Page 58 of Bratva's Intern

“You did exactly what I asked,” I said. “You didn’t disturb me. You listened. You handled it. I’m proud of you.”

The tension in his shoulders bled out like air from a balloon.

He gave a little groan and dropped his head against the back of the couch. “God, I must look like a mess.”

“You do.”

He punched my arm. “Hey, that doesn’t make me feel any better.”

It was soft. Silly. And fucking adorable.

Then he blinked, realizing what he’d done. “Sorry. I didn’t mean?—”

“Calm down,” I said again, biting back a smile. “You’re not in trouble. Why don’t you take a shower?”

“A shower?”

“Yes, in my private bathroom.”

“You have a private bathroom?”

I rose to my feet slowly. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

He followed me across the office to a tall door near the built-in shelves. He’d probably assumed it was a closet.

He was wrong.

The door opened into a walk-in closet lined with suits, dress shirts, and drawers of cufflinks. A step farther revealed another door that led to a sleek marble bathroom with double sinks, a rainfall shower, and a backlit mirror. It smelled faintly of cedar and clean soap.

Wren gawked. “This is… insane. You shower in your office?”

“Sometimes I need to.” Occasionally, I got a little blood on my hands.

“Wow, this is insane. I could live here.”

I chuckled. “There are new toothbrushes in the cabinet. Help yourself. Heated towels are on the rack.”

He stepped inside slowly, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed.

“I can’t help you with underwear,” I said, “but pick any shirt from the closet. One of mine should cover you just fine. Take as long as you need.”

Wren’s smile was wide, his hand moving to undo the first buttons of his shirt. “If my boss complains, I hope you tell him you gave me permission.”

I left him there and closed the door before I could see more of his smooth chest.

Back at my desk, I found myself trapped in a restless cycle. My eyes darted between the lines on a spreadsheet to the closed bathroom door and back again. I stared at the inbox and thought instead about Wren in my shower.

Water sliding down his back. That sweet little hitch in his breath when he was nervous. His damp curls falling into his eyes.

Fuck.

I picked up the phone.

“Bring breakfast,” I told Nik. “For Wren.”

“Yes, sir.”

I tried to go back to work, to at least look busy, but the hiss of running water was amplified by the quietness of the office. It was an agonizingly slow passage of time. With each minute that ticked by, an odd sense of anticipation, mixed with an unfamiliar kind of anxiety, built inside me.

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