Russian Billionaire's Virgin Assistant

“Enough of this,” he said, his voice awkward and rough. “Zolotse? What is going on?”

“Don’t call me that,” I said, trying unsuccessfully to get out of the hug. “You don’t care about me unless we’re having sex.” The thought made me cry harder, and Maxim tightened his hold on me.

“That’s not true, Ruth. What has come over you?”

We were on the plush couch in the corner of his office before I knew what was happening — me more curled up on his lap than sitting next to him, Maxim stroking the tears from my cheeks as quickly as they fell. His brow was furrowed into a thundercloud above his stark eyes, and I realized I’d never seen him look worried before.

“I’ve just been feeling insecure lately,” I said, Maxim stopping me from wiping my nose on my sleeve with a quickly placed handkerchief. “Thanks. That’s — really nice of you.” His concern for me set off a fresh batch of tears that was even more of a deluge than before, when he was pissing me off.

“Ah, Ruth,” he murmured, rocking me in his arms. Apparently giving up on trying to talk me out of my crying, he hummed a tune softly, almost under his breath, dabbing my cheeks and nose with the handkerchief he’d given me. I didn’t even want to think about the mess I’d made of my makeup, but it didn’t seem to faze Maxim.

I tried to slow my breathing to hear what he was humming. It was nothing like I’d ever heard before, and when I calmed, he softly sang the words for me in Russian. He had a good voice — soothing, at least. He sang it through twice before we both realized I’d stopped crying.

“What was that?” I asked him.

He shrugged. “Just something my mother used to sing to me. She died just after Lex was born, but I can still remember that song.”

“It’s beautiful.” I realized that I didn’t know anything about Maxim beyond what he allowed to be published about him in magazines and newspapers and industry journals. And he never talked about his childhood. “What about your father?”

“Wasn’t in the picture.” Maxim had stopped rocking me in favor of smoothing my hair back from my forehead. “Lex and I grew up in orphanages until they couldn’t hold us anymore. Then, we grew up on the streets.”

“That’s terrible, Max.”

“We had each other. It wasn’t so bad. Alone, I don’t know what would’ve happened. Nothing good, probably. But looking after my brother made me push myself to become better. If I didn’t have him, there wouldn’t have been a Volkov Telecom.” He snorted a laugh. “You know, he told me a while back that he actually missed those days — committing petty crimes and just barely getting by. That idiot can go wherever he wants in this fucking world and he wants to go back to our childhood on the streets of Moscow.”

“Sounds like he just wants to be closer to you again,” I said.

“Hm.” Maxim loosened his grip on me and tilted my chin up with his finger. I tried to shy away from him, wary of my blotchy face and puffy eyes, but he didn’t allow it. “Now. Are you done with your ridiculous tears?”

“I guess so.” I still didn’t know what had come over me. Sure, I’d always felt insecure about all the things Maxim was doing for me outside of the internship, but that wasn’t something I’d cry about. Lately, I just hadn’t felt like myself.

“If you promise me you won’t cry anymore, I promise you I won’t give you any more shit about your Thanksgiving break.”

“You mean I can have the week off?” When he nodded, I threw my arms around him. “Thank you. It would’ve broken my dad’s heart if I couldn’t make it. Thanksgiving has always been our little tradition.”

Maxim’s mouth twisted, but he didn’t insult me. “It’s nice to have family. And traditions.”

“Things you can always count on,” I agreed.

“Let me dispel some things that you said earlier.” Maxim gave my hair one last stroke before scooting back from me on the couch and leveling a look at me. “We’ve already been over the dresses. They’re custom made, and they can’t be returned. They’re yours.”

“Max, I know. I—”

He held up a finger. “Let me finish. The perfume is obviously yours. And the internship is yours — you won it, fair and square. I don’t think you can quite grasp what it means to be a billionaire, so I want to enlighten you. I can buy virtually whatever I want. When I want someone to have something, I buy it. That condo? I bought it. If you and your roommate want to live in it until you’re old ladies, you can. If you want to move out at the end of the semester, you can. I want you to keep the driver. It’s safer than public transit — and more convenient.”

“I don’t know what to say,” I said, stunned and moved all at once.

“If you start crying again, you can’t go to Thanksgiving,” he warned me, the twinkle in his blue eyes undermining his stern expression. “As it is, you ruined my handkerchief, and you’re going to have to do something for me to pay me back.”

“I’ll get you a new handkerchief.”

“This is a pricey one. You can’t afford it.” He gave me a small smile — so different from his wolf grin and his smirk that it actually took my breath away. “You have to come over to my house and let me make all of this up to you.”

“Your house? What exactly do you have in mind?”

That damn smirk again. “You’ll see. I’ll send over a dress.”

“Max! No more dresses!”