Page 74 of Pregnant Bratva Wife
“Of course.” She followed me to the small office in the back.
I closed the door behind us and turned to her, crossing my arms. “You know, in the old days, that kid would have been fired on the spot.”
She cocked an eyebrow at me. “And you’re proud of that, are you?”
“I’m proud of running a business as it should be,” I countered. “He cost us thousands in product.”
“He’s a kid working his way through college who made a simple mistake,” Her eyes flashed with that fire I’d come to admire.
“And he was injured!” She crossed her arms in front of her chest, pointedly.
And fuck me—thatmove didn’t help.
The V-neck of her satin top dipped just enough to make it impossible not to notice the swell of her breasts. That silky fabric clung to her like it had been tailored for my torment, tucked neatly into that black skirt that already had me two seconds from losing my mind.
I tried not to stare, but Jesus, she made it hard. Literally and figuratively.
Where was I? My brain scrambled. Words? Logic? Something about a bartender?
“Look.” I took a step closer and forced my eyes to stay locked on hers before I lost focus.Stay sharp. Stay in control. “The point is, you can’t coddle everyone who works for us. People will take advantage.”
“Is that what you call basic human decency? Coddling?” She didn’t back down. If anything, she moved closer, her blue eyes challenging me.
“Kindness doesn’t work here, Autumn. These guys will take it, twist it, and come back for more,” I managed, my voice strained even to my own ears.
“Let them try,” she said, eyes glinting. “I’m not stupid. And I’m not ashamed of giving a damn. You think it’s a weakness. I think it’s being human.”
She wasn’t just arguing. She was glowing—flushed cheeks, fire behind her words, chest rising with each breath. God, she wasalivewhen she fought me like this. Fierce and bright and infuriatingly beautiful. My pulse thudded low in my gut.
She took another step closer, chin tipped up. And I swear when I breathed, I didn’t for air, but rather, for that faint smell of her perfume that drifted toward me then. I could feel the heat of her skin, the soft brush of her breath, the invisible pull that yanked me closer without a single hand being raised.
“You’re making my staff soft,” I murmured. My eyes darted down to her mouth, then her throat, then back to her eyes.
“And you’re afraid I’m making you soft too.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. I swear I heard her breath hitch.
I couldn’t deny it. Her kindness didn’t weaken me—itundidme. Bit by bit, touch by touch, look by look.
“Maybe I am,” I admitted.
She smiled then. Not smug.Knowing.
“Would that be so terrible?” she asked softly. “Being a little soft sometimes?”
“Depends on the circumstances,” I said, my voice dropping an octave—rougher, darker, impossible to hide anymore.
Her lips parted slightly, her breath catching. “What circumstances would those be?”
“Not the ones where I’m trying to maintain a professional relationship with my wife.”
Her eyes sparkled. “Is that what we’re doing?” she whispered, stepping in until there was no space left between us. Her fingers brushed my chest, light but loaded. “Being professional?”
That was it.
Control wasn’t just fraying—itsnapped.
That mouth of hers parted like a challenge, her breathing uneven, her body just barely brushing mine.
We hovered there. Close. Too close.
