Page 42 of Bratva's Intern

His gaze melted into mine. It should be illegal to stare into somebody’s eyes so intently. I wanted to look away but couldn’t. “I am an excellent mentor. You’ll see.”

At times, I had the feeling Maxim was using double entendres with me, but I could never figure out if he did so deliberately or if everything he said just naturally sounded like sex—dirty, raw, toe-curling sex.

A shiver raced down my spine, replaced by a hint of warmth spreading from the pit of my stomach.

I thought we were heading back to the office, but Sergei drove past the building. I clutched the edge of the seat, staring behind me. “Where are we going?”

“My hair stylist.”

I cringed. What was wrong with my hair? I peeked in the rearview mirror to catch a glimpse of myself. My hair looked normal. I washed it regularly and even used conditioner. What more did it need?

Searching for words, I took in Maxim’s appearance. His dark hair was cropped short and perfectly styled into obedience, a contrast to my unruly curls. I couldn’t suppress the awkward feeling, the noticeable disparity in our grooming standards.

Before meeting Maxim Morozov, I had never given any thought to my appearance. A comb through my hair, clean clothes, and I was good to go. None of the guys I’d been with in the past seemed to mind how I looked either.

“Relax.” Maxim watched me too closely, like he could hear every anxious thought bouncing around in my skull. “Everything we’re doing today is a part of you fulfilling your job.”

Of course. I needed to keep reminding myself why he did all this. Not to make me more pleasant to look at for him. I was his assistant. His personal assistant.

I wasn’t just some intern shuffling papers in the background anymore. I wasn’t invisible. People would look at me now. Expect things from me. Expect me to be competent. Sharp. Professional.

A knot tightened in my stomach.

I nodded once and looked away. Inside, I was reeling.

How was I supposed to fit into this world? Backing out didn’t seem to be an option anymore. Somehow, I had to figure it out. Fast.

As Sergei steered the car past unfamiliar streets, I fixated on the rearview mirror, scrutinizing each strand of my auburn hair and the freckles spattered across my nose. The reality of it was that next to Maxim, I felt shabby and out of place.

The car pulled up to a posh salon that looked more like an exclusive club than a place to get a haircut. The moment we stepped inside, I knew I didn’t belong. The air smelled expensive—some mix of high-end cologne, hair products, and money. A sleek-looking man in a tailored black ensemble greeted Maxim by name, his face lighting up with recognition.

“Maxim!” That was just about all I understood that the man said as he fired off words in Russian.

“Speak English, cousin,” Maxim said, his tone full of humor. He was smiling wider than I’d ever seen before. Maybe this man could give me some insight into who Maxim was.

The man chuckled, giving Maxim a hearty slap on the back. “Ah, forgive me, cousin! Old habits, you know?” He flashed a grin at me. “So, this is the new assistant, da?”

Maxim nodded, his expression shifting back to its usual unreadable coolness. “Wren, this is my cousin, Vladimir. He owns this place.”

Maxim’s cousin extended a hand, his grip firm but warm. “Vladimir Volkov. You call me Vova, like family.” His accentwas much more pronounced than Maxim’s, and his green eyes twinkled. He seemed far less reserved than his cousin.

I shook his hand, offering a tentative smile. “Nice to meet you, Vova.”

“Come, come! We make you look good, da?” Vova gestured for us to follow him deeper into the salon. As we moved through the space, I caught sight of a celebrity—an actor from a popular action franchise—lounging in a chair, chatting with a stylist like they were old friends.

Definitely not your average hair salon.

I usually got my hair clipped at Cost Cutters.

“I wash hair myself.” Vova pushed me gently toward a plush chair stationed by a row of ceramic white sinks. “Special treatment for Maxim’s assistant.”

His hands were strong and practiced as he draped a towel over my shoulders and guided my head back into the sink. Warm water poured over my scalp, sending tingles down my spine. As Vova worked the sudsy shampoo through my hair, massaging my temples, I slowly relaxed.

“Oh god, you have magic hands,” I moaned.

Someone above me made a noise like a grunt. I popped an eye open. Maxim was hovering over me, wearing his usual scowl. What now? Wasn’t I allowed to make conversation with his cousin?

“Ha! Is what all boys say, always.” Vova laughed. “Maxim, you sit until I am finished.”

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