Volkov

Chapter 3

The following morning, I sat at my desk, staring at my computer screen but not really seeing anything. My coffee was lukewarm, the to-do list on my notepad untouched, and my brain—traitor that it was—kept replaying yesterday's events on a loop.

Maksim. His name was like a lingering melody I couldn't get out of my head.

Why did he want to have dinner with me? Did he make a habit of asking employees to join him outside the office? And why did he look at me like that, like he could see right through me?

I shook my head, forcing myself to focus on the task at hand. This was ridiculous. I was too busy for distractions, especially ones that came in the form of piercing green eyes and a voice that could melt steel.

But my resolve lasted all of five seconds because just as I opened my email, Christine appeared at my desk.

"Good morning," she said, her tone clipped as always. "Mr. Volkov wants to see you in his office."

I froze, my stomach tightening into a knot. Again?

Christine raised a perfectly arched eyebrow, clearly impatient. "Now, Ms. Tremble."

I stood quickly, smoothing down my skirt and grabbing my notepad. Christine didn't wait for me; she turned on her heel and strode toward the elevator, her sharp heels echoing through the quiet office floor.

As I followed her, my mind raced. What could he possibly want now? Yesterday's meeting was over, and I had no pending issues to report.

When we reached his office, Christine opened the door without knocking—apparently, formality didn't apply to her—and motioned for me to step inside.

Maksim was seated behind his massive desk, his eyes scanning a stack of papers. He looked up as I entered, and just like yesterday, that magnetic gaze pinned me in place.

"Thank you, Christine," he said.

She nodded and left without a word, closing the door softly behind her.

"Ms. Tremble," he began, leaning back in his chair. He wore a crisp navy suit today, the fabric tailored to perfection. "Thank you for coming."

"Of course, sir," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Maksim," he corrected, just as he had yesterday.

I ignored the way my heart fluttered at the sound of his name. "How can I help you, sir?"

He gestured to the chair in front of his desk. "Sit."

I hesitated but did as he asked, placing my notepad on my lap like a shield.

"I've reviewed the marketing strategy you presented yesterday," he said, his voice smooth but serious. "It's impressive. The numbers are solid, the ideas are creative, and the execution plan is thorough."

"Thank you," I said, surprised by the compliment.

"However," he continued, leaning forward slightly, "there's one area I think could use some adjustment."

I nodded, flipping open my notepad. "Of course. What area are you referring to?"

He didn't answer right away. Instead, his eyes lingered on me, studying me in a way that made my pulse quicken.

"You," he said finally.

I blinked. "Me?"

"Yes," he said, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Your voice is missing from the campaign."

"I—I don't understand," I stammered.

"Your presentation yesterday was polished and professional," he said, his tone softening. "But there was something restrained about it. I want to hear more of you in the work—your ideas, your perspective."

His words caught me off guard. No one had ever said anything like that to me before. Most of my previous bosses had been content with the bare minimum as long as the results were good. But Maksim wanted...more.

"I'll do my best," I said cautiously.

"I know you will," he replied, his voice low and almost intimate.

The room suddenly felt smaller, the air charged with something unspoken. I shifted in my seat, breaking eye contact.

"Is there anything else you needed?" I asked, hoping to steer the conversation back to neutral ground.

He leaned back again, a smile playing on his lips. "No, that will be all—for now."

I stood quickly, clutching my notepad like a lifeline. "Thank you, sir."

"Maksim," he corrected again, his gaze following me as I headed for the door.

I didn't trust myself to respond. I nodded and walked out as quickly as I could without breaking into a full sprint.

By lunchtime, the awkward tension in my chest had settled into a simmering frustration. I sat in the breakroom with Elijah, stabbing at my salad while he went on about his latest workout routine.

"You okay?" he asked, finally noticing my lack of enthusiasm.

"Fine," I muttered.

"You sure? You look like you're ready to murder someone."

I sighed, dropping my fork. "Your brother is impossible."

Elijah froze mid-sip of his protein shake, then laughed. "What did Maksim do now?"

"It's not what he did," I said, choosing my words carefully. "It's how he...is. He's intense. And cryptic. And—ugh, never mind."

Elijah grinned. "Yeah, that sounds like him."

"How do you even deal with him?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"I don't," Elijah said with a shrug. "He's been like that since we were kids. Always analyzing, always pushing people to do better. It's his thing."

"Well, it's exhausting," I muttered.

Elijah chuckled, but his expression softened. "Look, if it's any consolation, he's probably impressed by you. Maksim doesn't waste his time on people he doesn't think are worth it."

"Great," I said sarcastically, taking a half-hearted bite of my salad.

But Elijah's words stuck with me long after lunch was over.

That evening, I sat at my kitchen table, surrounded by papers and my laptop. The city lights twinkled through the window, but I barely noticed. I was too focused on reworking the campaign, trying to find the "voice" Maksim claimed was missing.

I hated to admit it, but he was right. My presentation had been polished, yes, but safe. It didn't reflect the bold ideas I was truly passionate about.

I glanced at the clock. It was almost 11 p.m., and my eyes burned from staring at the screen for so long.

But as tired as I was, I couldn't stop. Something about Maksim's challenge had lit a fire in me—a need to prove myself, not just to him, but to me.

Because as much as I tried to deny it, I wanted his approval.

And that terrified me.