11. Lindsey
11
LINDSEY
T he man before me is the picture of sophistication—a deep-navy Italian suit over a crisp salmon-colored dress shirt and metallic silver paisley tie. His olive complexion and Roman nose would tell me he’s definitely Italian, even without the smooth, rich accent. The crow’s feet around his eyes and considerable gray in his dark hair would tell me he must be nearing sixty, but he wears his age well enough to earn the title of silver fox. His dark eyes glint as he assesses me openly, and I hold my breath as I wonder if he’ll buy my lie. The silence crackling from my earpiece is deafening, and suddenly, all I want to hear is a word of assurance from Maks. But I told him to shut up, and now that he’s doing what I asked, I’m paying the price.
“It’s a beauty isn’t it?” the silver fox says, softly closing the office door behind him as he steps into the room. “They’re first additions, most of them. I collect them on my travels.”
The hair raises on the back of my neck at his cool composure, and I suppress a shiver. That was a close call. “It’s wonderful. I couldn’t stay away. Sorry, I didn’t mean to snoop.”
“No need to apologize. It’s there to be appreciated,” he says, striding confidently toward me. “Only, I’ll ask that you not take any of the books off the shelf. Some are quite old and require a delicate touch.”
“Of course,” I agree, trying to hide my breathlessness as my pulse continues to race.
“Emiliano Costanzo,” he says, extending his hand to me. “I’m the owner and founder of Costanzo Realty Investments.”
His hand is cool and soft, so different from Maks’s warm calloused one. The involuntary comparison makes me wonder why Maks want this man dead so badly. To me, he seems perfectly polite—even when he caught me looking where I shouldn’t and I’m sure my palms are sweaty with nerves.
“It’s an honor to meet you. I, uh, really admire your company and would love the opportunity to intern here.” I feel like I’m back in college and interviewing for my first real job with all the adrenaline pounding through my system and making my hands shake.
“Well then, let’s get started, shall we? Miss…?”
“Oh, right.” I laugh nervously, buying time as I try to recall the name Maks had me say at least a hundred times over the past week, but I’m so jittery, my mind went completely blank.
“Bethany Stewart.” Maks’s voice fills my ear, his low, gruff tone astonishing reassuring, and I jump on the name.
“Bethany Stewart,” I repeat. “Sorry. I guess I’m a little flustered.”
Emiliano’s smile is smug, his eyes glimmering with amusement and some underlying emotion that raises goosebumps on my arms. “Don’t worry, Miss Stewart. You’re not the first.”
He gestures with one hand toward the seating area, letting the other rest lightly on the small of my back, and the guiding touch makes my skin crawl. Masking my shudder, I smooth my skirt down my thighs and step away from him, leading the way from his wall of first-edition books back to the imposing desk that occupies a considerable amount of his corner office.
“Please, sit,” he offers. “Would you like some water?”
What I would like is to get the hell out of here, but I need to make my exit carefully if I don’t want to give him another reason to be suspicious. “Yes. Thank you.”
He turns to the wet bar along one wall and pours me a glass from the pitcher before returning to hand it to me. His fingers are covering enough of the glass that I’ll have to touch him in order to accept it, and as I brush against his hand, his dark eyes flick up to meet mine invitingly.
“So, tell me, Miss Stewart. What makes you so interested in my company?” Rather than take a seat behind his desk, like I expected, Emiliano steps back to lean against it, minimizing the obstructions between us and maintaining a position where he has to look down at me. It’s a power move—as is the way he braces his palms against the desk and crosses his ankles in a nonchalant posture.
Is it just me, or is he trying to emphasize his significance while getting me to flatter him? I’m overthinking things. It’s a standard interview question. If I want to pass this off as a real interview, it’s time to dig deep and sell this. I might not know a lot about real estate, but I do know a good amount about marketing, so I’ll steer the conversation in that direction. “Honestly, your marketing strategy. You’ve managed to make a brand name that everyone in Chicago knows and trusts. I believe good marketing is the key to business success, and I want to learn from the best.”
Emiliano’s eyebrows lift in surprise, and he nods as if my answer meets his approval. “And you would be able to make the internship fit around your class schedule?”
“Absolutely. I’m in my last semester, so the load is easier, and I’ll get credit for the work I do for you in place of a class.” I’m hitting my stride, the details of my alias coming back to me now that I’m fairly certain I’m out of the woods.
“It might mean working weekends, late nights even.” Emiliano leans forward, his eyes intent, and a prickle of warning races across the back of my neck.
Why do I get the feeling he’s suggesting something without coming right out and saying it?
