Page 9 of Plus-Size Bratva Bride

"Abe." Pippa's voice came through, professional but with an undercurrent of surprise. "To what do I owe this… pleasure?"

The fact that she called me by anything other than my full name took me by surprise. Quickly, I stood straighter, composing myself to get out of this conversation with my cool intact.

"So it’s Abe now, is it?" I drawled, aiming for casual indifference. "I trust I'm not interrupting your thrilling night of spreadsheets and actuarial tables?"

"Oh, you know me," Pippa shot back, her tone dry as desert sand. "I live for the excitement of balancing books and crunching numbers. How else would I spend my evenings? Besides, I realized I’m too busy to call you Abrahim when Abe saves me an entire second."

I chuckled, picturing her rolling those bottle-green eyes. "And here I thought you might be out painting the town red. Isn't that what you young people do on weeknights?"

"I'm hardly a spring chicken," she retorted. "Besides, some of us have actual work to do. Unlike certain casino managers who apparently have nothing better to do than harass their employees at odd hours."

Her sass hit me like a shot of top-shelf vodka—sharp, invigorating, and dangerously addictive. I found myself grinning despite my best efforts to maintain a stern facade.

"Harass? I'm wounded, truly," I said, dramatically clutching my chest even though she couldn't see me. "Here I am, calling to discuss important business matters, and you accuse me of harassment. I should fire you on the spot."

"Go ahead," Pippa challenged, a smile evident in her voice. "I'd love to see how you'd manage without me keeping your books in order. The IRS would have a field day. Not to mention, our boss Mr. Vadim might need a sincere explanation.”

I barked out a laugh, caught off guard by her audacity. Most people wouldn't dare speak to me like that, but Pippa… she gave as good as she got. It was infuriating. It was intoxicating.

"You've got quite a mouth on you, Miss Burrows," I said, my voice dropping lower without conscious thought. "I hope you can back it up with results."

There was a pause, charged with something I couldn't quite name. When Pippa spoke again, her voice had a husky quality that sent a jolt straight through me.

"Oh, I can back it up, Mr. Ustinov. Would you like me to show you exactly how capable I am?"

Christ. I tugged at my collar, suddenly feeling overheated. Was she flirting with me? Or was I reading too much into this? I needed to get a grip, to remember who I was and why this was a terrible idea.

So, to reel it back in, I forced myself to steer the conversation to the cover I had planned all along. “Oh, I’d love to see. That’s why I was calling actually. Tomorrow, I need to go over the budget for accommodating high-rollers. How about coffee in the morning? Just you and me? In my office?”

The words slipped out before I could stop them, so unlike my usual calculated demeanor. There was a pause on the other end of the line, and I could almost picture Pippa's green eyes widening in surprise.

"I… that sounds good, Abe," she replied, a smile evident in her voice.

And so, I found myself slipping further into dangerous territory.

We said our goodbyes, and I hung up, staring at the phone in disbelief. What the hell had just happened? Pippa's voice echoed in my mind, her clever retorts replaying on a loop.

"Fuck," I muttered, collapsing into an armchair. I had to admit it, if only to myself—Pippa Burrows had gotten under my skin in a way no woman ever had before. She challenged me, infuriated me, and God help me, I couldn't get enough of it.

I closed my eyes, a reluctant smile tugging at my lips. This woman was going to be trouble, no doubt about it. But, I found myself looking forward to the chaos.

As I sat there, my mind wandered, conjuring up a scene of Pippa that was so vivid it took my breath away. It was intrusive as fuck. She was leaning over my desk, her cleavage so enticing.The next thing I knew, I was rising, meeting her gaze. God, I could almost smell her perfume.

"What's the matter, Mr. Ustinov?" Fantasy Pippa teased, her upper teeth grazing over her lower lip. "Cat got your tongue?"

I felt my heart rate quicken, my palms growing damp. Even in my imagination, she had this effect on me. I pictured myself standing, closing the distance between us in two long strides. My hand would cup her face, thumb brushing over her cheek. She'd lean into my touch, her eyes fluttering closed.

"Pippa," I'd murmur, my voice husky with desire. I’d rip off that blouse, bend her over my desk…

The intensity of my attraction hit me like a punch to the gut. I snapped my eyes open, lurching out of the chair with a growl of frustration.

"Get a grip, Abrahim," I snarled at myself. "She's half your age, for fuck's sake. And an employee, no less."

This wasn't me. I didn't do this—I didn't fantasize about women like some lovesick teenager.

And how the hell was I to bring myself to stop?

Chapter 5 - Pippa

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