Three rules of working for Maxim :
The first thing is not to be late. He’s counting the seconds. Literally.
The second thing is not to argue. He’s always right. Even when it’s not.
The third thing is not to fall in love. It’s written in the contract. In black and white.
I broke all three in the first month.
He’s domineering and insufferable. A man who buys companies between breakfast and lunch and breaks other people’s destinies with a single call.
He doesn’t have a heart, or so everyone says.
But I saw his fingers tremble when he touched my cheek.
He looks at me like he’s already decided I belong to him.
And the worst part is that I’m starting to want it myself.
He has his own demons. I have my own.
And there’s a woman who’s ready to bring them out into the light to destroy us both.
The Prologue
Three months later
My phone is ringing off the hook. The screen shows the same name โ “Editorial Office”. I turn off the sound and look at the main news of the day in the gossip column.
The photo is crisp, flawlessly sharp. We have. Restaurant “Moscow”. His hand on my waist is not the usual cavalier gesture, but an almost intimate gesture of possession. My face is turned towards him, and there is an expression on my lips that cannot be called either a smile or a fright. It’s something in between. A shock bordering on surrender.
The bold headline reads: “Voronov and his new passion: personal assistant or personal interest? The billionaire is breaking his own rules.”
The subtitle is even more poisonous: “Ekaterina Smirnova: the girl who conquered the most private bachelor in the country?”
I feel my legs give out. It’s not just a leak. It’s an explosion. Exactly what he was so afraid of. Exactly what that contract was supposed to protect us from.
The door of his office, where I am now, swings open. He’s coming in. It doesn’t go, but bursts in like a thunderstorm. There is no rage or panic on his face. Only absolute emptiness. It’s a thousand times scarier.
He throws a tablet with the same picture on my desk.
“Explain.”
One word. It cuts like a piece of glass.
“I do not know who did this,” my voice sounds strange, strangled. “We were careful.
โCareful?” He pronounces the word with such contempt that I want to disappear. โ We were photographed five meters from the entrance, Katya. You were walking with your face buried in your phone. You didn’t even notice the paparazzi.
“Have you noticed?” Desperation gives rise to audacity. โ You’re always in control of everything! Why didn’t you prevent it?
He takes a step forward. There are centimeters between us now. I can feel the heat coming from his body and the coldness in his eyes. The paradox that has driven me crazy these months.
โBecause I’ve been busy with you,โ he says softly, and there’s a deadly danger in that silence. โBecause you made me forget the rules.” Including my own.
Something breaks in my chest. I understand what he’s getting at. To break up. By the end.
“So it’s my fault?” I whisper.
โ In business, they don’t look for the guilty. They are looking for those responsible. I am responsible for this scandal. And I will eliminate the consequences as I see fit.
“How?” I ask, already knowing the answer. Knowing and not believing.
He looks out the window at his city, which is probably chewing on this story right now.
โ Starting from Monday, you are no longer working for the company. The contract is terminated. According to the article on violation of confidentiality and ethics.
The words fall like stones. Everyone strikes their own blow. But the scariest thing is not getting fired. The scariest thing is the way he says it. Without hesitation. It’s like another business operation.
“And… us?” โ it escapes me, the last hope of a fool who still believes in fairy tales.
He slowly turns his head towards me. For the first time, I see something like pain in his gray eyes, not cold. Or is it just my imagination?
โ There was no “we”, Ekaterina. There was a mistake. My. And now I’m correcting it.
He turns around and walks away. The door closes behind him with a soft click. The loudest quiet sound in my life.
I’m left alone in the middle of his immaculate office. Our photo is still lit on the tablet screen. The one where I look at him like he’s my whole world.
It is at this moment, when everything is falling apart, that the terrible, ridiculous, irreparable truth dawns on me.
I love him.
I love the one who just cut me out of his life with one cold-blooded verdict.
