Page 9

As I sit at my desk, the hum of the office fills the air, but my mind is elsewhere. I’m supposed to be focused on finalizing some updates for the marketing campaign, but all I can think about is Timur. It’s been a month since that night, and even though I keep telling myself to forget about him, he keeps creeping back into my thoughts.

It’s ridiculous. I don’t even know why I’m so hung up on him. He’s not the kind of guy I should be thinking about. He’s probably too busy with his own life—whatever that entails. After how he acted during the presentation, throwing those sharp questions my way, it’s clear he’s not someone I can count on for… anything. At least not emotionally.

I sigh and rub my temples, forcing myself to refocus on the work in front of me. The marketing campaign for Empire City Estates is going well, better than I expected, but there’s still a lot to get done. Mr. Russel is expecting an update soon, and I need to make sure everything is perfect. I’ve worked too hard to mess this up now.

Just as I’m about to dive back into my notes, an email notification pops up on my screen. It’s from Mr. Russel, asking me to meet him in the conference room in five minutes. My stomach twists. I hope this is just a routine update, nothing more. But I can’t shake the uneasy feeling that’s settled in my gut.

I grab my notebook and head toward the meeting room, trying to shake off the weird vibe I’m getting. I’ve worked with Mr. Russel before—he’s always been professional. But lately, I’ve noticed how he seems to linger a little too long when we talk, how his compliments feel just a little too personal.

When I step into the conference room, he’s already there, sitting at the head of the table. He flashes me a smile, and for some reason, it feels… off.

“Jennifer, come in, have a seat,” he says, motioning to the chair next to him.

I take a seat but make sure to keep a bit of distance between us. “I brought the updates you asked for on the campaign,” I say, sliding my notebook across the table.

He glances at the notebook but doesn’t reach for it. Instead, his eyes stay on me. “You’ve been doing a great job,” he says, his tone smooth, almost too smooth. “We’re really lucky to have you on the team.”

“Thank you,” I reply, keeping my tone neutral. “I’m just trying to make sure we hit our targets.”

He leans forward, a little too close for comfort. “You’re very driven, aren’t you? I like that.”

I force a smile, shifting slightly in my seat to put some distance between us. “Just trying to do my job.”

He chuckles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Well, you’re doing more than just your job, Jennifer. You’re standing out.”

I don’t like the way he says that, the way his eyes trail over me like I’m something to be appraised. It makes my skin crawl. I clear my throat, trying to redirect the conversation. “So, about the campaign—”

Before I can finish, he cuts me off. “Why don’t we take a break from the campaign talk for a minute? You’ve been working hard. Maybe we could grab a drink sometime, unwind a little.”

My heart sinks. This is exactly what I was worried about. “I appreciate the offer, Mr. Russel, but I’m really just focused on my work right now.”

He leans back in his chair, his smile never wavering. “Of course, of course. Just thought I’d offer.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence, and I feel my fingers clench around the edge of the table. The room feels smaller, the air thicker. My mind races, looking for a way to steer the conversation back to work, but all I can think about is how much I want to get out of here.

The air in the room feels suffocating, thick with tension as Mr. Russel continues to eye me, the subtle hints in his gaze making my skin crawl. I force a smile, determined to keep things professional. My mind scrambles to focus on work, but every word that comes out of his mouth makes that harder.

“I have to say,” he starts, leaning back in his chair with a casualness that feels far too familiar, “you’ve been making quite an impression, Jennifer. It’s not just anyone who gets results like this in such a short time.”

“Thank you,” I reply, keeping my voice steady. I sit up straighter, hoping to give off an air of confidence. “I’m just focused on making sure we hit our targets and continue to grow our reach.”

Mr. Russel’s smile tightens, his eyes lingering on me for a beat too long. “You’re very dedicated. It’s… refreshing.”

The compliment feels laced with something unspoken, and I resist the urge to shift uncomfortably in my seat. “I appreciate that,” I say, steering the conversation back to the campaign. “I’ve been analyzing the data from our latest posts, and I think we can push even further with a few adjustments to our targeting strategy.”

He waves a hand, dismissing my comment as if the work we’re discussing is secondary. “Of course, of course. You know, Jennifer, there’s more to success in this business than just crunching numbers. It’s about connections. Relationships.”

I nod, forcing my expression to remain neutral. “I agree, but I believe the results speak for themselves. The data shows that we’re on the right track.”

His smile widens, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Oh, absolutely. You’ve certainly proven yourself… capable. I’m sure you’re just getting started.”

There’s something about the way he says it that sets me on edge, but I don’t let it show. I refuse to give him the satisfaction. “I’m always striving to do better.”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, his gaze locked on mine. “You know, Jennifer, people like you… you could go far. With the right… support, who knows where you could end up?”

My pulse quickens, but not in a good way. His meaning is clear, and I can feel the discomfort crawling up my spine. This conversation has shifted, and I need to get out of here. Now.

“I appreciate the encouragement, Mr. Russel,” I say, my tone clipped but polite, “but I believe my work will speak for itself. If there’s nothing else, I’d like to get back to it.”