“Are you willing to put in the hours necessary? I only hire people who are dedicated to their work and ready to give it all they’ve got. This company thrives on hard work.”
“I understand,” I say, my pulse fluttering. “Yes, absolutely. I’m a hard worker.”
“Would you consider yourself teachable, Miss Stewart?” His tone is light and off-hand, as if he were asking something as inconsequential as whether or not I like doughnuts, and that sets off the alarm bells in my head.
My back stiffens, my stomach knotting at the desire hidden behind his neutral expression. Is he flirting with me? I need to wrap this up. Fast. “I’m a quick learner,” I confirm, and I glance around the office as I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose. “I’m sorry. Do you mind if I use your restroom?” I’m on my feet before he has time to answer, and I take a step toward the door.
Emiliano moves with me, pushing off the desk as he follows. “Of course, but I only have a few more questions,” he insists, narrowing the space between us.
My heart pounds in my throat as I force my body language to remain casual. “Oh, sure.”
He takes a long step forward, closing the distance, and my breath catches as his fingers capture my chin. “I have to admit, you’re a beautiful woman, Miss Stewart, and I would enjoy getting to know you better. So tell me, what would you be willing to do to earn this internship?”
With every step back I take, Emiliano moves closer, following me across the room. Hot disgust surges up from my stomach, and I swallow the bile burning in my throat as I fight the urge to run.
“Excuse me?” I gasp.
His eyes flick down to my lips, and ice floods my veins as his mouth curls into a smug grin. “I’ll give it to you here and now if you’d get on your knees for me,” he purrs.
“I think you’ve got the wrong impression of me,” I say, moving back more urgently.
“Have I? Don’t be shy, Bethany. It’s perfectly natural to be attracted to a man in my position. I have wealth, power, I can offer you stability. There’s nothing wrong with giving me what I want in exchange for the job you’re after.”
You sick fuck. I wonder how many women he’s put in this position or if I’m the lucky one.
“Mr. Costanzo.” I try to make my voice sharp to get a hold on the situation, but the quaver in it undermines my attempt, and I gasp as my back finds a wall unexpectedly.
“Hmm, I like the way you say my name,” he murmurs, and his fingers leave my jaw as he cages me against the wall with his arms. The mask of composure is gone as his eyes rake hungrily down my throat and chest to the buttons of my dress shirt. “Why don’t you show me what you’re hiding under there?” he suggests.
My arms tingles numbly as it feels like I somehow lift out of my body, and I watch, frozen, as he hooks a finger around the top two buttons and flicks his wrist, opening my blouse and exposing my bra in one fluid movement.
Fuck. The wire.
“Mm, you’ll do nicely,” he hums approvingly.
Emiliano must not see it right away. Relief rushes out through my veins, but I’m hardly in a good spot right now.
“So, what’ll it be, Miss Stewart?” he asks, his eyes dark with desire. “The job is yours if you want it. All you have to do is?—”
A muffled argument seeps through the frosted glass door of his office, cutting him off.
It’s followed by a shrill protest growing louder—closer. “Hey, you can’t go in there!”
The French doors burst open, slamming against the wall hard enough I’m surprised the panes don’t shatter, and my pulse stutters at the look on Maks’s face. His sharp blue eyes take less than a second to find me, and a snarl rips from his throat as his lips curl in fury.
“Get your hands off her, you perverted piece of shit,” he growls, closing the distance between us in three long strides. Then his hand is clamped around Emiliano’s throat, and he shoves the older man back, momentarily lifting him off his feet before he slams him against the wall beside me.
Sharp breaths rush from me as it feels like my soul snaps back into my body, bringing me to life again. Staring in shock and horror, I turn to watch the violence unfold as Emiliano chokes, his fingers scrabbling to relieve the pressure around his throat. A harsh retching sound issues from his lips, and his face turns a dangerous shade of eggplant as Maks bears his teeth and lifts Emiliano until his toes are dangling inches above the floor.
“I should rip your heart out and feed it to you right now, you animal.”
To my right, the receptionist gasps, and before I can stop her, she’s rushing back out into the hall, calling for security.
“Shit,” I hiss under my breath. “Maks, we need to go.”
His head snaps in my direction, the snarl still contorting his features. My heart skips a beat and breaks into a sprint as I see for the first time a rage in him that could so easily snuff out a man’s life. He’s seething, crazed with hatred, and if I were ever going to be scared of him, it would be now.
“Maks,” I breathe, taking an involuntary step back.
Then his eyes shift to something behind me, and he releases Emiliano, who collapses to the floor in a heap. “Let’s go.” His fingers close gently around my wrist, and he jerks me toward the door without warning.
