Russian Billionaire's Virgin Assistant

Gerald ignored the question. “What did you hope to achieve by coming here tonight, Maxim?”

“I needed you to know that I haven’t forgotten what you’ve done. I’ll never forget it.”

“You have resources,” he snorted. “You could’ve had this little chat at any point over the years. You didn’t have to take a shit on my daughter’s favorite holiday — or knock her up, for that matter.”

He could’ve hit me. I would’ve let him. But the man was oddly calm.

“I tried to put what happened between us behind me,” I said. “But it festered instead. I couldn’t forgive you, Gerald. You were like a father to me. Selling out like that and leaving the company fucked me up.”

“I saw something in you that scared me,” he said simply. “Yes, you were driven. But I could also see that you would do anything to get to where you wanted to be — whether it was right or wrong. That’s still true, isn’t it?”

“You know where I came from,” I said. “What I had to do to get out of it.”

“But now that you’re out, you can’t stop hurting other people — or yourself.” He puffed his cigar again, contemplative. “I ought to gut you for Ruth. How you used her.”

“You’d be within your rights,” I allowed.

“The thing is, she likes you, somehow. A lot. Loves you, even. And she’d be awfully pissed with me if I killed her boyfriend.”

“Thank you for thinking of her.”

“One of us has to.”

I winced. That one stung. “I do think about her. I can’t stop thinking about her. I had no idea she was — is — pregnant. That was an utter surprise.”

“For all of us,” Gerald said, nodding. “Life’s like that, though. Full of surprises.”

“I love her, you know.”

“I know.” He looked at me, his eyes a little too wet. “And I loved you like a son, back when we worked together. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for the way everything went down then. It’s just that she’s all I have now, Max. Don’t hurt her.”

“I already have, but I’ll never do it again,” I vowed. “I’m going to make it right.”

——-

Perhaps I had no right to be, but I was surprised all the same when Ruth didn’t show up at the office Monday morning. She didn’t return calls or texts. I understood why, but I couldn’t accept it. I left voicemails. Emails. Tried to give her space. But when Wednesday rolled around and I still hadn’t seen or heard from her, I took the next step: going to the condo.

“You have a lot of nerve showing up here like this,” Becca informed me, not bothering to invite me in — or open the door any wider than the crack through which she glared at me.

“I need to talk to her,” I said. “Is she here?”

“No. She’s not.” Becca raised her eyebrows at me. “Well? Is there something else you needed? Aren’t you busy running around and ruining people’s lives?”

“Ruth didn’t come to the office,” I said, not sure why I was telling Becca this. “And she’s not answering her phone.”

“Sounds like she doesn’t want to talk to you. Maybe you should back off.”

“That’s not an option.” I eyed the redhead. “Will you tell her that I was here looking for her? That she needs to talk to me?”

“I don’t know why I should.” She flicked her eyes up and down my body. “I don’t think you’ve done anything to deserve her.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” I laughed at her, not caring that it made me feel even more miserable.

“She’s my best friend,” Becca fired back. “I know exactly what you’re talking about — and how badly you’ve hurt her.”

“I fucked up.”

“Damn right you did.”