Page 5 of Plus-Sized Bratva Prisoner

“Yes, bring whatever you need,” I say, clearing my throat and turning my back on her. “Hurry up.”

I didn’t mean for her to see me looking like that.

I don’t want to give the wrong impression.

I start walking towards the stairs that lead to my office and hear a shuffle behind me as she hurries to catch up.

At least with her working in my office I can keep my eye on her. Check if she is doing what she says she’s doing and make sure she doesn’t catch sight of anything she’s not supposed to see. There would be hell to pay if my brothers found out I let an employee work late and possibly see what they are up to after-hours.

I stand in the doorway of my office and hold the door open for her.

Once she is inside, she stands uncomfortably next to my desk.

I shut the door so that part of the view of the office floor below is blocked. Then I close the blinds across the massive glass wall of my office to block the rest of the view. I don’t want to take any chances.

She glances nervously around.

“You can sit anywhere you like. The chair there opposite mine at my desk is fine, or the couch there if you want to work at the coffee table or on your lap.”

I gesture around my office.

“Thanks.”

She chooses to sit at my desk, opposite where I will be working.

I can’t really make those calls I need to make to my clients with her in here, but I’ll send them messages to confirm the shipments.

Tia gets comfortable, opening her files and the program she needs to work on.

Spreadsheets. I hate spreadsheets. My brain wants to switch off when I have to deal with spreadsheets, but it’s a massive part of running a business, so it’s one of those things I had to learn to embrace.

I walk over to my side of the desk and sit down, but I find that I’m struggling to look away from her.

She’s focused on the work in front of her. Even though she looks stiff and formal, she is really beautiful. The longer I watch her, the more awkward I begin to feel.

Look away, do your own work. What are you doing, staring at her like that?

I force myself to look at my own laptop, and out of the corner of my eye, I see her glancing over at me.

I look up again, and in an awkward and tense moment, our eyes lock.

Hers are swirling chocolate pools that pull me right into her gaze.

She quickly looks away.

Fuck. I need to send these messages to my clients.

I shift my body in my seat to turn myself so that I’m facing away from her.

I send one message and then my thoughts are back on the mysterious beauty sitting across from me.

She looks young. Young enough to be out partying on a Friday night. Yet she was so adamant she stay here and finish her work instead. It takes dedication and commitment to a better future to make that choice, and honestly, I haven’t met a lot of people who are that driven.

I’m staring at her again.

She has cupid-shaped lips, perfectly plump, pink and looking soft enough to—

Fuck.

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