For a moment, his smile falters, and I can tell he’s not used to being brushed off. Then, just as quickly, he regains his composure. “Of course,” he says, sitting back in his chair. “I wouldn’t want to keep you from your work. You’re dismissed.”

The words hit me like a cold wave of relief, and I gather my notebook quickly, trying not to look like I’m fleeing. “Thank you,” I murmur, standing up and heading for the door as fast as I can without outright running.

Once I’m out of the room, I let out a shaky breath. The tension in my chest begins to ease, but the unease still clings to me. My fingers tighten around my notebook as I make my way back to my desk, replaying the conversation in my head. Why do men like Russel think they can get away with that? Why does it always feel like we have to navigate these minefields just to do our jobs?

I drop into my chair, rubbing my temples, trying to shake off the lingering discomfort. I need to focus, need to get back to work and stop letting this bother me. As hard as I try, it’s not Mr. Russel that keeps invading my thoughts—it’s Timur.

No matter how hard I try, I can’t stop thinking about him. How his hand felt when he touched me, the way his lips brushed against mine that night. It’s infuriating. I shouldn’t be thinking about him. I shouldn’t want to remember any of it. My body betrays me, sending shivers through me every time I recall the rough way he held me, the heat in his eyes.

I rub the back of my neck, trying to push the memories away, but they keep flooding back. The way his fingers traced down my skin. How he growled my name, pulling me closer, owning me like I was his to claim. I press my knees together, heat rising to my cheeks as I force myself to focus on the spreadsheet in front of me.

This isn’t helping. I need to get my mind off of him, off the way he made me feel like no one else ever has. Maybe it’s just the fact that I’ve never experienced anything like that before. Maybe it’s because he’s different from every other guy I’ve ever met. He’s intense, magnetic, impossible to ignore. And the fact that he acts like nothing can faze him only makes me want to understand him more.

I shake my head. It’s not happening. It was just one night, a mistake that I need to forget. But as much as I try, I can’t get Timur out of my head.

By the time the day ends, my mind is still spinning, torn between the stress of the work meeting and my thoughts of Timur. As I head home, I replay everything that happened, from Mr. Russel’s too-close comments to the way Timur looked at me when he dropped me off. He has this way of getting under my skin, and I hate that I let him.

When I finally get home, Maeve is sitting on the couch, watching TV. She glances up as I walk in, raising an eyebrow. “You look like you’ve had a day.”

“Understatement of the year,” I mutter, dropping my bag by the door and collapsing onto the couch next to her.

“Work stuff?” she asks, turning down the volume.

I nod, rubbing my temples again. “Yeah, and… other stuff.”

Maeve smirks. “Other stuff, huh? Does that ‘other stuff’ have anything to do with a certain sexy Russian?”

I groan, throwing a pillow at her. “Stop it. I don’t want to talk about him.”

“Sure you don’t,” she teases, but then her expression softens. “Seriously, though, what happened?”

I hesitate for a moment before letting out a sigh. “I don’t know. It’s just… he’s been on my mind. I can’t seem to shake it.”

Maeve grins. “That’s because you don’t want to shake it.”

“Maybe,” I admit, but it doesn’t change the fact that thinking about Timur only complicates things.

“I just don’t know what to do,” I finally admit, the words spilling out before I can stop them. Maeve looks at me, her expression softening as she notices the genuine worry etched across my face. We’re sitting on the couch, the weight of everything pressing down on me like a storm cloud that refuses to leave.

Maeve frowns. “What do you mean?”

I hesitate, swallowing hard, before whispering the words that have been haunting me. “I’m pregnant.”

Maeve’s eyes widen, and for a moment, she’s speechless. “What?” she finally blurts out, her voice a mix of surprise and concern. “Jennifer, are you serious?”

I nod, feeling the familiar knot in my stomach tighten. “Yeah… I found out a couple of weeks ago. I haven’t told anyone. Not even him.”

Maeve leans back against the couch, processing what I just told her. “You mean Timur?”

I nod again, biting my lip. “I don’t know if I should tell him. I mean, he has the right to know, doesn’t he? But at the same time… I don’t even know if I want him involved. He’s… complicated.”

Maeve shifts closer, taking my hand in hers. “This is huge, Jen. I can’t believe you’ve been going through this alone. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I guess I just didn’t want to deal with it. I didn’t want it to be real,” I confess, my voice small. “Timur… I don’t even know how he’d react. He’s not exactly the dad type, you know? He’s got his life, his business, and who knows what else.”

Maeve squeezes my hand gently. “I get it, but you can’t carry this on your own forever. It’s not fair to you or the baby. You need support, Jen. Whether you like it or not, Timur is part of that equation.”

Her words hit me harder than I expected, and I feel a lump form in my throat. “What if he doesn’t want anything to do with it? What if he just… walks away?”

Maeve gives me a determined look. “Then that’s on him. At least you’ll know you gave him the chance. You’re not doing anything wrong by telling him the truth. If he’s any kind of decent man, he’ll step up. You deserve to have someone by your side in this, Jen.”

I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of my decision press down on me even more.

I don’t know what to do.