Chapter 11 Maxim
MAXIM
“Has something happened?” Hollie stares at me groggily, fighting a yawn as she shifts beneath the covers. The bruise on her face has darkened a shade or two, and her hair sits atop her head like some kind of bird’s nest, but she looks oddly adorable.
“My father has free access here, which means I can’t leave you alone. I’d like to give you at least some freedom.”
My comment appears to wake her up immediately, and her face relaxes into surprise as I exit the bedroom.
I spent all night searching for a new apartment that would have everything I need, including the top-tier security I’ve come to love, just without the free access my father has.
Until he faces me about what he did, I’m not leaving Hollie alone until I’m absolutely sure she will be safe.
Theoretically, that will come naturally as news spreads about my marriage. Once more and more people learn that she’s my wife, she will become just as protected as she is threatened. A risk I have to take.
She joins me in the kitchen twenty minutes later dressed in the fresh clothes I had Toto bring from a local boutique.
Unsure of her style, he kept it simple with flared jeans and a T-shirt to keep her comfortable.
Her hair is tamed and neat around her face, her smile is small, and she’s much more alert.
“Let me?” I approach her, and a frown creases her brows, then she nods despite the uncertainty in her eyes. Catching her chin, I lightly turn her face and inspect the bruising on her face. “Does it hurt?”
“Only when I talk.”
“Is it bad?”
“Nah.”
“And your ankle?”
She shifts back and forth slightly and the corners of her mouth lift. “Much better.”
“Good. Hungry?”
“No, thank you.”
“You should eat in the morning.”
“I’m fine.”
Releasing her chin, I step back to give Hollie her space and grab my phone from the kitchen counter. “It won’t be a long drive.”
“You’re moving because of me?” There’s a note of suspicion in her voice and my heart skips faintly.
I want to know her thoughts, what stories her fears might have concocted within her mind so I can soothe them.
Building trust with her is going to be a challenge, and if she’s completely unwilling, I face a tough choice.
Keeping her locked up forever will become my only option if we can’t find some middle ground.
“Well,” I say as we walk toward the elevator, “I’m a busy man and ideally, I’d like you to be able to return to your life.
Having a place to keep you safe only works if I can control who has access, and after last night?
” My fingers linger on the call button. “I don’t want my father having access to you at all. ”
Her head tilts, sending her hair cascading over one shoulder. Both her hands come together at her abdomen as she watches me. “But he’s your dad. Isn’t… I mean, is that going to be weird for you? I understand you don’t want me to talk, but changing all of this just to keep me away from him…”
“Don’t worry.” The doors close with a soft hiss. “I had my issues with him long before you came along.”
Hollie falls silent all the way down to the car, yawning occasionally behind her hand.
Her phone sticks out a little from her jeans pocket which reminds me of her desire to contact her own parents.
It wasn’t difficult bugging her phone. But as soon as she talks, as soon as she spills anything, the damage will already be done.
I’m lost on how to secure her silence outside of maintaining the threat that I’ll kill everyone she talks to.
Once in the car, Stu’s driving and we settle into an amicable silence weaving through the streets of New York.
Hollie drums her fingers lightly on her thigh as she gazes out the window, watching the world.
My attention remains on her despite the phone in my face and the constant encrypted messages flooding my phone about attacks from the Irish, threats from the Italians, and unrest among other Russian families under us.
Hollie shifts subtly in her seat once. Then a moment later, she does it again. Her drumming fingers increase and she moves her other hand over her abdomen. My interest peaks when distress warps over her face and our eyes lock as she takes a soft, deeper breath.
“I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Stu!” Rapping my knuckles on the protective glass between us, I raise my voice. “Pull over.”
“But we’re in the middle of—”
“Pull over. Now.”
He obliges and thirty seconds later, I stand at the mouth of an alley with Stu pacing nervously nearby while Hollie pukes behind a trashcan.
I replay everything she consumed and reason the meal last night, plus her combined stress, must be taking its toll on her.
People move around us like waves lapping at a rock, countless ants hurrying to get to work and go about their day.
A few send judgmental glances our way when the sounds of Hollie’s puking reach the ears of the crowd, but each look is met by my angry gaze and they all hurry on with their lives.
Five minutes later, Hollie appears at my elbow wiping her mouth. “Wow.”
“How are you feeling?”
