17. Maggie #2
Before I can answer, he closes the last bit of space between us and pulls me to him. His hand slides into my hair, firm but gentle, and then his mouth is on mine.
The kiss hits me hard and fast. There’s nothing gentle about it.
It’s the kiss of a man who just heard me threaten to leave and decided the world could burn before he allowed it.
My hands lift to his chest, ready to push him back, but the second my fingers twist into his jacket, every ounce of resistance starts unraveling.
His arm wraps tightly around my waist, pulling me closer until I can feel the hard beat of his heart beneath my palm, fast enough to betray how much control he’s actually holding onto.
I kiss him back just as fiercely. Then he pulls away first, breathing harder than before, his forehead nearly touching mine.
“Six o’clock,” he says.
I swallow hard while staring up at him. “You better actually tell me the truth this time.”
His hand remains against my face, warm and possessive enough to make my pulse stumble again. “I’ll tell you what you need to know.”
I let out a frustrated breath and shake my head. “You keep sayin’ that like it’s supposed to reassure me.”
He doesn’t look away. “It’s the most honest answer I can give you right now.”
Then he steps back, opens the office door, and leaves me standing there with my lips still tingling and my whole heart acting like it’s lost its blessed mind.
For the next several hours, I throw myself into work to keep my thoughts from spiraling completely out of control.
The shelter hums with nonstop activity as volunteers make final preparations for tomorrow’s adoption event, hauling folding tables across the lobby, stacking donated pet food near the entrance, organizing raffle baskets, and taping handwritten signs to kennel doors.
Dogs bark constantly from the back hallways while someone wrestles with a balloon arch near the front desk that keeps leaning sideways like it has given up on life.
This is always my favorite part of any event. The final rush always brings a strange energy into the shelter that I love because everybody works harder and cares more, and even the animals seem to sense when extra people and excitement fill the building. Today feels different.
“Maggie.”
I glance up from the clipboard in my hands to find Jules standing beside the supply shelves, holding three rolls of streamers and one deeply unimpressed expression.
“What?”
“You have reread that inventory list four times.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“You absolutely have.” He pulls the clipboard gently from my hands before pointing toward the front lobby. “Go supervise people before you spiral into a stress-induced coma.”
“I am supervisin’.”
“Honey, glarin’ at paper is not a leadership strategy.”
I smile, which only makes him look more smug.
“You look exhausted,” he says after looking closer at my face.
“That’s fair.”
I rub one hand across my forehead before glancing automatically toward the front windows again.
One of the SUVs remains parked near the curb exactly where it has been all afternoon.
Every time I look outside now, one of Alexei’s vehicles is there waiting like a silent reminder that whatever danger follows him has fully planted itself outside my shelter, too.
Jules notices immediately where my attention went. “This is getting worse,” he murmurs.
The concern in his voice draws my eyes back to him. He stands there beside the supply shelves with his arms folded tightly across his chest, tension creasing his face beneath the fluorescent lobby lights.
“I really need you to hear me right now,” he continues, lowering his voice further while volunteers move around us. “This isn’t normal rich people problems anymore.”
“I’m aware.”
“And Alexei still hasn’t told you the truth.”
A tired breath leaves me while I shove loose hair behind my ear. “He said he would tonight.”
“That ain’t good enough.”
Frustration slips into his voice now, but it isn’t really directed at me. It sounds more like fear wearing irritation as a disguise.
“I don’t trust this,” he says. “And before you get defensive, no, I’m not sayin’ Alexei would hurt you. I’m sayin’ I think whatever world he comes from absolutely could.”
I inhale slowly through my nose before answering. “He’s tryin’ to protect me. To protect us.”
The second the words leave my mouth, Jules’s eyebrows lift slowly toward his hairline.
“Well,” he says carefully, “that right there is deeply concernin’.”
“What is?”
“You defended him automatically.”
“I did not.”
“Maggie, honey, you absolutely did.”
Heat crawls into my cheeks because the worst part is he’s right. I defended Alexei without even realizing I was doing it.
Jules watches realization spread across my face and groans. “Oh no. You’re gone.”
A startled laugh escapes me. “I’m not gone.”
“Sweetheart, you are one emotionally intense staircase conversation away from marryin’ a Russian billionaire with emotional trauma and private security.”
