Knocked Up By the Russian Boss by Bella King
Chapter 14
IVORY
Who the fuck could it be now?!
I grab a knife from the butcher block in my kitchen. Even if it’s nothing, I want to make sure that nobody shoves their way into my apartment ever again, cop or not.
When I open the door, I see a familiar face: the man who drove me home from the bat caves.
In the daylight, he’s even more imposing, and I’m happy that I brought the knife with me, even just to make myself look like more of a threat. I’m sure he could tear the damn thing out of my hands, toss it to the ground, and strangle me to death with his hands if he wanted to.
“Hey, I just wanted to check on you,” he says, and I hesitate to believe him.
Did I give him my address, right down to my apartment number? What was I thinking?
I tighten my grip on the knife, not entirely sure why. All I know is that I could have been hacked to pieces last night if this person was in a bad mood when he met me. It doesn’t help that he’s so overdressed, yesterday and right now. What’s he got to prove?
“I’m fine, thanks,” I lie. I’m embarrassed for myself, allowing a stranger to see me completely off my face.
What if I had puked in his car? It was a nice one. I remember that much.
“Is it alright if I come in? I was going to come by earlier, but I saw cops outside your door, and that worried me even more,” he continues. “I live in one of the lower units, so it wasn’t hard to see where the cops were going.”
Even if it’s totally unexpected and weird, I do think it’s sort of sweet that he came here to make sure I’m alright. Even my “friends” couldn’t give a shit about how I feel.
Plus, he really isn’t a creepy guy. I’ve met plenty of guys who make my hair stand on end just by existing. Those are the ones I always look out for. Maxim is just an extremely well-muscled, older man with piercing eyes and a jawline to kill a man with.
That’s all he is.
“Um, yeah, that’s fine,” I reply. My poor mother would have a stroke if she saw me inviting a practical stranger into my apartment the night after almost being attacked by another strange man in a lake.
I open the door all the way, and Maxim walks in casually instead of shoving me to the side like the cops. In that way, he already has more of my trust than they do.
Maxim sits on the couch, and I try to look for ways to keep some kind of distance between us. Even if he doesn’t strike me as a bad person, I don’t know him, and I don’t want to be close enough for him to, I don’t know, drug me?
“Would you like some tea?” I ask. I always default to making tea for guests, though everyone else who ever came to visit me here has been expected. I usually have more to offer.
“Uh, yeah, whatever you have is fine,” he replies.
I can’t help but stare at him for a moment, his huge body and dark clothes contrasting almost humorously with my tiny IKEA couch. In another circumstance, I would laugh about it.
“So, what were the cops here for?” he asks. It’s a weird opener, I have to admit. After he said he was here to check up on me because of my inebriated state last night, why does he care about the cops so much?
“Honestly, I have no idea, but they were awful,” I reply. Just the thought of them barging into my house, taking my computer, and handcuffing me fills me with the same rage I felt as it was happening in real-time.
I notice I’m aggressively stirring Maxim’s tea like a crazy person, and I force myself to breathe deep to calm my nerves.
“Did they hurt you?” he asks.
Now, this is the kind of question I can appreciate. I always secretly love it when a guy asks me if I’m okay, if I’m hurt, whatever. It makes me feel cared for, pretty, delicate. Most people just don’t care, especially not when they want to take something from you.
“Well, they did handcuff me to the radiator while they destroyed my house and stole my laptop,” I reply, handing him the tea while maintaining a bit of an unnatural distance. I’m sure my body language is very confusing to him, rude even, but it feels like my right to be a little bit freaked out by him.
“Holy shit, that’s horrible,” he replies, attempting to drink his tea and burning himself on it. “God damn it,” he mutters under his breath, which I find a little bit funny despite the circumstances. “I’d string those cops up by their balls if I had the chance. There’s no need to scare a girl like that,” he continues.
The description of what this man would do to those cops for me is shocking but in the most delicious way possible. It feels insane to say so, but I would let this man carry me around on his back all the time if it meant I would be safe from other, more horrible men.
I truly should be disgusted by his automatic deference to violence, but there’s something about a man who likes to fight that lights me up inside. Maybe I’m sick.
“Want me to get your computer back for you?” he asks, a little bit out of nowhere. His last comment had caught me off guard so much that I had spaced out a bit, and he had probably been waiting for a response for over thirty seconds. At least I know he can be patient.
“How would you do that?” I ask, genuinely curious. This man clearly hates the cops all on his own, I wouldn’t expect that he has some sort of underground alliance with them.
“I have my ways, don’t you worry,” he replies, sipping his tea again and burning himself once more.
This time, I need to stifle my laughter. His tough-man persona takes a hit every time he does that, and it’s honestly so fun to see.
“Why were you at the bat caves last night?” I ask. I hadn’t even thought of the question before I considered asking it. I feel like I’m going to get myself in trouble somehow if I keep saying whatever comes to mind.
“I like hotboxing my SUV,” he replies.
I don’t remember his car smelling like weed. I distinctly remember it not smelling like weed, but strongly of cigar smoke. Why would someone hotbox a cigar?
“I thought it was because you were a park ranger,” I say.
Who is this person? He’s dressed like a multi-millionaire, but he drives out to the caves to smoke weed? Who’s he afraid of?
“Oh, that was just a joke, sweetheart,” he replies. He has the same tone as my dad when he’s lying about something, knows it, and is pretending to have no idea what you’re talking about.
I sigh. What do I want? Either I love being spoken to like a princess, or I hate being talked down to like a little girl.
Silence again. Suddenly, Maxim and I are looking at one another, possibly just expecting the other to say something first. But the air feels charged, his stare intentional, almost like he would definitely kiss me if I was anywhere close to him. I’m in too vulnerable a state of mind for this kind of thing.
“Okay, well, thanks for the tea. It’s good to know you’re okay,” he says, breaking eye contact as he gets up from the couch.
I’m a little disappointed, to be honest. Part of me was really hoping that he would approach me. When he gets up, I feel a lurch in my stomach, like I’m both terrified of him and so aroused by him that I would let him run me over with his car.
“Uh, yeah, thanks for stopping by, I guess,” I reply as we both walk towards the door. I’m a little sad to see him go, even though he wasn’t here for longer than thirty minutes. The whole situation is so weird.
