Page 113 of Bratva's Intern

Panic wrapped its hands around my throat. “I felt better,” I said. “Than earlier this morning that is. I didn’t want to waste the day. There’s still so much I need to learn, and?—”

The door behind Bradley opened again, and Maxim stepped out like a perfectly timed intervention.

“Wren,” he said, tone crisp. “You were told to rest. Why did you come in? You’re not at full capacity.”

Because of what you did to me last night!

I straightened in my chair, forcing a nervous smile, conscious of Bradley watching. “I started feeling better after breakfast, sir. Thought I’d be more useful here.”

Maxim stared at me for a beat too long, then gave a clipped nod. “Next time, check in with me first. Get into my office. We have some things to go over for the day.”

“Yes, Mr. Morozov.”

Maxim’s nostrils flared, and I knew he was thinking about me bent over his desk, calling him Mr. Morozov while he was inside me.

Oh god, I’m screwed.

Literally.

Bradley’s gaze ping-ponged between us, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

Suspicion, maybe.

Curiosity?

Resentment?

“Right,” he said slowly, tapping his notepad. “Well, I’ll leave you two to it.”

I didn’t breathe until he disappeared down the hallway.

Then I stood and walked into Maxim’s office like I hadn’t nearly thrown up in my mouth from sheer anxiety.

He closed the door behind me with a soft click and turned to face me. Arms crossed. Jaw tight. That unreadable expression on his face—the one he wore before he said something that always made my stomach drop or my knees weak. Sometimes both.

“Why didn’t you stay home?”

“I told you. I didn’t want to fall behind. It felt wrong to… stay in bed after?—”

“After being absolutely wrecked last night?” he said dryly.

I flushed hard. “Umm.”

He stepped forward, eyes raking down my body. “And what is this?” He gestured to my suit with a frown. “Why are you back to wearing these frumpy suits that do nothing for you?”

“Rude,” I muttered.

“That doesn’t answer the question. Why are you wearing this outfit?”

Heat crawled up my neck, and I licked my lips. “After last night, it felt… kind of wrong to wear the clothes you bought me.”

“Say what?”

“I mean, don’t you think it’s inappropriate, sir?” I stammered.

Maxim came closer. Too close. He hooked his finger into my tie and tugged gently, enough to tilt my chin up. “You keep calling me sir, and you’ll know the definition of inappropriate.”

My stomach flipped, but I stood my ground.

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