I should have someone else deal with it, except that’s not what I do. I pick up the phone and dial.
“Main bar, this is Oksana.”
“Send Evelina up to my office.”
“Oh.” A short pause. “Is something wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. Just some paperwork to handle. Send her up now.”
“Understood.”
I drum my fingers, waiting. I try to focus on the invoices in front of me, but the numbers blur together.
A few minutes later, there’s a knock at my office door. “Come in,” I call out.
She steps inside, pausing past the threshold. Chin raised, shoulders squared, projecting confidence she doesn’t quite own. She’s wearing the standard black uniform dress, but on her it’s sex personified.
Her hair is pulled back in a high ponytail, exposing the elegant line of her neck, all that smooth skin I need to taste again.
I told myself she was a moment of weakness. That I was wound tight and she provided release at the right time. But now she’s standing in front of me, all legs and attitude and that mouth I can’t stop thinking about, and I know it’s a lie. She’s been under my skin since I first saw her.
She closes the door behind her and crosses the room, stopping a few feet away from me.
“You wanted to see me?”
“I do.” I gesture to the chair across from my desk.
She hesitates, then lowers herself into the chair. Her knees pressed together, and her hands folded in her lap. Picture-perfect composure except for the way her fingers knit together.
“How’s your first shift going?”
“It hasn’t started. Just the training, and I guess it’s going okay. It’s a lot to keep in mind, but I’m doing my best.”
I pull her paperwork toward me. “We have some business to take care of. I need to fill out your employment forms so you’re legal to work here.”
She arches a skeptical eyebrow. “And you’re the guy who does the employment paperwork?”
A chuckle escapes as I run a knuckle along my jaw. “Sometimes. I like to be thorough in everything I do.”
Amusement flickers across her face. “I’m sure you have better things to do, Mr. Baronov. And I’d be happy to fill out the forms myself if you’d pass them over.”
The formal way she addresses me shoots lust straight to my dick.
“No need. I like learning about my employees. This process is rather … illuminating. Full legal name?” I pick up a pen, twirling it between my fingers before clicking it.
“Evelina Dmitrievna Panova.”
I write it down, distracted by the way her lips shape each syllable. There’s music to her English, a rhythm I could listen to for hours.
“Need me to spell that out for you?”
“Not at all. Current address, Ms. Panova?”
She rattles off an address in a rougher area of Brooklyn. I pull out my phone and drop it into Street View. Graffiti-tagged brick, bars on the ground-floor windows, garbage piled on the curb. The neighborhood’s a shithole after dark.
“What floor?”
Her brows pinch. “What does it matter?”
