Page 25 of Reclaimed By My Ex’s Bratva Brother

That disgusting voice and figure finally disappeared. The former owner bowed and left too.

Even Winnie sat back at her desk, mouth open.

I turned back to Briony.

"Little troublemaker." I lowered my voice so only she could hear. "That's twice now."

The flush on her cheeks instantly spread to her ears. I reached up, tucked a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear. When my fingertip grazed her burning earlobe, her lashes fluttered, and her breathing hitched. Good. At least I wasn't the only one who remembered last night.

"You're done working today."

"I can keep working." She quietly protested, finally trying to pull away that pitiful distance.

"I know."

She looked up at me, wary.

"Then what do you mean?"

"Be my assistant. This place isn't right for you anymore."

She looked around, clearly noticing those barely concealed burning stares.

"After what just happened, you're the focal point of the entire office." I leaned in until her lower back pressed against the desk, nowhere left to go. "Think they'll focus on your planning work now, or on our relationship?"

She bit her lip, clearly hadn't expected me to be so direct.

"What if I refuse?" She lifted her chin, eyes challenging.

Bold and interesting.

"You can try." My gaze dropped to her flushed lips.

When my thumb brushed over her slightly parted lower lip, that soft sensation reminded me how it felt wrapped around me. I saw her pupils contract. She clearly remembered the same thing.

Personal assistant was just the first step. I wanted her in my office, sitting where I could see her whenever I looked up.

Until she couldn't tell anymore whether she was working for me or slowly becoming mine.

Chapter Seven

Briony

I should've said no, but the refusal lodged in my throat.

Was he out of his mind? Or still half asleep? A few hours ago, I'd woken in his arms, then bolted like a coward while he slept. Now he stood here, announcing to the entire office that I was his new assistant.

My cheeks burned. What the hell was this man playing at? Was this his way of reminding me that no matter how fast I ran, he could always step right back into my path?

Even more absurd—I'd barely been here a month.

Assistant positions went to women in sharp suits who juggled three meetings at once, not to someone who hadn't even warmed her desk chair yet.

"I—" I tried to fight back.

But I'd barely gotten one syllable out before his eyebrow lifted.

That wasn't a question. That was a man used to giving orders, hearing someone try to refuse him for the first time.