Page 1 of Masked Seduction
CHAPTER 1
JENNA
Mondays can fuck right off.
Standing at my desk, I suck in two steadying breaths before stepping into my boss’s office, a place that feels about as welcoming as a shark tank at feeding time.
I clutch my tablet in one hand, a steaming mug of black coffee for him in the other, and prepare myself for whatever fresh brand of hell awaits me. A few weeks into this job and I’m already wondering if I’m going to last.
It’s not as if he’s pleasant any other day. But Mondays? They bring out an extra-special, premium-grade asshole side of him. The kind of mood that makes me wonder if he spends the weekends downing vodka shots and picking fights in alleyways just for fun, nursing hangovers come Monday morning.
Except, try as I might, I can’t imagine Abram Vasiliev being anything less than impeccably controlled. Everything about the man screams meticulous precision—from the razor-sharp tailoring of his suits to the devastating cool of his expression.
So no, Abram Vasiliev isn’t recovering from wild weekends. Being insufferable is just his default setting.
I learned on day one not to knock. His exact words: “If I don’t want you in here, Ms. Ridley, I’ll lock the door.” Delivered with those icy blue eyes boring into mine, like he was challenging me to step out of line.
Taking one final breath, I push open the heavy door without knocking.
Abram is silhouetted at the window of his 32nd floor office, overlooking one of Las Vegas’s several parks. The sun cuts around his tall frame, highlighting his broad shoulders, his powerful arms crossed casually over his chest. He oozes dominance.
I swallow hard, despising myself for the hot wave of arousal that runs through me. When am I going to get used to this man?
“Coffee,” he says without turning around, his voice clipped, cold.
Biting back a sigh, I roll my eyes safely behind his back and stride forward. “Black,” I announce, managing to thread just the barest hint of sarcasm into my tone. “Just how you like it.”
As he slowly turns, my breath stalls in my lungs because, damn him, Abram Vasiliev is devastatingly handsome. Even after weeks of working for the man, the sight of him still strikes me like a physical blow.
The office lights highlight his chiseled, commanding features beneath a perfectly tailored, dark gray suit. His head is shaved, a carefully groomed salt-and-pepper beard sharpening his jawline and emphasizing those infuriatingly kissable lips.
His eyes—piercing and icy blue beneath dark, arched brows—can pin you where you stand, stripping away every defense. Just like they're doing now. His gaze slides over me, one brow rising, mastering that silent, infuriating expression somewhere between intimidating and amused.
Like a predator toying with its prey.
My pussy clenches, heat pooling low and traitorous despite my irritation. It’s crazy how much my body responds to him, how every glance seems to pull at something raw and needy inside me.
I force my chin up defiantly, silently daring him to give me a reprimand, even as my pulse pounds in my throat.
He holds my stare a beat too long before his deep, velvet-smooth voice finally breaks the charged silence. “Congratulations. You finally got it right.”
His words are carried on a Russian accent that somehow makes him even sexier despite what a colossal dick he can be.
My teeth grind so hard I’m surprised they don’t crumble as I clamp down on the retort simmering at the tip of my tongue. I spin sharply on my heel and cross to the sleek chair opposite his desk, slipping into it and tapping open his calendar on my tablet. I focus hard, keeping my voice calm and steady, refusing to let him see how deeply he irritates and arouses me all at once.
“Conference call with Zurich at ten, lunch with investors downtown at twelve-thirty. Your lawyer is scheduled for three, and tonight’s dinner reservation?—”
He interrupts, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Why am I meeting with my lawyer?”
“I’m not privy to that information, Mr. Vasiliev,” I reply evenly.
“You scheduled the appointment,” he responds, his tone sharp.
“Because you told me to. You didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t think it was my place to pry.”
A muscle in his jaw twitches, betraying his irritation. “A competent assistant knows every detail of every meeting. Otherwise, she’s useless.”
Fury boils within, swift and scorching. The insult lands like a slap, heat flaring through me until my cheeks burn. For a dangerous moment, my mouth opens, a fierce “fuck you” poised and ready. But I bite down hard, tasting copper. I need this job too badly—enough to swallow insults—at least for now.
