Chapter 41
MAX
Itwisted the ring on my index finger in repetitive circles, struggling to focus on anything in front of me.
The stack of documents on my desk only seemed to grow taller by the minute: contracts, invoices, and endless forms that required my attention.
The ticking clock on the wall only added to my frustration.
The damn thing never seemed to shut up unless I was with Rosalie.
I hated that she wasn’t my only priority.
Every second I wasn’t with her was a second wasted.
I lit the end of a cigarette just as a soft knock came from the door. “Come in,” I called, trying to mask my irritation.
The door creaked open, and Mikhail stepped inside, his expression serious. “Bianca let me in.”
I sighed, putting the ring I’d been absentmindedly twirling back on completely. “What is it now?” I asked.
He closed the door behind him and crossed the room to stand in front of my desk. “There’s still movement from the Americans. The shipment we just loaded into the warehouse had missing containers.”
“Damn it,” I muttered under my breath. I didn’t have time to deal with Mason as well as Rosalie’s reckless night out. “What do they know?
“Enough for it to be a problem,” Mikhail replied. “We need to tighten security and move the shipment to a different warehouse. It’s too risky to keep everything in one place.”
I nodded, my mind racing. “All right, reorganize then. We’ll move half of it to the warehouse on Fifth and the rest to Diego’s place. We’ll meet up there in a few hours to deal with Mason.”
I’d spent the past half hour searching for my keys, but they were nowhere to be found.
I rarely misplaced my belongings, especially my keys—I always left them on the table near the door, where I could easily grab them on my way out.
Yet despite searching high and low, I couldn’t find the damn things.
I checked the table once more, hoping to find them underneath the lamp, but they weren’t there.
I gave the kitchen another look, thinking I might’ve left them in there while I made myself a second cup of coffee, but they were nowhere.
I rummaged through the cushions on the sofa, even though I had no memory of sitting there with my keys in my hand.
I looked on every shelf and under every piece of furniture, only stopping my search when I realized what was going on.
Rosalie was trying to play a game with me. I didn’t have the time. She was going to make me late.
“Rosalie,” I called.
No response.
“Rosalie,” I called once more.
Still, no answer.
With growing impatience, I turned down the hall toward her room. The door had been left open, revealing a rumpled bed. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rosalie coming in from the bathroom. I could smell her perfume from where I stood.
Her hair tumbled over her shoulders, reaching just above the curve of her lower back.
The way her dress hugged her form was . .
. distracting, to say the least. The soft pastel-pink fabric seemed to shimmer with every subtle move she made, each sway of her hips challenging me.
There was no mistaking it: the woman was playing me, and she looked incredible doing so.
“Rosalie,” I called again as I leaned against the doorframe. My gaze swept over her once more.
“Aren’t you going to tell me how I look?” she asked as she turned to face me. Her lips, painted a deep, seductive red, curved into a small smile.
I laughed darkly. “Fishing for compliments? I would’ve thought that was beyond you.”
She smiled. “You came to talk to me first.”
My hand instinctively brushed my jaw, the sharp stubble scratching my fingers. “My keys,” I said, holding out my hand, palm open, waiting.
She made her way closer to me, her five-inch heels clicking against the hardwood floor with a deliberate taunting beat. She leaned her weight on one leg and crossed her arms behind her back before looking up at me, her head reaching my chin. “Find them.”
Slowly, I tore my eyes from hers and allowed them to fall down her chest. The fabric strained against the outline of something familiar.
My keys.
“Were you under the assumption I wouldn’t reach for them, Rosalie?” I murmured, lifting the delicate strap of her dress with my finger and feeling the smooth fabric under my touch.
“You can’t break any more rules,” she countered, her voice losing a touch of its confidence. She leaned forward, placing a hand against my chest.
I felt my throat tighten and my heart quicken. She made me nervous. Constantly.
“I’m almost certain that would fall under rule number four, don’t you think?”
I shook my head. “Rule number four is ‘no sex.’ So, no, not exactly.”
“Okay, but it could start something.”
“It could,” I said as I let out a slow breath, weighing up my options. The rules had been established for a reason, but here, in this moment, they felt like fragile barriers.
I was very aware of the line I was about to cross.
“And you might find taking isn’t always as satisfying as earning,” she continued.