Yelping, I stumble before regaining my footing, and my eyes land on the two burly security guards filling the doorway as they stand frozen, assessing the situation. Before they have time to connect the dots, Maks is shoving past them, dragging me along at a speed I can barely keep up with in my pencil skirt and pointed-toe pumps.
“What the hell was that?” I demand as he hauls me down the hall to the elevator bank and pounds the call button with his fist.
Heat radiates from him as he gives the elevator doors a death stare, his hand still firmly wrapped around my wrist.
“Maks,” I press and glance over my shoulder at the security guards now approaching us down the hall. “Maks, they’re coming.”
The elevator dings, the doors sliding open, and Maks pulls me inside, cramming his finger on the button to close the doors behind us. I catch sight of two pairs of intense eyes as the guards scramble to get on, but the doors shut, and a sense of weightlessness rushes through me as we start to descend. Heavy gasps fill the enclosed space as Maks and I both catch our breath, and that familiar electrical current races across my skin as he towers over me, his face dark with anger.
I’m too nervous to speak, too stunned to process what just almost happened to me, and I’m not sure what to make of my situation anymore. Maks just saved me—again. The man he claimed was bad, who the world would be better off without, just tried to force himself on me. He definitely used his position of power to try taking advantage of me, and I get the distinct feeling I’m not the only girl he’s ever done that to. Bile rises in my throat as I think about what might happen if no one does something about it—who might suffer if no one stops him.
After seeing the truth about what Emiliano Costanzo is capable of, I’m less inclined to get in Maks’s way. But I’m still curious about why he wants Costanzo dead so vehemently. If there was any doubt in my mind before, after watching him in that office just now, I’m certain this is personal for Maks. But how?
Now is not the time to ask. I can see it in the tense line of his shoulders and feel it in the tremors that rack his body, vibrating into my wrist. I don’t think he even realizes he’s still holding it, but before I can point it out, the elevator shifts to a stop, and the doors open into the lobby once more.
My heels rap sharply against the floor, echoing around the vaulted space, and we catch several odd glances as I scramble to keep up with Maks on our way to the revolving door that will take us out of the building. The Escalade is already waiting for us there, and I slip across the soft leather bench of the back seat to find Maks’s man Liam waiting in the passenger seat up front. As soon as the door closes behind us, the driver is pulling away from the curb, and I catch a last glance of Costanzo’s security reaching the sidewalk and scanning the street before we round the corner. Only then do I release my breath and collapse back against the seat.
“Holy shit,” I gasp, a breathless laugh rushing from me. I don’t even know why I’m laughing. Nothing about this situation is funny. But the fact that Maks just strangled a man in his office and, somehow, we got away feels completely outside of my reality. Then again, this whole situation does. I’m in so far over my head, I don’t even know which direction is up anymore. All this time, I assumed the bad guy would be the man talking about cold-blooded murder. As it turns out, there’s more gray area than I ever could have accounted for.
Maks doesn’t say a word the entire ride home, though he throws me several sidelong glances that make my pulse flutter and my stomach knot. I get the distinct feeling that he’s mad at me, but I honestly don’t know what I should have done differently in that situation. I went searching for the daytimer, like he asked. I pretended to be a college student interviewing for an internship, exactly like we practiced. Sure, I panicked when I realized Costanzo was turning the interview into a proposition. But Maks can’t blame me for that, right? I mean, he’s the one who barged in and blew our cover. Not that I’m complaining.
By the time we reach his building, we’ve both caught our breath, and his men leave us to ride the elevator up alone once again. I couldn’t bring myself to ask Maks in the car with others around, but now that we’re riding back up to his place, the question is burning a hole inside of me. I can’t hold it back any longer.
“What was that back there?” I ask, watching his face closely.
He combs his dark hair back from his face, revealing the touch of gray at his temples, and glances at me. “What was what?”
“No, no. You don’t get to pretend you’re all innocent now. You practically strangled Costanzo right there in his office.”
“He touched you,” Maks says flatly.
“So? You’ve touched me,” I point out.
Maks’s jaw works furiously, his palms clenching, and he turns to face me. “That’s not the same.”
The intensity in his blue eyes steals my breath away as he holds me captive with it, and I swallow painfully around my heart that’s suddenly lodged in my throat.
“Tell me it’s not the same, Lindsey,” he commands, his voice haunted, and the urgency of it makes me jolt.
But he’s right. The way Maks has treated me is nothing like Costanzo. “It’s not the same,” I promise. “But I deserve to know the truth. If I’m going to be a part of this, I need to know why you want him dead. I think I’ve earned that much.”
