Volkov

Chapter 2

The conference room hummed with quiet conversation as people settled into their seats. A few were already typing away on their laptops, their faces set in focused determination, while others sifted through notes or reviewed their slides. The air carried that familiar mix of anticipation and pressure, heightened by the knowledge that the boss himself would be present.

I slipped into my usual seat near the center of the room, trying to blend into the moment. We were only waiting on two people now: the elusive boss and one other straggler. The door opened, and in walked Christine, the boss's razor-sharp assistant. She gave a brisk nod to the room, her heels clicking like a metronome as she took her place at the front.

Behind her came Elijah, who was in charge when the boss wasn't in town. Elijah and I had crossed paths several times. He was chill—good people, as I liked to call him. We'd grabbed coffee a few times after meetings and had developed an easy rapport. He greeted me with a quick grin as he took his seat, but before I could return it, the door opened again.

And in he came. Elevator guy.

The room went silent like someone had flipped a switch. His presence had that effect. There was an unspoken air of authority about him, the kind that made everyone sit up a little straighter, adjust their ties, and close their browsers full of irrelevant tabs.

"Afternoon," he began, his deep voice commanding the room's attention. "I trust everyone is prepared for their presentations."

The words were simple enough, but the way he said them made my stomach twist. His piercing green eyes found mine and lingered just a little too long. I suddenly felt hyper-aware of my dress, the way it hugged my body, and how warm the room seemed to be getting. His gaze was like a spotlight, leaving me wondering if I looked composed—or completely exposed.

I nodded along with the rest of the group, silently praying the meeting would start so I could focus on anything but him.

The discussion kicked off with department heads presenting updates, strategies, and proposals for the upcoming project. It was a big deal—one of the largest contracts the company had secured in years—so everyone was on their A-game. Ideas bounced back and forth, and while collaboration was the goal, the tension to impress was palpable.

I did my part, outlining our marketing initiatives and offering suggestions on how we could amplify the campaign's reach. My voice stayed steady, my points were concise, and I nailed every question thrown my way. But even as I spoke, I could feel his eyes on me, weighing every word, dissecting every detail.

Three hours later, the meeting finally wrapped up. My energy was drained, my feet ached, and my brain felt like it had run a marathon. As I gathered my things, I mentally debated whether to stay and work in the office or head home to tackle my workload from the comfort of my couch.

"Ms. Tremble," his voice cut through my thoughts.

I looked up, startled, and saw him standing by the door. The room had mostly cleared out, leaving just the two of us.

"Please come to my office."

A knot of anxiety twisted in my stomach. Had I messed up? Was there something I'd said or done during the meeting that didn't sit right with him? His tone gave nothing away, leaving me to speculate wildly.

"Yes, sir," I replied, quickly grabbing my things and following him out.

His office was exactly what I'd expected: sleek, modern, and expensive. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed a breathtaking view of the city skyline, and every detail, from the minimalist furniture to the abstract art on the walls, screamed sophistication.

He walked to his desk and sat down, motioning for me to take the chair opposite him. I hesitated for a moment before lowering myself into the plush seat, determined not to fidget under his intense gaze.

"Did I do something wrong in the meeting?" I asked, my voice steadier than I felt.

"No," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Everything was perfect. I just wanted to get to know you."

The way he said it made my pulse quicken. It wasn't the standard "tell me about your professional background" tone. It was something else entirely.

"I'm sure you've read my résumé," I replied, meeting his gaze head-on. I wasn't about to let him intimidate me—no matter how effortlessly he seemed to do it.

"Oh, I have," he said with a small smirk, running a hand through his beard. The gesture was casual, but my eyes lingered on the movement longer than I'd like to admit. "And I've heard a lot about you from Elijah. Seems like my brother has found himself a friend."

"Brother?" I repeated, surprised. "Elijah's your brother?"

"The resemblance didn't give it away?" he asked, amusement flickering in his eyes.

Now that he mentioned it, the similarities were obvious. They shared the same chiseled features, the same confident aura. But while Elijah was approachable, Maksim—if that was his name—was something else entirely.

Before I could process this revelation, he leaned forward slightly, his green eyes locking onto mine.

"Have dinner with me tonight."

I froze. The words hung in the air, heavy and unexpected. My brain scrambled for a response, but all I could think was how dangerously tempting his offer was.

"No," I said quickly, forcing a laugh to lighten the tension. "I'm good."

I stood up, tugging at the hem of my dress as I gathered my composure. "If that's all, sir..."

"Maksim," he corrected, standing as well. He was tall—intimidatingly so—and the proximity only made him more imposing.

"Sir," I repeated firmly, taking a step back. "Have a great evening."

With that, I turned on my heel and made my way to the door, feeling his eyes on me the entire time. My heart raced as I practically sprinted to the elevator, silently willing the doors to open faster.

Once inside, I leaned against the cool metal wall and exhaled sharply. How could a man affect me so much with just his voice? I felt rattled, unsteady in a way I hadn't been in years.

This couldn't happen. I couldn't be a cliché. Not with my boss—especially not my white boss. The odds of something serious coming from this were slim to none. I wasn't what men like him went for. I wasn't slim, polished, or cookie-cutter beautiful like the other women in the office.

The elevator dinged, and I stepped out onto my floor, relieved to find it mostly empty. I hurried to my desk, gathered my things, and decided to work from home. Maybe the distance would help me clear my head.

But even as I walked to my car, his voice lingered in my mind, wrapping around me like a slow, seductive flame.

I was in trouble.