Page 112 of Bratva's Intern

“You owe me one.” Jess yawned.

“I owe you six, but don’t stop to fuck Nik on your way over. I’m already late.”

“You’re no fun,” she said cheerfully, and the line went dead.

I tossed the phone onto the counter, splashed water on my face, and dove into a speed shower that left more water on the floor than on me.

By the time I got out and toweled off, I’d expected Nik to arrive. When he didn’t, I raided the fridge and heated some of the food from the meal I’d prepared for Maxim last night. I was starving. Apparently, a good dicking could make you feel like you hadn’t eaten in days.

I’d washed up and brushed my teeth before the doorbell rang. I rushed to the front door and flung it open. Nik stoodthere in his usual black button-up, sunglasses on despite the fact it wasn’t that bright out.

“What the hell took you so long?” I cried. “You had sex with Jess before you came over, didn’t you?”

From the color on his face, I’d hit the nail on the head. “I thought Maxim told me you were staying in today.”

I blinked. “He—what?”

Nik leaned a hip against the doorframe, arms folded. “Yeah. Said to leave you alone to sleep. Told me specificallynotto pick you up unless you called.”

I stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “I don’t get a free pass because I’m sleeping with the boss.”

Nik shrugged. “Tell that to the guy who answered the door grinning like a man who finally got laid after a war.”

I flushed so hard my ears were on fire. “God, Jess is rubbing off on you. I can’t have two Jesses in my life! Give me the suit. Thank you!”

I dressed fast, fussing with the buttons, patting my hair, reapplying cologne and lip balm and a whisper of undereye concealer becauseno oneneeded to know I’d been absolutely railed into the mattress ten hours ago.

When I finally slid into the car, my heart was pounding so loudly I could barely hear myself think.

What if people noticed?

What ifheacted differently?

What if I slipped up and called him Max in front of someone?

Bradley already looked suspicious. People at the office already gave me side glances, and I didn’t blame them. A brand spanking new intern and I was given the coveted position of Max’s PA and a personal driver.

And the day after Maxim had returned home, I came into work late? Whatever happened, I could not walk the slightest bit funny.

When I stepped into the building, I was sweating through my shirt, regretting my huge breakfast—my stomach felt like a cinder block—and absolutely convinced that everyone knew. That I had a sign on my forehead that read “Morozov’s Whore.”

It didn’t help that the receptionist looked up and gave me a smile that felt… a little too knowing. Or that I imagined the guy holding the elevator gave me a once-over like he knew too.

Paranoia tasted like shame and citrus breath spray.

The elevator doors slid open on our floor, and I stepped into the hallway like I was entering a crime scene. No one was screaming. No one was pointing fingers at me. Although people shot a few curious glances my way. That was promising.

I made a beeline for my desk and sat quickly, trying to look normal, casual, totally innocent. Except my computer took forever to boot, and my hands shook like I’d committed corporate espionage.

I was halfway into checking my calendar when the door to Maxim’s office opened.

Bradley walked out, brows drawn tight together, holding a notepad against his chest. He froze when he saw me.

“Oh, I thought you weren’t coming in today.”

I looked up, pulse stuttering. “I—what?”

“Mr. Morozov said you were staying home. That you weren’t feeling well.” His gaze sharpened, flicking down over my slightly rumpled suit, damp hair, the barely slept-in-days eyes of someone who had, in fact, not planned to come in today.

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