But it all started quite differently. With hate. From the struggle. Forty-seven seconds lateโฆ
Chapter 1. Forty-seven seconds
Maxim Voronov’s office on the thirty-second floor of the “Federation” tower was created to inspire awe. Or the desire to jump down, saving time. The glass walls made Moscow look like a toy, the black lacquered table, and the oppressive silence, broken only by the soft hum of the air conditioner.
I’m twenty-four, I’m wearing my best business suit, and I’m trying not to fidget in the cold leather chair. I was here on a call. After weeks of unrequited resume mailings, it seemed like a miracle in itself. Even if it was for the position of personal assistant to a man about whom there were legends on the web, more like horror stories.
He didn’t come in through the door they let me in through.
He materialized from a hidden door in the wall, like a vampire from his chambers. The effect was one hundred percent. My heart leapt into my throat and stopped there.
Maxim Voronov. Thirty seven. The Forbes photos weren’t lying, but they weren’t telling the truth either. They conveyed graphic features โ sharp, almost aggressively beautiful, but missed the main thing โ energy. Cold, concentrated, almost physically oppressive. He was wearing a black shirt with the collar open, without a jacket. His gray eyes fell on me, and I felt like a specimen under a microscope, uninteresting but demanding analysis.
โEkaterina Sergeevna,โ his voice was low, velvety, and that made it even more dangerous. “You’re late.”
I blinked at him. “Excuse me?” My secretary received me at ten o’clock sharp.
โ My time, โ he slowly walked over to his desk, but did not sit down, โ is calculated from the moment when you passed through the turnstiles in the lobby. You stopped at the reception desk for seven seconds to fix a lock of hair in the mirror. The elevator was traveling three seconds longer than the average. And you slowed down as you approached the door of my waiting room. That’s fortyโseven seconds of pure time that you stole from me.
Something clicked in my head. Fear began to slowly melt into rage. I didn’t sleep half the night preparing for this interview, drove half the city, and he was counting the seconds?
“In that case, I suggest we subtract these fortyโseven seconds from the time of our conversation,” I said, and I was surprised at my own audacity. โ To restore justice.
His eyebrow rose almost imperceptibly. Not a surprise. The interest of a predator that smells unusual prey.
โ Boldly. Usually people start apologizing. Sit down.
I sat down. He finally sat down in his throne chair and opened the folder with my resume. Without looking at her, he asked:
โ Why did you leave Kolesnikov? You had a good project.
My stomach tightened. Evgeny Kolesnikov, my former boss, who decided that the position of head of the department could be paid for not only with money. I braced myself.
โ We had a disagreement about corporate ethics.
โ More specifically.
โ He believed that career advancement should be discussed in his apartment. I’m just in my office. My position has not found support.
Voronov leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. His gaze became intense.
โAnd you just left.” Didn’t you try to fight, complain?
โ Fighting windmills is not my specialty. I prefer to spend my energy on something that can bring results.
โ It’s pragmatic. And cynical. He paused. โ Do you know why I need a personal assistant?
โ To save your time. Which, as I understand it, is calculated to the nearest second.
โNo,โ he interrupted sharply. โ To be my continuation. With my eyes, ears, and sometimes with my voice. To anticipate needs before I voice them. To be a flawless, emotionless and absolutely reliable tool. Are you capable of this, Ekaterina Sergeevna? You, who left because her principles hurt?
The question hung in the air, razor-sharp. I looked at him, this arrogant, insufferable man who bought and sold entire companies between breakfast and lunch. Desperation (I desperately needed a job) and wild, irrational pride were fighting in me.
“I’m capable of being a professional,” I said clearly. โ But not with a tool. The instrument has no brain. I have it. And I won’t stay silent if I see a mistake. Even yours.
Silence. He looked at me as if he had never seen me before. Then something remotely resembling a smile touched his lips.
- OK. The salary is twenty percent higher than you indicated in your expectations. The probation period is one month. You are responsible for my schedule, filtering information, and running errands. Your working day ends when I let you go. You are in touch 24/7. No personal relationships with colleagues, much less with me. This is spelled out in a separate clause of the confidentiality agreement. Violation โ instant dismissal without severance pay. Do you agree?
