today. In this suite.”

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