Page 44 of Bratva's Intern

“Wren,” Maxim called my name softly. “Let’s go.”

I thanked Vova and tried to tip him, but he declined, extracting a promise that I would only let him touch my hair from then on. Although I said yes, there was no fucking way I could pay his fee.

Sergei met us at the door, holding it open for us.

“Please tell me we can go back to the office now?” I sighed. “We’ve been gone all afternoon.”

“And?”

“People will talk when I show up tomorrow, decked out in expensive clothes and a new hairstyle.”

“You’re my PA. You should look the part. What’s there to talk about?”

“This just feels weird, Maxim.”

He shrugged. “Get over it.”

“It’s not that simple.”

Sergei opened the car door for us. I slid into the pristine leather seat and watched as Maxim skillfully maneuvered himself next to me. He moved with such confident grace. It was kind of sexy.

If you like older men who always frown.

“Take the rest of the evening off.”

“What?”

“Do you need to have your ears checked too, Wren?”

“I don’t understand. We still have two hours left in the day.”

Maxim didn’t spare me a glance. His focus was on the phone in his hands. “I have some business to take care of, so I won’t be in the office.”

“Shouldn’t I accompany you then?”

“Not this time. I’ll tell you when I need you.” He typed furiously on his phone screen. “Sergei will drop us off at the office, and I’ll arrange for Nik or Darius to take you home.”

“I can take?—”

“Wren. I’ve arranged for one of the bodyguards to take you home. End of discussion.”

Well…

I hated it when he talked down to me, and yet the authority he used to shut me up caused a shiver of unwilling admiration to crawl down my spine.

“Fine,” I grumbled, crossing my arms over my chest.

He didn’t respond, eyes still glued to his phone screen. Occasionally, he would mumble something to himself before his fingers would fly over the keys again in a rapid and ceaseless flurry of movement.

The car slowed to a stop outside our office building.

Maxim didn’t look up, though his thumb paused over the screen for just a moment, but then he continued typing. The silent drive back was worse than any of his irritating lectures. I felt ignored, which shouldn’t have bothered me, but it did.

CHAPTER TWELVE

MAXIM

The numbers on the screen blurred, the droning voice of our financial analyst dissolving into background noise. My attention was elsewhere—on him.

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