The numbers he mentioned made my mind hiss briefly. That was the way out. Salvation for me and for Mom.
I took a deep breath.
โAnd if I have a question?” For work.
โ Ask me. But be prepared that you may not like the answer.
I nodded.
“Then I agree.”
โ great. Tomorrow at seven fifty-five. Not at eight. We have our first meeting at eight. And you’ll have to make me some coffee. Black. The temperature is eightyโfive degrees.
He stood up, indicating that the conversation was over. I stood up, feeling my knees shaking, now from adrenaline.
โ Maxim Andreevich?
He looked at me.
“Those fortyโseven secondsโฆ Do you really calculate them for all candidates?
There was a sparkle in his eyes. Not malice. Rather, a gloomy pleasure.
โ No, Ekaterina Sergeevna. Only for those in whom I see potential. To make it clear right away, there is no place for negligence here. Nothing.
When I went outside, I was trembling. Out of fear? Out of anger? From a strange, nerve-tingling excitement?
I just signed a contract with a man who was worth running from. The most beautiful, most dangerous, and most insanely attractive devil in the entire financial district.
And the worst part was that part of me was already looking forward to tomorrow.
Chapter 2. Coffee, Contract and cold settlement
My new office was the size of a closet, but with a glass wall facing directly into his lair. The blinds were controlled only from his side. I felt like a fish in an aquarium, visible from all sides, with nowhere to run.
At exactly 7:55 a.m., I put a cup of coffee on his desk. It’s exactly 85 degrees, according to the kitchen thermometer I bought in a panic last night.
“Honey,” she drawled, and there was a false note of concern in her voice. โ Hold on. It’s not easy with Maxim. He’s… complicated. Especially after he burns out in a relationship. Like with me, for example.
She spoke loudly so that everyone could hear. Several employees at nearby desks froze, pretending not to listen.
โBut I see you’re doing well.” Although,” her eyes slid appreciatively over my modest suit, “you should have been a little… brighter.” Men love it when their woman gets attention.
“I’m not his woman,โ I replied coldly. โ I’m his employee.
Olga laughed, a short, sarcastic laugh.
โ Honey, all his employees become his women at some point. They don’t bother you yet. Or until they start wanting too much. She leaned towards me, lowering her voice to an intimate whisper, which, however, was perfectly audible. โ Advice from an ex-fiancee: don’t believe his fairy tales about the future. He doesn’t know how to love. He only knows how to own. And when he’s done playing, he’ll throw it away. How he threw me out a month before the wedding.
Bride. The word hung in the air, heavy and venomous. My breath caught in my throat. Was he engaged? With this… woman?
Olga straightened up, watching the effect of her words with satisfaction.
“Best of luck, sweetheart.” Try to hold out longer than me.
She turned around and left, leaving behind confusion and a buzz of whispers.
I sat speechless, staring into the void. Bride. He was going to get married. And he quit. Why? What did she do? Or… what did he do?
A message popped up in the chat:
Mikhail Voronov: Come in.
My legs felt like jelly. I went into his office. He was standing by the window, with his back to me.
“Close the door,โ he said softly.
I closed it.
โ What did Olga tell you? “What is it?” he asked without turning around.
“That she was your fiancee.” And that you left her a month before the wedding.
He whirled around. Emotions were raging on his face: anger, shame, annoyance.
โ And you, of course, believed it.
“Is that not true?”
He froze. The fingers of his hand curled into a fist.
“That’s… an oversimplification.
“Then make it more complicated,โ I suddenly demanded. “I have a right to know what kind of trouble I’m in.”
He gave me a long look.
โ You didn’t “get involved” in anything. There’s nothing between us.
“You’re lying,โ I blurted out. โ And you know it. And she sensed it. That’s why I came. Is she following you?
He turned away, ran a hand over his face. There was such helpless weariness in that gesture that my anger subsided.
โOlga…โ he began, then paused, choosing his words. “She was a mistake. I was arrogant, stupid, and thought a marriage of convenience was a good idea. She had connections, I had ambitions. But the closer the date got, the more I realized that I couldn’t stand it. She was… possessive. It required total control. Over my time, my thoughts, my life. Like my father. I couldn’t repeat it. I couldn’t let anyone try to break and remake me again.
