Page 66 of Bratva's Intern

“What?” he asked, his voice controlled.

I exhaled the breath I’d been holding. What the hell just happened? It was as if he’d walked out of his body.

“You… drifted off. What were you thinking about?”

A beat of silence. Maxim pushed his chair back and got to his feet. “Excuse me. I need to use the restroom.”

He left without another word, Nik following him. I watched him stride away, his confident gait a stark contrast to the vacant state he’d been in moments before.

I’d never seen someone so deep in thought.

I waited, absently pushing my food around my plate, my appetite waning. Something wasn’t right.

For a man who carried himself like he had the world in his palm, he had seemed… off. His reaction—no, hislackof reaction—was gnawing at me. That wasn’t someone getting lost in a bad memory. That had been something else entirely.

When neither of them returned after a few minutes, I set my napkin down and glanced toward the hallway leading to the restrooms. The urge to check on him was overwhelming, but what the hell was I supposed to say if I did?

Hey, Maxim, I just wanted to make sure you didn’t black out and fall face first into a gold-plated urinal.

Yeah, that’d go over well.

Before I could decide what to do, Maxim reappeared. He moved with his usual fluid, controlled confidence, his expression unreadable. But when he sat down, I noticed the tightness in his jaw, the way his fingers flexed against the table before curling into a loose fist.

“You okay?” I asked carefully.

“Fine.” He picked up his drink. His voice was steady, but something flickered in his eyes, something that hadn’t been there before. A tension.

I didn’t believe him for a second. I’d been working closely enough with him for the past few days to know he wasn’t his usual self.

Still, I let it go, keeping the conversation light. If it concerned me, he would tell me, right? Maybe it was personal, and I had no right to know. I was only his employee after all.

I asked about the projects he was working on, letting him steer the discussion wherever he wanted. He answered, but the usual sharpness in his tone was missing. His responseswere slower, more measured. Almost like he was concentrating too hard on each word.

The server came to clear our plates, looking alarmed when he saw Maxim had barely touched his food. “Was there something wrong with the food, sir?” he asked.

“Everything was fine,” Maxim said. “Can we have the check, please?”

“You no longer want dessert?”

“We’ll take it to go.”

I frowned. I was used to Maxim making all the decisions, but this seemed extreme even for him. Earlier, he’d told me we had all night, but now it seemed he couldn’t wait to get rid of me.

Disappointment settled in my chest, heavier than I expected. I hadn’t realized how much I’d been enjoying myself until now, when it was suddenly being cut short.

Our night hadn’t felt like a business dinner at all. It had felt like something more, like a glimpse into a world I didn’t fit in but wanted to belong. I’d been so caught up in the conversation, the easy back-and-forth, the way Maxim’s sharp edges softened when he was talking about business and his family, making himalmostapproachable.

“Wren, I’ll bring you back another night,” Maxim said softly as though my disappointment was stamped on my forehead and he wanted to make me feel better. “We really must go.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

A muscle in his jaw jumped. He wasn’t looking at me anymore but past me, his lips pressed into a thin line.

He wasn’t acting off. It was like he was trying to get rid of me before… before what?

My protests died in my throat. I swallowed and nodded. “Okay.”

His shoulders relaxed like he’d been bracing for an argument. We fell silent as he handled the bill, sliding his black card onto the tray the server had brought over. The exchange was quick, smooth, practiced. He barely looked at the check before signing, and then we were on our feet, moving toward the exit.

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