Chapter 34 Valentina #3
Marco had told him to look there? I should’ve been surprised. Should’ve at the very least had some kind of reaction that would make me feel like a normal person.
But I didn’t.
I rolled my eyes, but I didn’t argue. Instead I pushed past him, stepping toward Marco’s office.
Max’s hand caught my wrist. Not tight, not rough, just enough to stop me.
I looked up at him.
Finally, he exhaled. “Just don’t distract him.”
I pulled my wrist free and stepped away from him, pushing open the office door without knocking and stepping inside with the same confidence I always had when walking into Marco’s space.
I didn’t say anything at first, only let my eyes drift to the desk.
The last time I was in here, I didn’t exactly have decorum.
It was impossible to be in this office without remembering exactly how I’d spent my last visit. And apparently, it was impossible to see Marco behind that stupid desk without remembering exactly what he’d done to me on top of it.
Honestly, who needed shame when you had memories like mine?
Marco set his pen down, leaning back slowly in his chair. “Do you knock?”
“Do I need to?”
“Yes.”
“Oops.”
His jaw ticked slightly. “Do you need something, Valentina?”
I reached for the package I’d set on his desk, dragging it toward me. “Some man showed up at the apartment today.”
“Who?”
“Tommy. He gave me this,” I said, nudging the box toward him. “For you.”
He didn’t reach for it. He barely even glanced at it. But I saw the tiny shift in him—so small I might’ve missed it if I’d blinked too long.
The tension around his jaw, the slight stiffening of his shoulders, the way he looked down for half a second too long before meeting my eye again. Something was off. Something about Tommy—his name, the box, whatever it was—bothered him.
Marco liked to pretend he was unreadable, but I noticed things. Too many things, honestly. Like how his fingers twitched slightly on the edge of his desk. It made me wonder exactly what Tommy meant to him. What this box meant. Why it mattered.
Or maybe it didn’t matter at all and I was just reading into everything again. But still, I doubted it. Marco was good at hiding things, but I was better at noticing.
“What’s it for?” I asked, wondering if he’d tell me the truth.
He shrugged. “Probably for some favor.”
I frowned. Seriously? How could someone so smart be so dense? “Not for your birthday?”
Finally, he exhaled and reached out to accept the package.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I pressed.
His fingers flexed slightly against the box. “I don’t celebrate birthdays.”
I scoffed, leaning against his desk. “Well, that’s boring.”
“Yeah. Birthdays are boring.”
Right, and Marco Grey was clearly the expert on what was boring, considering his life revolved around paperwork and subtle death glares.
But honestly, it wasn’t even about the birthday—it was about the way he treated every tiny detail like a secret.
Did this man have a spreadsheet of things he refused to share, or was paranoia just a fun hobby of his?
“You know, normal people actually share things with their spouse,” I said pointedly. “Crazy concept, I know.”
Marco finally looked at me.
“Well, what are you—thirty-three? I suppose you have had a few of them. But you know, you’re not that old. You could at least pretend to enjoy life a little.”
Marco arched a brow, clearly unamused. “And how do you propose I do that? Cake? Balloons?”
I smirked. “Strippers.”
“You volunteering?”
I leaned forward, pressing my palms flat against his desk. “Come on, Grey. Thirty-three years on this planet and not a single memorable birthday?”
His fingers tapped once against the box before he set it aside. “Not one worth remembering.”
I frowned.
I’d expected him to at least throw me something—some deflection, some sarcastic remark, some indication I wasn’t the only one in this room who thought birthdays were supposed to mean something.
But Marco was Marco.
I let out a slow breath. “No childhood birthdays? No cake? No stupid party hats?”
His eyes found mine again. “No.”
I shouldn’t have been surprised. Marco never talked about where he came from.
I didn’t know much about his past, but I guess I knew enough.
I knew he’d been raised in the system, bouncing between foster homes until he aged out.
I knew whatever affection he was given as a kid had come with conditions.
I knew if he wanted something, he took it for himself.
So, no. Of course Marco didn’t have memories of cake or candles or people gathering around just to celebrate the fact he existed.
“Fine. If birthdays don’t matter, humor me anyway. What do you want?”
He raised an eyebrow slowly. “What do I want?”
“Yes, Marco. It’s a birthday tradition. Gifts. Presents. You know, the reason capitalism thrives.”
“Well, your stripper idea wasn’t bad.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, sorry, I didn’t have enough notice to book anyone.”
“That’s a shame,” he said calmly, eyes holding mine. “Though I suppose I might consider accepting the offer if you’re volunteering.”
“Would that make you happy?” I asked.
He put his pen down. “Very.”
I felt a rush of heat crawl up my neck, and suddenly, I was irritated there were still other people in the building. Of course tonight, of all nights, people had decided to work late. Did no one around here respect the sanctity of birthdays and mildly inappropriate office sex?
Because if the office had emptied out in time, I could’ve had Marco all to myself, just like that one night. The night he’d fucked me right here on his desk, my cheek pressed shamelessly against paperwork I hoped wasn’t important, surrounded by walls made entirely of glass.
I’d liked that thrill.
I’d liked him a little too.
“Well, it’s your birthday. Seems selfish to say no.”
Marco’s mouth twitched upward in a small, satisfied smirk. “Generous of you.”
“You have no idea,” I muttered, glancing toward the glass door and silently cursing whoever had decided open-office concepts were a good idea. “But unless you want to traumatize your coworkers, I think we’ll have to postpone that celebration.”
“I could always tell them to leave,” he suggested, almost serious.
I raised an eyebrow. “So much for professional decorum.”
“You started it,” he reminded me.
Fair point. And I absolutely intended to finish it too.
Eventually. Preferably when I didn’t have an audience, because as much fun as it sounded in theory, traumatizing Marco’s poor coworkers wasn’t exactly how I wanted to spend his birthday.
Not that he even cared about his birthday, but still.
There were probably limits. Even for us.
Besides, HR already had a file on me. Probably a thick one.
If I added “semi-public indecency” to it, I wasn’t sure even Marco could lawyer me out of that mess.
Plus, knowing my luck, it’d end up as office gossip, and I’d have to pretend not to be proud of myself every time I walked into the building.
So instead I moved closer to him, stepping around the obnoxiously organized desk.
I leaned in slowly, pressing my cheek gently against the top of his head. He smelled annoyingly good—like expensive cologne, crisp shirts, and secrets. Secrets I intended to uncover, one frustrating birthday at a time.
I placed a soft kiss against his forehead, feeling oddly sentimental and irritated with myself for feeling it. “Happy birthday, lawyer,” I murmured quietly.
Marco exhaled lightly, something between amusement and annoyance slipping through that stoic mask of his. “Thank you, Valentina.”
“You’re welcome.” I straightened up, smoothing down my skirt. I should’ve probably said something else—something sweet, something sincere—but I wasn’t sure I had it in me, and Marco definitely didn’t need another reason to think I’d gone soft on him.
“Now hurry home. You’ve got candles to blow out and wishes to make.”
“I don’t make wishes,” he said flatly.
“Yeah, yeah.” I rolled my eyes, stepping back toward the door. “Pretend all you want, Grey. We both know you’ve got at least one.”
Marco probably thought wishes were for people who lacked sufficient financial planning or something.
But I’d caught the way he looked at me—like I was a wish he knew better than to make.
Which was fine, because I definitely had enough wishes for both of us, and at least half of them involved fewer candles and significantly fewer clothes.
I gave him one last smirk over my shoulder and pushed open the door.
Maybe I’d make his wish come true anyway, birthday or not.