He pauses. The silence stretches, elastic and dangerous.
Then he pins me with a stare that makes heat pool low in my spine. Unexpected, unwelcome, and undeniable.
"I'm not against it," he says slowly, each word deliberate, "if you want to."
The words land like a match to kindling.
My body registers the statement before my brain catches up. Heat unfurls in my chest, lower. My thighs tense. I register the response with clinical detachment even as I hate it. Pulse quickening, skin flushing, the particular ache of want I haven't felt in years without the accompanying surge of nausea and panic.
It's strange. Wrong, maybe.
The idea of sex with Maksim Severyn doesn't make me want to crawl out of my skin the way it usually does. Doesn't trigger the nausea that comes with most men's attention, the visceral memory of waking up violated and alone.
I file that information away to examine later, when I'm not sitting across from a man who could destroy me with a phone call.
"That's off the table," I say, forcing my voice back to steady ground.
"Agreed." He nods once, crisp and businesslike. "As long as we're both discreet about outside arrangements."
"Naturally." I let my fingers trail along the arm of the chair again, nails clicking a slow rhythm against wood and brass. "Now let's discuss my compensation. I'll need five hundred thousand dollars deposited into my account monthly."
For the first time since I entered this office, Maksim Severyn laughs.
It's not a kind sound. Dark and rich, genuinely amused, like I've just told the best joke he's heard in years. He leans back in his chair, and that cold perfection cracks just enough to show the man underneath. Sharp, dangerous, and thoroughly entertained by my audacity.
His eyes rake over me, deliberate and assessing, taking inventory like I'm merchandise he's considering. "You're beautiful, I'll grant you that. Sexy. But notthatsexy."
The dismissal should sting. Instead, it gives me an opening.
I reach up and gather my wet hair, pulling it forward over my shoulder. I twist it slowly, deliberately, wringing water from the strands. Water drips down my neck, slides over my collarbone, disappears beneath the neckline of my bikini top. I watch him watch the water's path. Watch his breathing change to shallower, more controlled, like he's manually regulating each inhale.
"You think I'm sexy?" I let the words come out breathy, teasing, designed to provoke.
His gaze snaps to mine. His jaw clenches, muscle jumping beneath skin. "You're playing a dangerous game."
"Am I?" I tilt my head, let my smile sharpen into something with edges. "How so?"
"I'm not like the men you're used to." Each word comes out precise, clipped. Controlled fury barely leashed beneath perfect diction.
"And I'm not like the women you're used to, Mr. Severyn." I hold his stare, refusing to look away first, refusing to flinch.
Silence. Electric. Dangerous. The air conditioning hums, and somewhere outside, a bird calls.
Then his mouth curves into something that might be respect. "No," he says slowly, like he's just solved a particularly interesting equation. "You are not."
He stands in one fluid motion, moves to the window. Hands clasped behind his back. Gathering himself, reassembling the mask I just cracked. When he turns back, the cold perfection is firmly in place again.
"I'll pay you five million at the end of the year," he says. "Take it or leave it."
Five million.
The number echoes in my head, rearranging possibilities. With that money, I could expand operations significantly. Build real infrastructure instead of scrambling for funding every month.
One year. I can survive one year of anything. I've survived worse.
"Done."
He crosses back to me, extends his hand. I take it without hesitation.
