Chapter 13 – MAKSIM
Thirteen
MAKSIM
“From this angle, you get a great view of the city. What do you think, Mr. Belov?”
My name drags me from my thoughts, and I shift my focus to the woman in front of me.
“I’m sorry—what was that?”
Her brows soften as she tucks a strand of platinum hair behind her ear, smiling with practiced ease. “The view. It’s like you’re on top of the world up here.”
I say nothing as I move past her toward the floor-to-ceiling glass. The city sprawls beneath me, in constant motion, endless noise, people moving like ants who believe they matter. From up here, none of it feels real. None of it feels enough.
Or maybe it’s because my mind is elsewhere.
It’s been two weeks since that night in my condo.
Since I last saw her, touched her, breathed her in.
Yet I can’t purge her from my thoughts. Valentina has burrowed into every nerve and every cell of my body.
I gave her excuse after excuse of why I couldn’t swing by, couldn’t call.
I’m fucking trying. But a man can only stretch so far before he breaks.
“Velikolepno, ne pravda li?”
“You speak Russian?” I ask, glancing at her as she joins me at the window.
“Caldwell is my husband’s last name…well, soon-to-be ex-husband,” she adds, shooting me a side-eye I don’t miss. “Orlova is my maiden name.”
I let out a short hmph, the sound clipped and uninterested.
Silence stretches before she clears her throat.
“So, Simon tells me you traveled from Moscow just over a month ago. Will this be a permanent move for you? A satellite office during your stay?”
“Draw up the paperwork,” I say, ignoring her questions, my attention shifting back to the window. “This will work just fine.”
She exhales sharply, and I catch her nod in the glass’s reflection. “Very well, sir. I’ll have those over to you first thing in the morning.”
“Today,” I counter without looking at her. “No later than eight p.m.”
I start for the door, her heels snapping against the tile as she scrambles to keep pace.
“Maksim, that’s in two hours. I don’t think I can—”
I stop so abruptly that she collides with me. My hands catch her shoulders before she can fall on her ass.
“What did you call me?”
“Um…Maksim—I mean, Mr. Belov. My apologies. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”
Mrs. Caldwell is about my age—attractive, polished, efficient. Four weeks ago, I might’ve bent her against the glass, fucked her, and sent her home to her soon-to-be ex-husband with the taste of me still on her tongue.
But today is different.
“Eight p.m.,” I repeat, my voice tight, leaving no room for negotiation.
A flush creeps up her neck, and that’s when I realize I’m still gripping her arms.
“Got it,” she breathes, her bottom lip catching between her teeth.
I let go and push open the office suite door, heading straight for the elevator without another word.
My phone’s in my hand before I even realize it, thumbs moving faster than thought.
ME: Do you need me to reach things in high places for you today?
Several seconds tick by, each one stretching, tightening my grip on the phone.
Then the dots appear. Disappear, then reappear.
Fuck.
Finally, her reply pops up.
KOLIbrI: Hey, stranger. I have a stool.
I scoff, rolling my eyes.
ME: I’m sorry. I’ve been busy. Just rented a new office suite downtown.
KOLIbrI: Nice.
She’s being purposely difficult and short. Is it because she knows she can? That she’s the only one I’d ever let aggravate me to all hell and maybe…just maybe I’d ask for more.
ME: Yeah, everyone here is nice. Especially my agent. She’s great. Meeting her later at 8. I can swing by after.
The dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
I wait.
The elevator reaches the ground floor, and I step off, eyes still glued to the screen.
Nothing.
My jaw tightens as I unlock the car, the alarm echoing through the garage.
Is she really going to fucking leave me on read?
As if on cue, the dots appear again, then her reply.
KOLIbrI: Have fun, Maxy. I won’t be home. Going out too.
ME: Where?
KOLIbrI: To ride Theodore.
ME: What the fuck does that mean? Who is Theodore?
I slide into the car, and everything amplifies at once.
The heat in my chest, my fists clenching.
Valentina isn’t mine. She can’t be mine.
Still, the thought of her with someone else ignites something ugly and hot inside me.
I feel the need to collide with Theodore’s face until it’s nothing but a bloody stump.
And what the fuck kind of name is Theodore anyway?
My jaw clenches, and I start the engine. The phone vibrates in my hand as I pull out of the garage.
Kolibri: Teddy is an old friend.
Teddy?
A soon-to-be-dead old friend.
Irrational? Maybe. But I don’t give a damn. I toss the device onto the passenger seat and rip into traffic.
She doesn’t belong to you. She’s Valentina. She’s family.
I shrug the thought off the second it appears.
Fuck that—she isn’t blood.
And maybe she is mine.
I make it onto her street in record time, somehow dodging every cop on the way. I mean to pull into the garage, but the side exit door swings open and there she is, brown bag slung over her back, crutches clicking, heading for a car that isn’t Remi’s and isn’t one I recognize.
Could that be fucking Teddy?
“Huh. Where are you going, Kolibri?” I mutter to myself.
Horns blast behind me. It’s a woman, screaming, mouth full of curses, because I stalled her for an extra goddamn five seconds. Fuck her.
I drop it into reverse and back up until she’s forced to yield and fall back.
Valentina slips inside the passenger door of the mystery white sedan, and they peel away.