Sweat glistens on her forehead just below her hairline and her skin is slightly pale. “Kinda wrecked, if I’m honest.”
“Was it something you ate, do you think?”
She shrugs. “Probably. I just get ill in the mornings sometimes. Stress, I think.”
“Here.” Stu approaches from the car with a fresh, unopened bottle of water and hands it to her.
“Thanks.” The crack of the seal breaking cuts through the air, then she gulps the water down like she hasn’t drunk in days.
“The apartment isn’t far.” I gaze out over the crowd and spot a small cafe in the distance. “How about we walk instead?”
“Boss—” Stu warns immediately, but he falls silent at my cutting glance. I know what he’s going to say. Walking out in the open like this without our usual security detail is typically a death sentence, but putting Hollie back in the car doesn’t feel right.
“We’ll be fine,” I assure Stu. “We can stop at that cafe over there and see if we can find something that will settle your stomach.”
Hollie’s visible relief warms my heart and she nods. “Sure.”
The cafe is small and cozy with a long counter stretching from the door to the restrooms as the far end.
The rest of the floor is dotted with several cute tables, each covered in a lace tablecloth and featuring different-colored birds, depending on where you sit.
We choose the table furthest from the window with a cloth covered in bright blue and green birds.
As we sit, Hollie races off to the restroom.
“You think she’s making a call?” Stu asks as he sits at the next table. His cloth is covered in parrots.
“If she were, it would redirect to my own phone,” I say. “Besides, I don’t think she guessed the passcode.”
“I’ve messaged Rex, by the way. He’s pissed that we stopped here.”
“Understandable.”
“He says if you get assassinated, he’ll bring you back and kill you himself.”
Scoffing softly, I nod and relax back in the wicker chair that creaks dangerously under my weight. “I’d expect nothing less.”
Hollie returns after a few moments and groans as she sits. “I feel terrible.”
“Are you ill? Is there medication or anything I should know about?”
She leans heavily on the table and rests her chin on her upturned palm. “No. Strongest medicine I use is a special ointment for my hands.”
“Your hands?” I glance down. Her hands look like regular, beautiful hands with short nails painted a light pink and the gold band of her wedding ring nestled around her finger.
“Mhm.” She sighs deeply. “I’m a musician by trade, so I have to massage my hands a lot. And also keep them moisturized to stop wear and tear.”
“You’re a musician?” I barely know anything about her. This woman who wandered into the wrong pizzeria has a whole life I know nothing about.
“Like a celebrity?” Stu asks.
“No.” Hollie snorts softly. “I play parties. Hotel lobbies. Restaurants. That kind of thing. This time of year is my busiest time because everyone wants the charm of live music.”
Past her head, several Thanksgiving turkey streamers weave between twinkling tinsel and sparkling drop lights of various festive colors. In all my years in fancy hotels and restaurants, I’ve never looked twice at the live musicians and yet they’re such a core part of my experiences there.
“That sounds like a fun job.”
She straightens up slightly and smiles. “It is. Hectic. And kind of strained when it comes to money, but it’s so fun. My boss, Tiffany? She’s got quite the knack for getting me gigs at some of the top places. And I’m great at being available at the last minute.”
“Were you booked for Thanksgiving?” I ask as a waiter approaches us.
Hollie nods. “I was, yeah.”
Over a pot of tea and some toast for Hollie’s stomach, we discuss her musician life.
She plays the piano and the violin, though her bashfulness keeps her reserved about the extent of her capabilities.
She lists hotels and restaurants, and I’m familiar with nearly all of them.
It strikes me that we’ve most likely crossed paths before in the past and never even noticed each other.
It’s a nice conversation, given the circumstances, and ends when Rex calls me sounding like he’s about to have a brain aneurysm.
“Are you kidding me?” Rex barks down the phone. “You’re having coffee and tea while I’m tearing my hair out trying to make this new place into a fortress for you? Do you not care about me at all?”
Smirking, I finish paying the bill and we head outside. “Listen, Rex. I know what it looks like, but we really are on our way this time. Just give me—”
“Miss Wolfe? Miss Hollie Wolfe?” An unfamiliar voice rises up from behind us as we step out onto the street. Stu moves around me, and I position myself between the voices and Hollie, but my gut tightens like the snap of a rubber band when we turn to face two police officers.