Page 36 of Masked Seduction
“What’s that smirk for?”
“There is no smirk,” she replies smoothly, not even pretending to sound apologetic. “But if there were, I guess it might be because you summoned me in here like you were about to reveal state secrets, yet you’re just brooding in silence.”
“I don’t brood.”
She gives me a look.
I clench my jaw. “Update me on the Fremont property.”
The mood shifts instantly. She straightens her spine, thumb gliding across the iPad with practiced precision. “There was a meeting on Friday with the tenant board. Henley confirmed a conversation between the leasing rep and a potential third-party developer. Officially, the tenant says they’re not interested in selling.”
“And unofficially?”
“The rep’s story doesn’t line up. I pulled the internal emails—they’ve already started exploratory pricing.”
I exhale slowly. “Cowards never just say no.”
She swipes again, efficient as ever. “I’ve flagged the correspondence and cross-checked it with your calendar. You’ll want to review the notes before your next strategy call with legal. We may need to renegotiate the lease structure, add a non-compete clause if it’s not too late.”
My gaze lingers on her just a beat too long. She’s sharp. Controlled. And fuck if that doesn’t turn me on.
I try to focus, try to maintain my composure, be the man I’m used to being. But my gaze keeps drifting. Her mouth. Her hands. The thought of her kneeling between my thighs?—
I cut the thought off and reach for the coffee. The cup’s still slick from earlier and my fingers tighten too hard around it.
I’m going to lose my goddamn mind, and she’s going to make sure I enjoy every second of it.
The silence lingers, thick and charged. Jenna waits patiently, her professional mask flawless, but I know what lies beneath. I know how her skin flushes pink when pleasure overtakes her, the sounds she makes when her defenses crumble beneath my touch.
But right now, her composure is impeccable. It irritates me just as much as it fascinates me.
I wonder what it would take to shatter it.
I could drop a hint, whisper something in Russian, watch her reaction. See if recognition flickers in her eyes. But I won’t, not yet. Too easy. Too soon. I want to watch her figure it out slowly, watch as she unravels the delicious mystery one clue at a time.
My lips twitch at the thought. A dangerous game, but what’s life without a little risk?
She clears her throat softly, shifting my attention back to the meeting and the matter at hand. It’s her first Bratva meeting as my assistant. She needs to understand exactly what she’s stepping into. No more shielding her from the reality of who I am.
“I want to make sure we’re clear on what’s about to happen today,” I say carefully. “Do you know who I am?”
Jenna chuckles softly, a spark of amusement brightening her eyes. “Is that a trick question or are you having a personal crisis?”
I arch a brow. “Answer me.”
“You’re Abram Vasiliev,” she says, her voice steady. “Leader of the Vasiliev Bratva. Billionaire, occasional pain in my ass, exceptionally particular about his coffee.”
I resist the urge to smile. God, she’s good. “Fair enough. But do you know what that actually means?”
Her confidence wavers slightly, a subtle tightening at the corners of her mouth. “My understanding is that Bratva means the Russian mafia. Organized crime, power, danger. That sort of thing.”
Close enough. “Essentially,” I confirm. “This meeting is with my lieutenants—Denis and Mikail—whom you’ve met briefly before.We have a delicate situation brewing. The Agosti family, our Italian counterparts on the north side, have started testing our boundaries.”
She nods slowly, taking that in, processing. No flinching, no panic. Just a careful, quiet seriousness that suits her far better than I expected.
“So, it’s a territory dispute?”
“More or less,” I say. “The Agostis have decided to make a play while their don is sick. Nico Agosti, his son, is impatient and impulsive. And dangerous.”
