Page 26 of Reclaimed By My Ex’s Bratva Brother

"I mean, I'm not qualified." I forced the words out under his stare. "I've been full-time less than a month. You need an experienced assistant, not a wedding planner who just lost her intern tag."

"You ran yesterday's wedding."

"That doesn't prove I can work for you. Planning weddings and being your assistant are completely different."

"Your wedding design was flawless. And when two assholes deliberately humiliated you, you didn't smash the mic or wreck the ceremony." He looked down at me, dead serious. "You controlled the situation and saved the client's wedding. That's enough."

My throat tightened. He'd actually noticed all that.

To get promoted, I'd done countless things no one saw—memorized every last-minute seating change, every demand too ridiculous to be real. But to everyone else, that was just grunt work for a newbie.

Varlam saw it. He'd actually evaluated my performance, recognized my ability. And that validation came from a man at the top of the food chain. The weight of it pressed down, making any argument feel flimsy.

"Or—" His knuckles tapped the desk twice, voice dropping low, "you're not worried about ability at all. You're worried that being too close to me will make you lose control."

A dangerous thrill rippled under my skin. This man belonged to a world I'd only heard about in rumors. He couldn't be measured by ordinary rules. And he was my ex's brother. One step closer and the life I'd barely stabilized could completely implode.

But when he looked down at me with that weathered confidence and calculated aggression, it had a way of dissolving judgment.

"You think pretty highly of yourself." My mouth said one thing while my body said another.

"I've got reason to." His gaze lingered on my flushed neck, his tone maddeningly certain. "Last night proved it."

Damn it. Did he have to bring up last night here? With dozens of eyes still on us?

"This is an office." I reminded him through gritted teeth.

"I know." His tone stayed infuriatingly calm. "That's why we're discussing work."

"Doesn't sound like it."

"Then let's talk salary." He finally straightened. "Five times your current pay."

My prepared rebuttal died on my tongue.

"You can't think money solves everything."

"It doesn't." His voice stayed flat. "But it'll solve your problems. You need money."

He'd looked into me. Or at least checked my employee file and salary records.

That realization should've made me uncomfortable, but I couldn't quite articulate why. His tone held no mockery—if anything, it sounded like he was mapping out a real way forward for me.

Five times my salary meant paying off my parents' medical debt faster. It meant when the fridge broke, I wouldn't have to choose between repairs and rent. It even meant I could actually take Rory to Canada, to that Royal Tyrrell Paleontology Museum he'd been talking about for two years.

My instincts screamed, "Refuse him. This man will wreck your life."

But bills, rent, and Rory's hopeful eyes formed another voice, louder.

"Do you investigate everyone you hire?" I asked.

"Only the ones who run from my bed."

My breath hitched again.

"Fine." I drew in air. "I'll take the job. But it's just work."

Varlam's mouth curved slightly, like a winner who'd finally heard the right answer.