Ilya strolls in like he owns the place, jacket slung over his shoulder, expression far too knowing. “So,” he says casually, dropping into the chair opposite my desk. “Progress?”
I glance up. “On what.”
He rolls his eyes. “The assistant. The wife problem. The wholeyour-grandfather-hates-you-from-beyond-the-gravesituation.”
I lean back, jaw tight. “Too early.”
“That’s lawyer-speak forsomething interesting happened,” he says. “Did you even meet her yet?”
Before I can answer, movement catches my eye.
She walks past my office, visible through the glass wall for all of three seconds, but and it’s enough.
She’s carrying a folder, hugging it to her chest, brows slightly furrowed in concentration. Her hair has come loose from the ponytail, strands brushing her cheek. She’s biting her lower lip like she does when she’s thinking—something I somehow already know.
She glances toward my office, uncertain, then looks quickly away. I feel my body respond—my cock thickens, pressing uncomfortable and insistent against my trousers. I shift in my seat, jaw tight.
Ilya follows my gaze, a smirk blooming as he puts two and two together.
“Well, well,” he murmurs, “who’sthat?”
I don’t answer at first. I just watch her disappear around the corner, my pulse thudding harder than it should.
“She’s the new assistant,” I say finally, my voice low, strained.
Ilya leans back, studying me with interest. “You look like a man who’s just been punched in the gut. Or something lower.”
I force a scowl, but my body betrays me, half-hard and aching, wanting things I have no business wanting.
He grins. “Careful, Aleksei. This marriage project is going to be a lot more interesting than I thought.”
I shake my head, exhaling slow, trying to will my blood to settle. But the damage is done. Ilya is still grinning, amused, and I can’t stop thinking about her—her voice, her eyes, the promise in every potential accidental touch.
This was supposed to be simple. Business. Transactional.
But now, with her just a wall away, nothing feels simple anymore.
He leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes sharp now. “Aleksei. Who isshe? You must have a reason. You never do anything without it.”
I don’t answer right away. I watch the hallway, now empty. The air still feels charged, like she left something behind.
“She’s competent,” I say finally.
Ilya snorts. “That’s not what I asked.”
I exhale through my nose. “You said I needed someone reliable. Discreet. Intelligent.”
“And attractive?” he adds mildly.
I glare at him. “Irrelevant.”
He laughs, full and unapologetic. “You’re half hard in the middle of a workday. Forgive me if I don’t believe that.”
I look away, toward the window, toward the city. Toward anything that isn’t her.
“This is a bad idea,” I say quietly.
Ilya’s voice softens. “You didn’t plan on wanting her. That much is obvious.”
