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One
Maxim
“I’m Maxim Volkov,” I said, taking in the crowd. “Welcome to Volkov Telecom. I didn’t get to where I am today by fucking around.” I let the titters and whispers die down before I continued. “Or by fucking up. Da?”
I couldn’t claim to know every single one of my employees. The company was too massive for that. But I could tell the interns by their shock. Their furtive glances around the auditorium. No one expected the CEO of a multibillion dollar company to casually drop a couple of fucks while addressing everyone.
The employees who had been here for a while already knew the routine.
“I will never bullshit you,” I continued, scanning the audience, watching for flinches at the language. “I expect the same respect from all of you. I don’t care who you are.”
My eyes fell — and lingered — on a woman in the crowd. She had to be one of the new cohorts of interns. I would’ve noticed her before otherwise. She was … exquisite. It was the only word that suited those long legs, gleaming in the stage lights, delicate feet crossed at the ankles. She wore her hair down, the golden curls brushing her shoulders. Her full, pink lips pressed together in concentration as she scribbled in a notebook. What the hell was she taking notes on? “I will never bullshit you,” I imagined, almost making myself laugh.
Seated in the front row, knees pressed primly together, she looked like a good girl.
That singular thought leapt unbidden to my mind. She was different from the women who writhed on the dance floor at the club, hoping to catch my attention.
Which reminded me. I’d been too focused at work, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d taken my table at the club, watching the dance floor until I saw exactly what I wanted to take home.
That explained the extra edge that was making people scuttle out of my way today at the office.
We had a new class of interns in, and I always made it a point to introduce myself at the start of orientation — even though everyone already knew who I was. I wanted them to see what success at my company looked like.
And yet, it was a testament to my current condition that I could already picture how I would make this woman writhe on my bed, all traces of good banished, her hair knotted in my fist, saliva wetting her swollen lips as I made her scream.
She banished all remaining thoughts that I’d have to go looking for some woman at the club tonight to sate my appetite.
My prey was already right in front of me. Could I help it if I wanted to play with her a little before I consumed her?
“You,” I said crisply, pivoting from script. She finished with whatever she was writing down and looked up as people murmured around her. She blinked, obviously surprised to find me looking directly at her. She laid her hand over her chest, and my cock stirred. In my bed, I’d make her caress herself, squeeze her own breasts, pinch her nipples until they were hard and she was panting with need.
“What’s your name?”
“Uh, Ruth.” She stumbled a little over her name, like she was having trouble remembering it. “Ruth Miracle.”
Everything ground to a halt. Full stop. “Miracle?”
She laughed awkwardly. “That’s right. You can … um. You can save the jokes.” She tucked her golden curls behind her ears, bright eyes darting around the auditorium. “I’ve heard them all.”
I didn’t get this far on my own believing in coincidences. And that surname was far too uncommon. The only other person I’d ever met named Miracle was the asshole who had tried to take everything from me.
Now, I could repay him for that favor. Especially if she was who I thought she was.
Who she had to be.
I smiled. It was good to have a new hobby. Work-life balance was important.
Two
Ruth
“And what are you doing here at Volkov, Ruth Miracle?” Maxim asked with a smile that … did things to me. He was so handsome, not a black hair out of place, his suit clinging to his shoulders, perfectly tailored. I flushed as I unwillingly recalled what I knew to be under that suit: muscles for days. I’d seen his spread in Rolling Stone. Fine. I’d obsessed over his spread in Rolling Stone, clipping the photo of him on the phone poolside, shirt unbuttoned and parted by the wind and a chest that looked like it was chiseled from marble. It had a place of honor on the wall in my dorm.
“I, um.” Come on, Ruth, get it together! “It’s the first day of my internship. Project management.”
“So tell me what you know about my company,” he said, his piercing eyes pinning me in place. They were scary blue. Coupled with the translation of his last name, they were part of the reason people called him the “Wolf of the Web.”
Though that fun fact probably wasn’t going to be good enough to impress him right now.
