“Honey, glarin’ at paper is not a leadership strategy.”
I smile, which only makes him look more smug.
“You look exhausted,” he says after looking closer at my face.
“That’s fair.”
I rub one hand across my forehead before glancing automatically toward the front windows again. One of the SUVs remains parked near the curb exactly where it has been all afternoon. Every time I look outside now, one of Alexei’s vehicles is there waiting like a silent reminder that whatever danger follows him has fully planted itself outside my shelter, too.
Jules notices immediately where my attention went. “This is getting worse,” he murmurs.
The concern in his voice draws my eyes back to him. He stands there beside the supply shelves with his arms folded tightly across his chest, tension creasing his face beneath the fluorescent lobby lights.
“I really need you to hear me right now,” he continues, lowering his voice further while volunteers move around us. “This isn’t normal rich people problems anymore.”
“I’m aware.”
“And Alexei still hasn’t told you the truth.”
A tired breath leaves me while I shove loose hair behind my ear. “He said he would tonight.”
“That ain’t good enough.”
Frustration slips into his voice now, but it isn’t really directed at me. It sounds more like fear wearing irritation as a disguise.
“I don’t trust this,” he says. “And before you get defensive, no, I’m not sayin’ Alexei would hurt you. I’m sayin’ I think whatever world he comes from absolutely could.”
I inhale slowly through my nose before answering. “He’s tryin’ to protect me. To protect us.”
The second the words leave my mouth, Jules’s eyebrows lift slowly toward his hairline.
“Well,” he says carefully, “that right there is deeply concernin’.”
“What is?”
“You defended him automatically.”
“I did not.”
“Maggie, honey, you absolutely did.”
Heat crawls into my cheeks because the worst part is he’s right. I defended Alexei without even realizing I was doing it.
Jules watches realization spread across my face and groans. “Oh no. You’re gone.”
A startled laugh escapes me. “I’m not gone.”
“Sweetheart, you are one emotionally intense staircase conversation away from marryin’ a Russian billionaire with emotional trauma and private security.”
“That sentence alone should get you banned from caffeine.”
“It’s accurate though.”
I shake my head, but the humor fades quickly. Underneath Jules’s teasing lies another painful truth I don’t want to look too closely at.
My life has changed so much in a matter of weeks that I honestly don’t know how I got here. Not long ago, my biggest problems were funding for the shelter, broken kennel latches, and dogs chewing through leashes. Somewhere in the middle of all that, everything in my life got tangled with Ivy and Alexei, so I can’t tell where one part ends anymore.
Before either of us can say anything else, one of the volunteers rushes toward us, holding a clipboard.