“That sentence alone should get you banned from caffeine.”
“It’s accurate though.”
I shake my head, but the humor fades quickly. Underneath Jules’s teasing lies another painful truth I don’t want to look too closely at.
My life has changed so much in a matter of weeks that I honestly don’t know how I got here.
Not long ago, my biggest problems were funding for the shelter, broken kennel latches, and dogs chewing through leashes.
Somewhere in the middle of all that, everything in my life got tangled with Ivy and Alexei, so I can’t tell where one part ends anymore.
Before either of us can say anything else, one of the volunteers rushes toward us, holding a clipboard.
“Maggie, where do you want the raffle baskets?”
I latch onto the interruption gratefully. “Near the front entrance. Keep the silent auction items closer to the adoption tables.”
The volunteer nods and hurries away again while Jules continues eyeing me.
“You need to be careful with him,” he says once we’re alone again.
“I know.”
“I mean emotionally too,” he insists. Jules sighs before dragging one hand down his face. “You look at that man like you’re already choosin’ your weddin’ gown.”
“That is so dramatic.”
“You know me. Dramatic is my love language.”
I give him a small smile.
Then Elvis trots proudly into the lobby carrying a stuffed squirrel almost as big as he is, while Mr. Pickles charges after him barking like the entire shelter is under attack.
One of the volunteers yelps when Elvis nearly crashes into a display table, and suddenly, three people are chasing dogs through the middle of ribbon boxes and donation bags.
By five o’clock, the shelter finally starts slowing down enough that exhaustion sits heavily on everyone’s faces.
The balloon arch has been secured successfully.
Adoption packets are neatly stacked near the front desk.
Tables line the lobby, filled with raffle baskets, pet toys, blankets, gift cards, and homemade signs donated by local vendors. And all the dogs have been groomed.
Jules and I lock the door behind the last volunteer and leave the shelter with Viktor trailing us. Twilight has started stretching across the city in blue and gold shadows that make it look deceptively peaceful.
Jules steps closer and squeezes my shoulders gently. “Be careful tonight.”
Emotion builds unexpectedly in my throat because beneath all his sarcasm and dramatic commentary sits genuine fear for me, and I hate that I’m the reason it’s there.
“I will.”
His eyes search mine. “Promise?”
“I promise,” I say, making a cross over my heart.
He studies me like he’s deciding whether he believes me, then finally nods once and steps back while Viktor closes the SUV door behind me.
The drive home passes mostly in silence, giving my thoughts entirely too much room to spiral.
Savannah glows outside the tinted windows beneath strings of restaurant lights, with crowded patios filled with people laughing over drinks.
At the same time, tourists wander River Street, carrying shopping bags and frozen cocktails.
Music spills from open bar doors. Horse carriages roll slowly past old brick buildings.
Couples stroll beneath live oaks draped in Spanish moss while the warm evening air blurs the entire city into one beautiful picture of normal life.
For one painful second, I miss being part of that normal life. Anonymous, safe, and untouched by whatever storm keeps circling closer around Alexei.
Viktor finally speaks as we turn onto my street. “Your mother received additional security this afternoon.”
My head snaps toward him. “What?”
“She wasn’t informed directly.”
Frustration surges through me fast enough to make me sit forward in the seat. “You put security around my mama without tellin’ me?”
“We protected her without alarming her.”
I stare at the back of his head in disbelief.
“She remains safe,” he adds.
The crazy part is I understand exactly why Alexei made the decision, which only annoys me more because it gets harder to stay angry when fear keeps proving him right.
When we pull up outside my apartment, another unfamiliar SUV already sits parked half a block away beneath a streetlight. My eyes move toward it automatically.
Viktor notices. “Our vehicle.”
I nod once.
I climb out after Viktor stops in front of my building.
He follows beside me as we head through the lobby, while his attention moves constantly around us.
A couple walks past carrying takeout containers and laughing quietly to each other, completely oblivious to the massive Russian security man escorting me through the building like I’m a government witness.
The elevator ride upstairs passes in silence except for the low hum of machinery. When the doors open onto my floor, Viktor steps out first and scans the hallway before nodding once toward my apartment.
I stop outside my door while digging my keys from my purse. “You don’t have to stand out here you know.”
“I’ll wait here until you’re ready to leave.”