ROMAN
Iwatch Eva Markova stand before my desk, her spine straight despite the fear I can see flickering in those brown eyes. Most people crumble under my scrutiny. Natasha cries. Men stammer excuses. But Eva simply meets my gaze and apologizes with quiet dignity.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Sokolov. Could you show me the correct method so I won't make the same mistake twice?"
Her voice is steady, professional. No tears. No excuses. Just a request to learn. Something about her composure intrigues me in a way I don't entirely welcome. She's afraid. I can see it in the slight tension of her shoulders, the way her pulse flutters at her throat. But she's not broken. There's steel beneath that polished exterior.
I move around my desk, closing the distance between us. She doesn't retreat, though I notice her hand trembles slightly as she reaches for her notepad. I'm standing closer than necessary, close enough to smell her perfume. Something light and floralthat doesn't belong in my world of leather and gunpowder. Something innocent.
"The quarterly reports are filed by fiscal period," I explain, my voice low. I lean over her shoulder to point at the file, aware of how her breath catches. "Not calendar year. The color coding follows the fiscal quarters. Red for Q1, blue for Q2, green for Q3, yellow for Q4."
She takes notes with neat, precise handwriting. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a sleek bun, not a strand out of place. Minimal makeup. A tailored navy dress that's professional but can't quite hide her curves. She's beautiful in an understated way, the kind of beauty that sneaks up on you rather than demanding attention.
"I understand," she says, her pen moving across the paper. "I'll reorganize the files immediately."
I notice the way she presses her thumbnail into her index finger when she's nervous. A tell. Everyone has them, and I've built an empire on reading people. Eva Markova is trying so hard to appear unaffected, and it makes me want to unravel her composure just to see what's underneath.
"See that you do." I step back, putting professional distance between us.
Her brown eyes meet mine, and for a moment, something passes between us. Understanding. Recognition. She knows I'm not just talking about filing systems.
"Yes, Mr. Sokolov."
I dismiss her with a curt nod, and she returns to her office with the file clutched against her chest. Through the glasswall, I watch her settle at her desk and begin reorganizing the documents with focused intensity. She doesn't look up, doesn't check to see if I'm watching. She just works.
I shouldn't be noticing her like this. She's an employee, too young and innocent for my world. Twenty-four to my forty-one. A lifetime of difference in experience, in darkness, in the things we've done to survive. But there's something about Eva Markova that's gotten under my skin in the span of a single day.
She's competent and intelligent. She doesn't simper or flirt like so many women do when they want something from me. She doesn't try to use her looks as currency. She just works, efficiently and quietly, and I find myself watching her more than I should.
My phone buzzes. Lev, letting me know he's on his way up.
I force my attention back to the documents on my desk, but my gaze keeps drifting to Eva's silhouette through the glass. The way she straightens papers that are already straight when she's thinking. The way she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear with unconscious grace.
Enough.
I turn my chair away from the glass wall and pull up the shipping manifests that need my attention. Business. Focus on business.
The elevator chimes, and Lev Baranov walks onto the floor with the silent confidence of a man who's been by my side for over two decades. He's dressed in a dark suit similar to mine, his expression neutral as he enters my office and closes the door behind him.
"Roman." He settles into the chair across from my desk, his dark eyes already assessing. "How was the first day with the new secretary?"
"Adequate." I keep my voice neutral, but Lev knows me too well.
His gaze flicks to the glass wall, to Eva still working in her office. When he looks back at me, there's a warning in his expression.
"She's off-limits," he says bluntly. No preamble. That's Lev. "Whatever you're thinking, stop."
"I'm not thinking anything." The lie tastes bitter on my tongue.
"Bullshit." Lev leans back in his chair, his fingers steepled. "I've known you since we were fifteen. I can read you better than anyone. And right now, you're looking at that girl like she's something you want to possess."
I don't deny it. There's no point in lying to Lev.
"She's an employee," I say instead. "Nothing more."
"Keep it that way." His voice is hard. "We have enough problems without your complicating things by fucking the help."
I should be angry at his bluntness, but Lev has earned the right to speak to me this way. He's saved my life more times than I can count. He's the only person I trust completely.
