Page 24 of Sexting my Bratva Daddies

People always told you their intentions, if you knew how to look.

She fiddled with the serving spoon on the bowl of green beans, but her eyes lingered on the baked sweet potatoes. Seconds passed, and she let out a tiny sigh that dropped her shoulders as she spooned the green beans onto her plate and fisted her napkin in her lap.

The conversation circled around work for a few moments. Peyton picked at her food, her gaze roaming the room and us for several minutes before she sat back, dropping her fork. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Excuse me?” Misha spoke before I could warn him.

Peyton’s cheeks flushed. “I mean… I…” She groaned and ran a hand through her hair. “I can’t keep sitting here and not say what I came here to say.” An exhale dropped her shoulders. “You gave me the most incredible night of my life. I can’t stop thinking about it, which is inconvenient because you’re my bosses and I have to sit twelve feet from your offices and pretend I don’t know…” The color spread down her neck and across her chest beneath the white lace blouse I’d been tempted to rip from her body. “I don’t want to lose my job. And I refuse to be someone you call up at midnight just because you feel like it.”

Speech complete, she breathed in and held it, then let it out in a rush.

“Peyton, look at me.” I managed to lower my fork to my plate without a sound.

Peyton shifted her body toward me, her chin lifting until she stared into my eyes.

“We are not going to fire you. Not over this. Not over any version of this. Whatever happens has no bearing on your job. It never did.”

Some of the stiffness left her shoulders, but not all of it.

Which meant I had to address the other thing. “As for the rest.” I forced out a smile. “You are not… what is it people say? A booty call?” She nodded, biting her lower lip, until I rubbed my thumb over her chin to stop her. “You never were. If that was all we wanted, we would not have spent weeks learning your coffee order or your deepest fantasies. We are interested in you, not a version of you that rushes to fulfil our desires at midnight.”

Her gaze roamed my face, then Misha’s and finally, Viktor’s.

Viktor gave her a slow nod.

I slid my hand across her shoulder. “We understand if you wish to end things because of the power imbalance.”

Misha snorted. “Leo speaks for himself on that. I am not willing to walk away from this because of who ranks higher on the payroll. And if anyone in the office decides to make your life difficult over what we are to each other, I will gut them.”

Peyton blanched. “Are you threatening your own employees?”

“I’m making a promise.”

I glared at Misha. “He’s joking.” The look conveyed that he needed to keep his mouth shut and follow the plan.

Misha returned my glare with one of his own, and I made a mental note to revisit that once Peyton was not around.

“Viktor, help me out.” Misha waved toward Viktor.

No doubt he’d already weighed up both sides of the argument. He twirled his glass around before setting it on the table. “Tell us what you want, Peyton. Forget what you’re afraid of. What do you want?”

It was the right question, the one we should have asked from the beginning.

She glanced around again, her eyes going to the bedroom door we’d left open. She gestured toward it, which made Misha’s mouth twitch. “I want to know you, and I want you to know me. But I’ve worked too hard to get where I am. So, thank you, Misha, for the offer, but I’d rather not have any of this spill over into work.”

“Then it won’t.” I made the promise for all of us, which brought Peyton’s head around. She’d been watching Viktor, under the impression that he had the final say. I was happy to prove I owned that spot of power. “Professional at work.”

The tension around her eyes eased. “You’d do that?”

“You said it is what you want.” I tipped my head to the side. “If it is what you need, it is what we will do.”

She looked between all of us. “All of you?”

“We keep things that matter close.” Viktor held a hand over his heart. “This is not a complicated request.”

Misha wore a tight-lipped face that told us to stop speaking for him. His possessiveness might make it difficult for him, but he would fall in line. He always did.

I couldn’t help pushing. “Though I would argue that there is a thrill in the tension of it all.” I gave her the smile she’d described in one of our messages as dangerous. “The secret of it. Knowing what’s between us while keeping the secret.” Her pupils dilated, and I pushed a little further. “But we’ll keep our hands to ourselves if that is your preference.”