“I don’t see an alternative here,” I replied, my voice desperate for some kind of control.
“You could take me with you.”
Her proposition hung in the air. “Take you with me?” I echoed. “And what would be the terms of this little arrangement?”
She tilted her head slightly. “Simple. You get your keys, and I get to see what you’re up to. Win-win, wouldn’t you say?”
Rosalie was always one step ahead, always playing a game I was only half-aware of. She thrived on the uncertainty and the constant push and pull between us. I was her favorite game to play, and I never wanted her to get bored.
“And what if I say no?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
She didn’t waste a second. “Then you’ll have to miss that oh-so-important meeting.” Her smile widened. She knew she had me cornered.
I couldn’t miss that meeting. I had to deal with Mason before things got out of control.
The truth was, I didn’t have many options. Rosalie had orchestrated this perfectly, leaving me with a choice that really wasn’t a choice at all. She had a way of doing that, backing me into a corner and making it seem as if there was a way out.
I took a deep breath, letting it all out slowly as I made up my mind. Her eyes bore into mine, waiting, expectant, confident I would succumb to her demands.
But I had my own rules, my own lines I wouldn’t cross, no matter how clever she was.
“Then I’ll miss the meeting,” I said, putting my hands in my pockets.
Her eyes widened in surprise, her confidence faltering. “What?”
I took a step closer, lowering my voice. “It’s not safe for you to be there,” I explained. “You have no idea what kind of men will be in that room. Men who would eat you alive given the chance.”
I wanted to look calm and in control, though inside, I was anything but. I didn’t have a clue what to do next.
“It’ll be fine. I have you,” she said, strutting toward the door. “Let’s go.”
I stood there in the doorway until I realized she was going to take the car, with or without me, and disappear off to God knows where.
How did she always get what she wanted, and why was it impossible for me to say no to the damn woman?
As we walked out the door together, I couldn’t shake the feeling I was making a mistake. Rosalie defied the most mundane rules and lied to me as if her life depended on it. Why was she so resistant? I had to trust she could handle herself; that she’d listen for once and stay out of trouble.
When I caught up, I shook my head and opened the passenger door for her. “Good play,” I said as I reached out to grasp her arm gently, the heat of her skin sending a jolt through me. “Behave, or I’ll have you taken out.”
She nodded with a smile. “Got it.”
Rosalie clung to my side, her arm wrapped around mine. Her eyes scanned the room quickly, taking notice of the people gathered in the corner.
She wasn’t intimidated by the crowds, the loud noise, or even the smoke, but Rosalie had spent her entire life socializing with the wrong crowd thanks to her father’s dealings. She was used to it and maybe even enjoyed it.
Mikhail and Lev were near the bar, and Sean stood beside the two of them.
I signaled for Mikhail to follow me. I wasn’t sure if I was going to deal with Mason how I’d originally planned since Rosalie was with me, but he needed to be dealt with either way.
I couldn’t have anyone else stealing from me.
Not since Rosalie liked to turn my receipts into phone numbers.
She’d warned me about her spending habits, trying to scare me off by implying I wouldn’t be able to provide for her.
As if I wouldn’t give her everything she asked for.
I didn’t care if it was a two-dollar can of soup or a $36,000.
00 wedding dress—whatever my beautiful lady wanted, my beautiful lady got.
She looked good reaping my rewards. Stunning, actually. I’d never been able to explain it well, but there was something romantic about her.
With her hand in mine, I led her through the building, past the chairs, the loud crowd, the pool tables, and the jukebox, until we reached the back.
It was a dimly lit room, full of brown leather chairs arranged in a circle around a large wooden table.
The sound of men chuckling and cursing wandered down the hall, mixing with the loud crash of glasses from behind the bar.
“Max brought a friend,” a stranger said to me as we walked up to the poker table.
He was a tall, muscular man with a thick beard.
He had a cigar placed between his thin, chapped lips, and he wore a black leather jacket and a gold chain that weighed his neck down.
He gave Rosalie a leering grin as if he wanted to impress her.
Good luck. It had taken me years to finally reel the damn woman in.
I gave him a smirk. “My wife.” I introduced her casually, trying to pull her behind me.
Rosalie shot me a dark glare that said, “I am not your wife.”
Yet . . .