Knocked Up By the Russian Boss by Bella King
Chapter 42
MAXIM
The drive to the estate is tense. Ivory, the queen of maintaining appearances, is calm and collected externally, but I just know that she’s onto me about how rude I was to her on the phone. There’s no way she would let something like that go just because I gave a quick little apology. I know I’ll be hearing about this as soon as we’re back home, and I’ve lost the excuse of being pressed for time.
When we drive up to the estate, I’m not unimpressed necessarily, but two of my houses in different states are at least as nice as Steven’s, maybe even nicer. He might just be the kind of guy who likes to keep a low profile, but as somebody who’s studied this man’s wealth to near obsession, I’m unconvinced that he’s flexing exactly how rich and powerful he is.
What a waste. If I were in his position, I’d never let anyone forget who I am.
The estate lies beyond a set of coded gates, and we’re allowed in without so much as an ID check or statement of intent. Maybe it’s because Ivory’s a familiar face? The whole thing seems too easy to me. If I were Steven, I’d make my own daughter show her ID when she visited.
Okay, maybe I wouldn’t be that insane, but I certainly wouldn’t let some jerk who’s with my daughter come in without some kind of verification.
As we’re pulling up, I can’t help but wonder how it could have been so goddamn easy for me to gain access to Ivory and her father’s estate. It’s like she fell right into my lap, eager and willing to let me fuck her brains out, unprotected, multiple times. Should I be worried about her judgment?
Up until now, I had simply been flattered by how willing she was to trust me. Now though, I’m wondering if she’s just a naïve kid who was desperate for male attention. The thought makes me nauseated. If I have to raise a child with a woman like that, I don’t know what I’ll do.
We’re waved through the gates, and after an obnoxiously long driveway lies a parking lot lined with luxury vehicles. I park next to a Porsche Cayenne, a sportscar fit for a bored and indulgent soccer mom rather than a state senator. It must be his wife’s car, or I’ve just lost a sliver of respect for him.
Ivory turns to me, her insecurity showing through just a bit more than it was previously. “Everything’s going to be great. He just might try to intimidate you a little since, well, he’s my dad and has an ego the size of the sun,” she says, attempting to add some humor to the situation. I can appreciate that about her, at least.
“No problem. I can handle him,” I reply, and that much is true. I’ve faced far deadlier opponents. It’s just dinner, after all.
When we exit the vehicle, we’re approached by two terminally unhappy guards who inform us that we need to be searched before we’re able to enter the estate.
I figure this is fair enough, as the security so far has been less than stellar. At least searching someone before they enter the building is better than allowing just anybody in, trusting blindly in the goodness of mankind.
Ivory’s pat-down is brief, given the fact that she’s Steven’s daughter as well as the fact that her clothes are so form-fitting and minimal that she couldn’t possibly be hiding more than a grain of salt in her bra if she wanted to.
The men are much more aggressive with me, which doesn’t bother me as I’ve planned for such an invasion of my privacy. I’m not carrying any weapons on me, only a flash drive and a smartwatch that’s been rigged to send a distress signal to Joey and Emery if I type in a passcode.
Entering the building feels surreal. I’ve seen the inside of this place a hundred times over online, trying to map out my plan of attack. Actually being inside feels like waking up in a dream that you’re positive isn’t real, but shows no signs to the contrary.
Ivory leads me up some marble steps into a main foyer, and I visually examine the interior for weapons or other signs that this man doesn’t trust me.
Before I’m able to identify anything concerning, Steven emerges from behind a set of glass French doors that separate the foyer from the rest of the house.
“Ivory, it’s so good to see you,” he says, approaching his daughter with open arms.
She hugs him back, and when he steps away from her, he turns to me and shakes my hand. “You must be Maxim. It’s a pleasure to meet you as well.”
“Yeah, it’s an honor to be here, Senator,” I reply, disgusted at the degree of ass-kissing in my voice. I obviously need to make a good impression, but does it need to be at the expense of my dignity?
He seems pleased with me so far, and he smiles at me, putting me at ease.
I turn to Ivory to silently check in with her, to try and read her expression. The warm smile she had when she hugged her father is gone, and as we’re led down the hallway into a huge dining room, she gestures for me to come closer to her.
“Hey, something’s really off here,” she says, grabbing my wrist with both hands, as if pleading for me to take her home already.
“What do you mean? I thought he seemed fine, happy to see us even,” I reply.
While my introduction to Steven was civil enough, even welcoming to a point, her hesitation has me on edge. She clearly knows him better than I do, so something important must be bothering her.
Whatever it is, it’s important for me to tune into the atmosphere and try to decipher the way that Steven manages his daughter as well as his staff. In order to take everything he has, I need to learn to think like him.
We’re led to our seats at the dining table, and a woman that I presume to be Steven’s wife is seated next to his place, smiling disingenuously at me with unnaturally white teeth. The dining room is as opulent as I had expected, and it’s clear that Steven is a man of grandeur. The unimpressive exterior of his house is a message: I have shit, I just decide who gets to see it.
Ivory sits next to me at the table, and immediately we’re bombarded with decisions to make about the evening ahead. Would I like wine? Water? Sparkling or still? Rare or medium? Spit or swallow?
Once the infernal buzzing of the kitchen staff abates, I’m anticipating a conversation to take place at some point. Steven has made no effort whatsoever to even lead into casual small-talk before we launch into the details of the pregnancy, medical bills, and a potential wedding if Steven sees it necessary to save face. His political career is, of course, paramount to anything else.
Instead, his subtly cordial persona has fallen a bit, and he glares at me across the table with contempt in his eyes.
No matter, I expected nothing less from a man whose daughter I’ve impregnated. Males, regardless of their position of power in everyday life, love to lord authority over their daughters and wives. They become irrationally protective and domineering when another male enters the scene, especially if a sexual relationship has already been expressed.
It’s weird, but if you can anticipate it, it makes meetings like this far less awkward.
He continues to glare at me, and it leaves me no choice but to just glare back. I’m not going to let him outdo me. Two can play this game.
