Page 20 of Bratva's Vow
Too perfect, maybe.
I looked toward the house. Maxim had been in his office for hours. That was starting to feel like a pattern lately.
Jess swam to the edge of the pool next to me and rested her chin on her arms. “You okay, Wren? You’ve gone quiet.”
“Just thinking. Maybe I should return to the apartment and not bother Maxim so much. He’s probably sick of me already.”
“As if. The guy’s crazy about you. Can’t you tell?”
“Well, at least to grab a few more clothes from the apartment, then. I’m afraid everyone at the office has figured out by now that I’m screwing the boss.”
When I’d gone home with Maxim the day after TagX, I never intended to stay, but he’d insisted. The days sort of flowed into each other, and now I was practically living under his roof.
Nik’s posture shifted. Not tense exactly, but not relaxed either.
“You should probably check in with Maxim before you go,” he said.
I blinked. “Why? I don’t need Maxim’s permission to go out, you know. Jess can come with. We can take her car.”
“Or Nik can drive us. That way we can both be passenger princesses.” Jess hauled herself out of the pool and stood, water cascading down her svelte form. Her barely there hot pink bikini clung to her like a second skin, leaving little to the imagination.
“All right, but we don’t need to disturb Max. He’s busy working.” Although it was a Saturday and he should be enjoying the pool with us.
“Still. Just… tell him.” Jess squeezed the excess water from her hair. “You know how he gets when he can’t reach you.”
Something about the way she said it made me pause. Maybe she was right. The man did get paranoid if I wasn’t where he thought I would be when he checked up on me. It was creepy but also sweet. I’d never had someone care about me that much before.
“Okay, I’ll let him know.”
I padded barefoot across the sun-warmed tiles, wrapping a towel loosely around my waist as I stepped inside the house. The cool air hit me, the hush of Maxim’s home pressing in like velvet. No distant chatter, no TV. Just the quiet hum of central air and my thoughts.
As I approached his office, I hesitated.
The door was not all the way shut, and no sound filtered through. I leaned in and pressed my ear against the wood.
Nothing.
No footsteps. No rustle of paper. No sound.
Maybe he wasn’t in there after all?
I turned the knob and cracked the door open a few inches, enough to peek through.
Maxim was inside.
Pacing.
Phone pressed to his ear.
His back was to me, but he spoke, his voice low, sharp, fast. Russian. I didn’t understand a word, but the tone was enough to send a chill skating down my spine.
This wasn’t his usual business voice. This wasn’t the clipped, polite register he used with clients or staff. This was something else entirely. Rougher. Edged in steel and smoke and fury.
I must’ve made a sound because he turned. His eyes landed on the sliver of the open door. And me.
Busted.
My cheeks burned. I pushed the door open the rest of the way and stepped inside. I was certain guilt was written all over my face.
