Page 13 of Bratva's Intern

Without another word, I spun on my heel and sprinted toward the elevator, my breath coming in short, panicked gasps. I jabbed the button repeatedly, willing the doors to open faster. As they finally slid open, I stepped inside, my chest heaving as I hit the button for the first floor.

The last thing I saw before the doors closed was Mr.Morozov’s amused expression and Archie standing beside him, concern etched across his face. I pressed my forehead against the cool metal wall, shame and frustration swirling in my chest.

Well, one thing was certain: I’d just blown the opportunity of a lifetime.

CHAPTER FOUR

WREN

Three days had passed since I’d single-handedly ruined my shot at a life-changing opportunity, but I wasn’t dwelling on it. Okay, maybe I was. But there wasn’t time for self-pity when I had burgers to flip and fries to salt.

“Wren! Table three is still waiting on their order!” my supervisor, Greg, barked from across the kitchen, his voice slicing through the haze of grease and exhaustion.

“I’m on it!” I slammed the lid shut on the fryer and reached for the next set of burger buns. My arms ached from the constant movement, and the heat of the kitchen clung to my skin like an unwelcome second layer.

“You said that five minutes ago.” Greg appeared at my side, looming over me. “You think we’re running a charity here? Move faster, or I’ll find someone who can.”

I bit down on my frustration, nodding without a word. He was the one who’d let Suzanne take off early, leaving the rest of us to fill in for her. Because I didn’t have bouncy tits and acurvy ass—though mine was nothing to laugh at, or so I’d been told—I didn’t get away with the things she did.

This job wasn’t glamorous, but it paid the rent—or at least part of it—and I couldn’t afford to lose it. Not now. My scholarship only covered my tuition. Nobody told me the expenses of college would be so much, even without having to pay tuition. If I had known, I might not have gone. A two-year diploma course would have been better. The job would be boring and low paying, but I wouldn’t have to work as hard.

“I don’t know what’s going on with you lately,” Greg said, his tone dripping with disdain. “But if you think I’m being too hard on you, you’re free to leave. No one’s keeping you here.”

You keep saying that, and one day I’ll walk right out that door.

I forced a tight-lipped smile. “No, sir. I’m good.”

“Then act like you want to be here.” He turned his attention back to the register.

The rush hour was relentless, a constant stream of impatient customers and complicated orders that left no room to breathe. How could someone make a burger complicated? The lettuce must be placed on top of the tomatoes. Like WTF. But the customer was always right. I hadn’t stopped moving in hours, let alone taken my break. My back ached and my stomach growled in protest, but I shoved the hunger aside and focused on the task at hand.

Greg kept breathing down my neck, making me nervous. So nervous I fumbled a tray of burgers, fries, and milkshake. For once, he didn’t say anything, but his face turned all red, and his glare said it all. The cost was coming from my pocket.

By the time the crowd finally thinned, my muscles screamed in protest from the abuse. Greg, of course, was nowhere to be seen. He’d left almost two hours ago. Theclock on the wall reminded me I had missed my break because of the rush.

“Brenda,” I called to the server wiping down tables. Her short red curls bounced around her heart-shaped face as she raised her head. “Have you seen Greg? I need to take my break.”

She shrugged. “I don’t think he’s back yet.”

Shit. What was I supposed to do now? Before another wave of customers popped in, I had to eat, if only my cereal bar.

“Go on your break,” Brenda said. “We’ve got you covered.”

I shifted on the soles of my trainers and glanced at the clock. Greg could make things difficult for me if I wasn’t at my post when he returned.

My stomach growled and won out. “All right, then. I’ll be in the back.”

I didn’t just need food. My lungs craved a drag from a cigarette that was eventually destined to ruin them. Back in high school, I used to smoke a lot, but I quit before I started college. Since working at the restaurant, the urge to pick up the habit once more was strong.

The breakroom was a narrow galley kitchen between the meat freezer and the storage closet, filled with lockers, a table with three chairs, and a worn-out couch. It smelled of stale grease. Everything in the restaurant smelled of it, including me.

My mind flashed to the Morozov building and how smart the workers looked. I could have had that shot, but I’d blown it. My hair would smell like grease for the rest of my life.

Just until I left college, but who would hire me after I finished? No one wanted an employee who graduated at the bottom of their class.

I took out my sandwich; I never ate the restaurant food.Not after seeing the dripping fat and the amount of salt tossed onto the fries. My work here had ruined fast food for me.

I sat heavily at the round table. The clock on the wall showed I’d already wasted six minutes. I needed at least five to use the bathroom, and if there was time, a power nap wouldn’t hurt.

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