Page 22 of Knocked Up by the Bratva

The meeting continues, but my attention keeps drifting back to her. She tries to keep up with the discussion, but it’s obvious that she’s struggling. Her face is even paler under the harsh lights, and every few minutes, she presses her hand against her stomach as if to steady herself.

It’s unlike me to care about someone being sick, much less an employee. I’m known for running a tight ship, no excuses allowed. This… this is different.Jenniferis different.

As Russel goes over the campaign details, I can’t shake the strange feeling that I need to do something. I don’t know why, but watching her like this makes me restless.

Finally, when Russel finishes his presentation, I glance at Jennifer, then back at the others in the room. “Miss Jewels,” I say, my voice firm but careful, “take the next week off. Rest and recover. You’re no good to the team like this.”

The room falls into a brief silence. Russel looks like he’s just seen a ghost. My reputation precedes me—normally, I wouldn’t tolerate anyone being late, much less showing up sick. But the thought of her pushing herself through work in this condition rubs me the wrong way.

Jennifer’s eyes widen slightly, clearly surprised. “I… I can still work—”

“I’m not asking,” I cut her off, my tone leaving no room for argument. “Take the week off. That’s an order.”

There’s a brief murmur among the others at the table. Russel’s brows furrow, probably wondering why I’m being so lenient. I don’t care. This is my company, and I’ll do whatever the hell I want. What I want is for Jennifer to get better. The faster she’s back on her feet, the faster we can continue with this campaign.

Jennifer nods slowly, clearly conflicted. “Alright. Thank you.”

The meeting continues. I barely hear what Russel is saying. His voice is background noise as I keep glancing at Jennifer. She’s sitting across from me, trying to stay composed, but I can tell she’s struggling. The way she grips the edge of the table, her knuckles white, the subtle furrow in her brow—she’s unwell. I’ve never cared about something like this before, but with her, I do.

Russel clears his throat, pulling me out of my thoughts. “As I was saying, Timur… we’re projecting another ten percent increase by the end of the quarter if we continue along this trajectory.”

I blink, realizing I missed everything he just said. “Repeat that,” I demand, my tone sharp. Russel shifts uncomfortably, his eyes flicking nervously around the room.

“Of course,” he stammers, “I said that if the campaign keeps performing at this level, we’re looking at a significant uptick in revenue—possibly a ten percent increase by the end of the quarter.”

I nod, pretending like I’m focused, but my mind immediately drifts back to Jennifer. I don’t like that I’m this distracted. I’m known for my focus, for being ruthless in business. Today, I can’t shake her from my thoughts. It’s pissing me off, yet… I can’t stop it either.

The meeting drags on for another half hour, but I barely process any of it. My attention keeps drifting back to Jennifer—her face, her slight fidgeting, the way her gaze keeps flicking toward the door as if she’s waiting for an excuse to leave. The others are oblivious, but I notice everything.

Eventually, the meeting wraps up. One by one, the executives file out, but as Jennifer begins to stand, I stop her. “Miss Jewels,” I say, my voice smooth but firm, “stay.”

She hesitates, eyes widening slightly, but she nods and sits back down. Russel glances at me as he walks past, probably wondering why I’m keeping her behind, but he doesn’t question it. Once the door closes and we’re alone, the room feels different. Quieter. More intense.

I walk around the table, moving to stand in front of her, close enough that I can see the slight rise and fall of her chest. She looks up at me, a mix of curiosity and apprehension in her eyes. I like that—how I can unsettle her so easily.

“You’re doing well here,” I say, my voice low. “You’ve earned yourself quite the reputation in such a short time.”

Jennifer swallows, her gaze flickering between my face and the floor. “Thank you,” she says quietly, her voice softer than usual.

I take a step closer, invading her personal space, and I notice the way her breath hitches slightly. “There’s an event happening next week,” I continue. “A gala, hosted by SharovGroup. Only top officials and partners are invited.” I pause, letting the weight of my words sink in. “I want you there.”

Her eyes widen, clearly surprised. “Me?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” I say, my gaze unwavering. “You’ve earned a spot.”

Jennifer shifts in her seat, clearly uncomfortable with the idea. “I’m just an intern,” she protests, though there’s no real conviction in her voice.

I lean down, resting my hands on the edge of the table, bringing my face closer to hers. “You’ve proven yourself more than just an intern. I expect to see you there.”

She looks up at me, her lips slightly parted as if she wants to say something, but the words don’t come. The tension between us is palpable, the air thick with something unspoken. She’s trying to keep it professional, but I can see the flush creeping up her neck, the way she shifts slightly in her chair.

After a moment, she nods. “Alright,” she says, her voice quieter now. “I’ll be there.”

“Good,” I say, standing upright again, satisfied with her response. “I look forward to it.”

Jennifer stands, gathering her things quickly as if she needs to escape the room. I watch her, every movement deliberate, controlled as she walks to the door. Just before she leaves, she hesitates, turning slightly to glance back at me.

For a brief second, our eyes lock again, and I feel that pull—something raw, something I haven’t felt in a long time. She quickly looks away, leaving without another word, the door closing softly behind her.

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