Again, I’m breaking traffic laws, recklessly maneuvering through lanes, and cutting corners to keep up.
Consumed by my thoughts, I don’t notice the bright lights and flashing signs until I’m driving through a dirt lot and twinkling music filters into the cabin.
Pennsylvania State Fair.
State fair?
I throw the car in park and climb out, eyes locked on Valentina as her mystery driver idles near the entrance. She steps out and gives a brief wave, friendly, not personal.
Just a ride.
I pause as she disappears into the crowd, and I question my sanity.
What the hell am I doing?
My focus should be on business—on moving money, product. Valentina is a distraction. The byproduct of guilt, not just for the accident, but for the years I spent unknowingly keeping my distance. Maybe that was for the best. Maybe that’s how it should’ve stayed.
We might come from the same world, born of the same darkness, but mine and hers collide violently. I don’t do this—whatever it is between us. There’s too much history. Too many feelings I can’t afford.
She’s not Mrs. Caldwell—a woman I’d fuck, humiliate, use, and dispose of without a second thought. But her? My Kolibri.
I punch the hood of my car, swallowing hard. My feet move before I realize it, eyes sweeping the crowd, hunting for a glimpse of her ponytail, her crutches, anything. I push through bodies, spin a full circle.
Nothing.
Snatching my phone from my pocket, my thumb hovers over her name when—
“Where’s your agent friend? I thought you had a date?”
I turn sharply. She’s standing beside an axe-throwing booth, smug little grin on her lips…and something else in her eyes I can’t name.
“Just signing a lease,” I say, scanning the crowd before focusing on her again. “Where’s Teddy?”
“Maksim Belov,” she says, arching a brow, “did you follow me?”
“Yeah.” No hesitation. No shame.
She pushes off the booth, leaning into her crutches, chin tilted up to meet my gaze. “Why?”
“Because you’re at a fucking carnival on crutches. Did you forget you were almost trampled not that long ago, and here you are, meeting some asshole who couldn’t even bother to drive you.”
“Wrong,” she fires back, eyes flashing. “I wasn’t almost trampled. I was dodging bullets behind bleachers.”
My stomach lurches, and I stare at her, waiting for the punchline that never comes.
“You—what?”
“Some asshole with a bruised ego decided to get bold. No one was hurt,” she says with a careless shrug.
I step in, my hands gripping her shoulders before I can stop myself, needing to feel her, to make sure she’s still here, still breathing. “You never mentioned gunfire. That’s a pretty fucking important detail, Valentina.”
“Because I already have people who worry and go to ridiculous lengths to protect me. I don’t need another.”
She looks away, but I catch her chin, forcing her eyes back to mine. “Isn’t that why you came to me? Because you wanted to feel safe? You said so yourself.”
“That was different.” She jerks her face from my hand, anger flaring in her eyes. “And don’t turn this around on me, Maksim. You followed me here? Tracked me down? Why?” Her finger jabs into my chest.
“You were fucking with me, weren’t you? There’s no goddamn Theodore, is there?”
Her irritation fades, replaced by a slow smile, like some gotcha moment I haven’t caught up to yet.
“Oh, Teddy is real. But the real question is why he gets under your skin. You don’t even know him.”
“A man who can’t be bothered to drive you, let alone meet you at the curb, doesn’t deserve an ounce of your time.”
She presses closer, her eyes gleaming. “Is that what you do, Maxy? Are you the pillar of a gentleman? Driving your dates, offering curbside service?”
Fuck.
“Yeah, I didn’t think so,” she mutters when I don’t answer.
Valentina scoffs, shakes her head, and turns to walk away.
I should do the same. Let her go. I’ve been gone fourteen years. She didn’t need me then, and she doesn’t need me now.
It’s better this way. End it before it even starts. Kill this thing before it kills me.
The only way off this ledge is down.
But as I watch her disappear into the crowd, on fucking crutches, no less, I feel a pull so strong it cuts through every excuse I’ve fed myself. Logic says walk away. But logic doesn’t win with her. It never did.
I thread through the chaos, eyes locked on the swing of her ponytail as she limps further into the fair.
“Valentina,” I call, loud enough for her to hear. She keeps moving.
Cursing under my breath, I catch her arm. “Valentina—”
“Let go,” she grits out.
“Not until you tell me why you’re so pissed off. And don’t bullshit me. This isn’t about me showing up here—you were already short with me on the phone.”
She yanks free, her eyes blazing. “Because you’re so damn hot and cold, it’s maddening.
I haven’t seen you in two weeks, Maksim.
Two weeks. If you don’t want anything to do with me, just say that.
It’s been over a decade. I grew up. You did too.
I’m not your responsibility to watch or play with anymore. ”
Her voice wavers, anger bleeding into something else. “I get it. We’re strangers. But this”—she gestures between us, her breath catching—“this push and pull? I don’t do that. I won’t.”
There’s a fragile tremor beneath her words and her eyes lower.
“You don’t need to feel guilty anymore. I’m fine. Couple more weeks and I’ll be healed up, you’ll be gone. And we can both forget this ever happened.”
“Valentina.” My voice drops. I reach up and clamp my fingers under her jaw, lifting her face until her eyes lock with mine. “Shut the fuck up.”