The silence that follows is only broken by the ding of the elevator doors before they open onto Maks’s penthouse. For a second, it’s a stand-off as I wait for him to answer. Finally, he releases a heavy breath.
“You’re right.” Gesturing for me to lead the way, Maks follows me out of the elevator.
Rather than heading to the bedroom, I enter the living room and settle onto the pristine cream-colored chenille couch that faces his opulent wall of windows. The couch’s velvety fabric and plush cushions invite me in, and I bite back a moan of appreciation as I get comfortable. Kicking off my heels and curling my legs up underneath me, I prop my elbow on the back of the couch, my cheek on my palm, and I face Maks as he sits beside me.
He keeps his feet firmly planted on the floor, his elbows resting on his knees as he interlocks his fingers and stares at his palms rather than looking at me. Dressed more casually than I’ve ever seen him outside the bedroom, he’s wearing a hunter-green henley, dark-gray designer joggers, and white athletic shoes like he was prepared for a physical altercation before we even left today. I should have realized something was up from the start, but I can’t bring myself to be mad at him when he looks like a modern-day Atlas, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“You know Emiliano Costanzo,” I venture when Maks doesn’t seem willing to start on his own. “I mean, you know him well, don’t you?”
My stomach sinks as Maks nods, brushing the pad of his thumb across the heel of his palm. “He was a friend of my parents. I was raised to trust no one, but I never thought twice about him.”
“What happened?”
Maks shakes his head, his eyes never lifting from his hands, and my heart thuds against my ribs as I wait for whatever horror could be so terrible that even Maks can’t bring himself to say it.
“He was a close friend of my family’s. They trusted him. I trusted him. I welcomed him into my home, and the sick fuck forced himself on my niece. She was barely fifteen.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut, and my breath leaves me in a rush. I don’t know what I expected Maks to tell me, but this was not it. This changes everything. What I experienced in that office, I can’t imagine someone doing that and worse to a young, innocent girl. Fresh bile rises in my throat. Maks was right. Emiliano Costanzo is a monster. The world would be a better place without him.
Finally, Maks drops his hands and looks at me, his eyes haunted. “I should have protected her,” he rasps.
“You didn’t know,” I murmur, shuffling forward on the couch to slide my hand into his warm, calloused one. A sense of calming comfort surges through me as soon as our palms touch, and it brings the vivid memory of Emiliano’s contrasting handshake to my mind. A shudder ripples down my spine, releasing goosebumps across the back of my neck.
Maks’s fingers close around mine, and his sharp blue gaze bores into mine. “I knew exactly who he was when I sent you in to deal with him,” he says. “I’m sorry, Lindsey. I never should have put you in that position, never should have let you go near the bastard?—”
“Hey, it’s fine. I’m fine. You got me out of there before anything happened,” I assure him, scooting close enough that my knees meet his thigh.
Maks’s eyes shift pointedly to my chest, and my cheeks heat as I realize the top of my blouse is still undone. Quickly dropping his hand, I refasten the buttons Emiliano undid. Then I clear my throat uncomfortably as I meet Maks’s troubled gaze.
“Well, at least one good thing came out of it,” I say brightly.
“Oh?”
He sounds unconvinced, so I slip my hand into the pocket of my pencil skirt and pull out the small camera he sent me in with.
“I got the information you wanted,” I singsong, waving the palm-sized device near my ear.
A shocked laugh bursts from Maks, and the relief that washes across his face is so intense it makes my stomach somersault. Then his arms snake around my waist as he lifts me off the couch, standing to twirl me in a circle. “Lindsey, you’re brilliant! God, I could kiss you right now.”
His spin slows, and my feet find the ground as he stops, his eyes widening as if he only just realized what he said. Unspoken tension crackles between us, electrifying the air and making the fine hairs on my arms stand on end. Every line of Maks’s tight, firm body is pressed against mine, his strong arms wrapped around my waist. His familiar scent of tobacco and vanilla infuses the air that suddenly feels ten degrees warmer and thick with anticipation.
Maks relaxes his grip, his expression conflicted—like he’s sure he’s crossed a line but doesn’t know how to let go now that the damage is done. I know he must be replaying my words that sleeping with him was a mistake. Only, my feelings for Maks are completely different now. They’re different from what they were when I woke up in bed beside him just this morning. I don’t know what it means just yet. All I know is that I want him to kiss me.
“Okay,” I breathe, staring up into his impossibly blue eyes.
Then his lips come crushing down on mine.