Page 3 of Babies for the Boss
He’s tall, even seated. Mid-forties, white. Dark hair, sharp features, the kind of face that looks like it’s used to making decisions that ruin other people’s days. His suit is expensive but slightly rumpled, as if he’s been traveling or simply doesn’t care how he looks.
He studies me carefully, his eyes moving over my face in a quiet, assessing way that makes it clear he’s used to evaluating situations quickly.
I smile brightly. “Hi,” I say, because Kansas friendliness is my default setting and it has gotten me through a surprising number of tense meetings. “Welcome to Strakov Enterprises. I’m Molly Bennett, Mr. Strakov’s assistant.”
The man doesn’t respond immediately.
Instead, he leans back slightly in the chair, crossing one ankle over his knee as if he has absolutely no intention of being rushed. The silence stretches for a few seconds before he finally speaks. “I am here to see Pavel Strakov.”
The accent is noticeable but not heavy, the words careful and precise.
“Well, you’re definitely in the right office,” I reply, stepping a little farther into the room. “He’ll be here shortly. His mornings tend to start early.”
The man nods once, like that confirms something he already suspected.
“Can I get you coffee while you wait? Water? A breakfast pastry that looks healthy but secretly isn’t?”
One corner of his mouth lifts slightly. “You are very kind.”
“Thank you. Can I?—”
“How long have you worked for him?”
Odd question. “Three years.”
“And you like this work?”
The question is unexpected enough to make me pause. But the answer comes easily. “I do. It’s never boring.”
That earns a quiet huff of something that might be amusement.
Before I can ask the obvious follow-up—like who he is and why he’s sitting in my boss’s chair before seven thirty in the morning—the office door opens behind me.
I don’t need to turn around to know who just walked in. You can feel Pavel Strakov entering a room the way you feel a sudden drop in temperature.
“Molly.” His voice is calm and low, the single word cutting cleanly through the quiet.
I turn, and like every other morning when I first see him, time stops.
Pavel stands in the doorway, tall and composed in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit. All his suits are tailored—he’s too big to buy off the rack, not that he would. His prominent nose has been broken at least once, but somehow, it suits him. That square jaw makes him look as though he could bite through steel.
Pavel could have been a linebacker in a former life. Near six and a half feet tall, a body thick with muscle. His silver hair is styled neatly, and his gaze moves from me to the man sitting in the chair. The air in the room tightens in a way that makes my instincts sharpen immediately.
“Good morning,” I say brightly, because my role in life has always been to provide emotional balance to extremely tense situations.Thanks, Dad.I needlessly say, “You have a visitor.”
Pavel’s eyes flick briefly back to mine before returning to the man across the room. Neither of them speaks for a moment. Thesilence feels deliberate. Like the opening move in a chess game that I definitely don’t understand yet.
Not the first time I’ve seen this move, though. Pavel says more with silence than most people could with a full dictionary.
When he locks eyes with me, I fight a shiver. Not due to his coldness, though he is that. There’s something else in his icy blue gaze that burns through me. Something that would read like interest in another man.
In Pavel Strakov, it might mean nothing.
His slight nod toward the main lobby is all I need for a dismissal. I’m happy to leave the tense room. “Please let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.” And with that, I escape.
Igor smirks, still posted at my desk. “Not a friendly guest.”
“Hardly. Is there something I can do for you?”
