Page 16 of Bratva's Intern

He hadn’t liked me the first time we ran into each other at the coffee shop.

A chair scraped against the floor, jolting me out of my scrutiny. I blinked. Silence pressed in around me, thick and expectant. The others were staring at me. The interviewee, still seated straight-backed and eager, was looking at me like she expected something. What the hell had I missed?

Archie cleared his throat. “Maxim, do you have any further questions for Ms. Langston?”

Who?

I looked at the résumé in front of me. Oh. The candidate. Right. Ivy League graduate. Impressive credentials. A wealth of experience. A sharp suit, neatly pressed. She had answered every question with precision and confidence. Those I’d heard, at least. By all accounts, she was exactly what I needed in an assistant.

Archie shifted in his seat, clearly waiting.

“No further questions,” I said, my voice smooth like I hadn’t been distracted by the soiree on the other side of the door. “We’ll be in touch.”

Disappointment flickered across Ms. Langston’s face, but she recovered quickly, standing to shake hands. I barely acknowledged the gesture, already looking back out the glass walls.

Wren was still chatting with Bradley. Did I pay them the salary I did for them to be idle?

As the executives gathered their notes, Archie nudged me. “You all right? You seemed… distracted.”

I offered him a placid look, adjusting the cuffs of my suit. “Just considering my options.”

Archie hummed as if unconvinced. “There’s really nothing much to consider. You can’t go much longer without a personal assistant. I’m only here temporarily, and no one else comes as highly qualified as Ms. Langston.”

“I agree,” Elaine, the HR Director, said. “We’ve interviewed several candidates, Maxim, and she’s perfect. Just give the word, and I can have her NDA and contract drafted.”

“Don’t make any decision yet.”

“But—”

“I said I’ll think about it.”

“Very well.” Lips pressed firmly together, Elaine nodded and quickly left. I tapped my fingers against the table.

“Maxim, is it?—”

“What’s he doing up here?” I snapped. “He doesn’t belong on this floor.”

“Who?”

Archie followed my gaze out the glass wall, raising his brow. “Oh.” His gaze shifted back to me, and he tugged at his collar. “I see.”

“What exactly do you see?”

“You’re interested in the young man.”

I scowled. “Would I be interested in someone like that? You know the kind of men I go for, Archie, or do I have to remind you?”

Archie’s cheeks turned red. Several years ago, we’d fucked in secret while he worked for me as my PA. Back then, he would run my office with the efficiency of a Swiss clock, then polish my dick like my own personal whore. It’d been nice when it lasted. By the time I’d tired of him, he’d earned a nestegg. Enough to retire. But he’d begged to continue working for me, so he ran the Chicago office.

“He’s not bad looking,” Archie muttered.

“Still not my type. He’s not gorgeous enough—too plain.”

Too cute. I didn’t do cute. I dated men who gained a second glance when we were together. Who didn’t revel in that feeling of satisfaction that the thing someone envied was yours. Well, for as long as you wanted it anyway. I couldn’t see anyone giving Wren a second glance.

“I suppose that’s true,” Archie said. “What’s the problem, then?”

Wren turned away from Bradley, giving him a wave, and walked to the elevator. I surged to my feet, grabbed my phone from the table, and stuffed it into my pocket as I strode toward the exit.

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