Was Mr. Volkov going to hurt them? I didn’t want anyone harmed because of me.
“Mr. Volk—” I started to say but stopped when he warned me into silence with a harsh glare.
“Sir?” the older man stuttered.
Mr. Volkov turned his attention back to the two men. “Get your things,” he said slowly, like they were dumb. “And leave.”
The lawyers’ spines straightened, and they shot me a glare before they looked at our bristling boss.
“Fine. Keep the drunk bitch. I don’t give a fuck.” The younger lawyer threw his hands up and circled Mr. Volkov, who refused to move out of the way. When it was just the two of us, I released a breath and sagged against the wall.
“I’m sorr—”
“Don’t apologize,” Mr. Volkov snapped.
I swallowed around the lump that had formed in my throat. It took a lot of self-control to keep the tears from slipping. I always tried to keep positive and nice. These last few years, I learned I got a lot more from people when I did. There were too many rude people out there, and I had hoped my kindness would be returned. Obviously not in this case.
“I’m not, I’m not high or drunk, sir. I can explain,” I whispered.
Mr. Volkov turned to me, hands still in his pockets. He came closer to me until our chests nearly touched. His intoxicating cologne made butterflies flutter in my stomach, and that chased away the nausea. I had to lean my head back to look up at his face with tears in my eyes.
“I already know about your schizophrenia, Ms. Hayes.” He withdrew his hands from his pockets and placed his palm on the wall beside my head. Tendrils of white hair hung over his shoulder and down his chest. I stopped breathing. Desire filled me, urging me to run my fingers through the silky locks and even pull his hair near his scalp. It was so sudden and intense that it made my nipples harden into sensitive peaks, begging for his touch.
“You knew?” I asked. “This whole time?”
He brought his other hand to my face, stroking his thumb under my eye, and caught a tear slipping past my lower eyelashes. My stomach flipped, and my breath hitched. This wasn’t a normal interaction between a boss and his assistant.
Cupping my cheek with his large hand, he leaned his head down until our noses brushed and his lips whispered against mine. I sucked in a sharp breath and held still, afraid that moving would spook Mr. Volkov.
What the heck was happening?
“I. Know.” His lips brushed against mine as he spoke. Goosebumps raised on my arms, and my sensitive nipples pressed against my silk bra.
“Sir?” I whispered.
“Emma.”
The way he said my name seemed like he couldn’t hold himself back from tasting it on his tongue. As if he was savoring it like a rare fine wine. That one word made my body light up like a firework, and heat surged through my veins. I wanted to hear him moan my name, but I couldn’t think this way about my boss. For goodness’ sake, he could be taken!
My mouth parted and trembled. Our lips brushed, and I could taste the coffee on his warm breath. “I brought us lunch,” I finally said.
He stared into my eyes, and when I got even more nervous, he closed his eyes and pulled away from me. Opening his eyes, he looked at the paper bag I still held and the cup of iced blackberry lemonade.
“Come,” he said before he walked out of the room.
What the heck was all of that?
My heart beat erratically, my blood roaring in my ears. An ache built inside me that I wanted nothing more than for Mr. Volkov to ease. Who knew I would be attracted to my boss? It went against policy—though I didn’t know that for sure. Most businesses frowned upon a boss dating his employees, so why would this law firm be any different?
“Ms. Hayes,” Mr. Volkov called from outside.
“Coming!”
I rushed out of the room and found him standing twenty feet from the doorway. He watched me as I approached him, then turned and strode toward his office. I couldn’t stop my gaze from roaming from the back of his head to his legs. Everything about Mr. Volkov was perfect and so beautiful that it should be illegal. His long legs were thick enough to crush the skulls of his enemies. A small giggle erupted from me at how out of leftfield that thought was. Mr. Volkov peeked at me from over his shoulder before he turned back and went into his office. I followed and shut the door behind me.
“Set it on the coffee table,” Mr. Volkov said in a monotone voice.
I gently placed the bag on the dark-stained wooden coffee table but still held on to the drink. He eyed me, then the drink. I saw the question in his gaze and the twitch in his eyebrow as he tried to figure out why I’d only gotten one.
