Chapter 20: Chapter Nineteen

A man is judged by his deeds, not his words. – Russian Proverb

Maya

The dinner was a disaster… actually, no, that's not right. The dinner was amazing, the food incredible, the company, however, was a disaster, and I only had my hormones to blame.

Stupid, stupid, stupid hormones.

My brain says watch out, he could be the next Ted Bundy.

And that very same warning bell stops chiming the minute the man licks his lips and leans in.

I met him halfway.

So technically, half the fault was mine. But only half.

My last few nights had been filled with dreams, horrible dreams about ice cream, only when the man offered it to me, offered me a taste, it turned to blood, right before it touched my lips.

“Maya!” Nikolai snapped. “Do I pay you to daydream?”

Crap. How long had he been standing there? I hadn't slept much all week. It had officially been two days since our failed dinner.

Since his mouth touched mine.

Branded mine is more like it.

And try as I might—I couldn't escape the taste of Nikolai. Nor, and I'm ashamed to admit this—did I actually want to.

“Work,” he said slowly, his head nodding toward the laptop on my desk. “I need you to continue researching the newest STD strains and have a report on my desk by five this evening.

“Make note of anything considered resistant to treatment.”

“Right.” I tugged at my blouse, while he checked his watch and cursed.

That wasn't typical behavior for Nikolai. He was always poised, always polite, especially at work.

So, something had to be wrong, but I wasn't sure if by asking a question I was actually going to get into trouble or if he would break down and tell me what I could do to help.

A few days ago it felt like we'd made progress, and now it was back to square one.

He checked his watch again, then started tapping his foot against the marble floor.

I tried to concentrate on my computer screen, but the tapping continued.

Gritting my teeth, I shot him a glare. “Something wrong?”

“Everything's wrong.”

“Care to bitch about it?” I said in a sweet voice.

He scowled, then checked his watch again. “She's late.”

“Who?”

“Jac.”

I frowned. “Did you two have a meeting?”

“Chicago.” He sighed. “My private plane leaves in an hour.”

“But it's your plane,” I explained.

“I believe I'm aware it's mine,” he rolled his eyes.

“Tell the pilot to wait,” I shrugged. “Not rocket science.”

The tapping stopped. He turned and slowly approached my desk. Placing his hands on the top of it, he leaned in until his face was inches from mine. “Tell the pilot to wait she says.”

“Y-yes.”

“And say what exactly to the people I'm supposed to be meeting with?”

“Er—”

“Or how about the dinner with investors? Should I tell them to wait as well?”

“No?”

“Are you asking or telling?”

“Um…”

“Forget it,” he hissed and pulled out his cell. “Jac, it's me, I know you're probably busy doing cleanup, but you're late and I need to go.

“Call me when you get a chance.” He threw the phone against the closest chair and cursed again.

“She was going to—” After a short pause he choked out, ”—assist me for the weekend, just in case I needed—” He swallowed. ”—assistance.”

“Got that part.” I nodded then raised my pencil into the air in question.

He closed his eyes and groaned. “We aren't in class. You don't need to raise your hand when you want to speak. If you have something to say, say it!”

“I'll go.”

He paled. “The hell you will.”

“You've got quite the temper.”

At that his face softened. “Sorry. It's just that it's… Chicago.”

“Wow, two apologies in what? A week? Is it Christmas?”

“Are you trying to irritate me to death?”

I rose from my chair and grabbed my purse.

“Work ends at five.”

“I'm aware.”

He pointed at the large mounted clock. “It's three.”

“I have to pack.”

“For vacation?”

I rolled my eyes and placed my hand on his arm. “You need an assistant. I'll assist you. After all you do pay me a crap load of money.

“The least I can do is help you pick out your ties and look pretty on your arm while you ask billionaires to continue to invest in Nikolai Enterprises.”

“You're not funny.”

“Wasn't trying to be.”

He hesitated and looked at his watch again while I started humming the Jeopardy theme song.

“When did you stop being afraid of me? I think I liked you better when you had your theories of vampirism and ghosts.”

I shoved past him.

“Mature.” He reared back. “What the hell, Maya?”

“Today you showed me a chink in your armor.”

“Yeah?” He rubbed his arm. “What?”

“You actually do need someone.” Our eyes met briefly before he glanced away, his lips formed a thin line.

“A mistake…”

“One you can't afford to make in front of people who didn't sign over their lives via a contract.” I walked toward the doors and called over my shoulder. “Give me ten minutes. I'll pack fast.

“You can debrief me on the plane.”

“I didn't say yes.”

“Didn't have to! All I need is a thank you and a cell phone to show your appreciation!” I made my way into the elevator and gave him a little wave.

The angry lines of his scowl made him look so sexy I almost let out a little whimper.

What the hell was I doing?

He could be crazy.

He could be a psychopath.

He freaking owned me.

And I was yet again putting myself in the position where I could get very hurt. Then again, what was my other option? Watching Netflix with a bottle of wine?

Crap. I should have kept my mouth closed.