He turned around, and in his eyes I saw the echoes of that old pain.
“I broke off the engagement. It was a scandal. She didn’t forgive. And since then, he has appeared from time to time to remind me what a scoundrel I am. And, apparently, to poison the lives of those who are next to me.
His explanation was a relief, but not a complete one. There was truth in it, but not all of it.
“Why didn’t you tell me you had a fiancee?”
โ Because it has nothing to do with work! โ He burst out. โ Because my personal life is my problem! And because…” he paused again, struggling to find the words, “because I didn’t want you to look at me like a monster who ruins lives.”
He called me “you.” Consciously. And there was a hint of insecurity in his voice that he had been hiding so carefully.
“I don’t think you’re a monster,โ I said softly.
“Then you don’t know people very well,โ he smiled bitterly. โ Olga is not the only one whom I have hurt. And not the last one. I… I don’t know how to be different, Katya. I’m breaking it. That’s all my father taught me.
He came closer. There were only a few steps between us now.
“That’s why I pushed you away. Not because of the contract. Out of fear. I see the way you look at me. Hopefully. And I… I don’t want to see the disappointment in your eyes when you realize who I really am. When I fail to meet expectations again.
His confession stunned me with its frankness. He wasn’t just afraid of intimacy. He was afraid of not making excuses. I was afraid to destroy what could have been good. How he ruined it with Olga. As he probably had before.
“You didn’t give me a chance to decide for myself,” I said. โ You decided for me. How your father decided for you.
He flinched as if I’d hit him. His eyes widened.
- what?
โ You are afraid to become like him. But by pushing everyone away so as not to cause pain, you’re doing exactly the same thingโyou’re depriving people of a choice. You deprive them of the opportunity to decide whether they are ready to receive you with all your luggage.
He was looking at me, and there was a dazed look in his eyes, as if he was seeing himself from the outside for the first time.
โYou…” he didn’t finish. He just stood there, breathing raggedly.
At that moment, his phone on the table vibrated. He glanced at the screen automatically, and his face contorted. He picked up the phone.
- Yes?ย His voice was businesslike again, but there was tension underneath.ย “When?”.. Damn. Clear. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.
He hung up the phone.
โ The crisis at the construction site of the new complex. Human injury. The press has already been informed. I have to go now.
“I’m with you,โ I said without hesitation.
- no. It’s not yours.โฆ
“I’m your assistant,โ I interrupted. โ And if it’s a crisis, you’ll need someone to handle logistics, respond to requests, and filter information. I can do it.
He looked at me, and there was something like… appreciation in his eyes.
- OK. But be prepared for a tough conversation. And to the press. Olga may have been just the beginning. Scandals are attracted to each other.
We left the office together. He was standing next to me in the elevator, and our reflection in the mirrored walls looked like a union. A fragile, cracked union.
The car was speeding through the city. He was looking out the window, his face was focused.
“Katya,” he said suddenly, without looking at me. – thanks. For what’s in there, in the office. You said something that no one dared to tell me. Even me.
I nodded, unable to speak. We were heading towards a new scandal. But for the first time in days, there was no wall between us. There was a fragile, tenuous bond. And the realization that our demonsโhis father, my fears, his exโfiancee-have already come to light. And now we have to deal with them.
Together.
Chapter 11. Fire and Ice
The construction site of the “Voronov Heights” residential complex resembled a disturbed anthill. The flashing lights of ambulances and police cars cast alarming reflections on the gray concrete of unfinished buildings. The air was filled with dust, tension, and the hum of voices.
Voronov got out of the car without waiting for the driver to open the door. His appearance acted like a whip โ the noise instantly subsided, people parted. He walked with a quick, confident step towards a group of people in hard hats and white shirts โ the management of the contractor and his project managers. I could barely keep up with him, feeling curious and judgmental stares on me.
“What happened?” His voice rose above all other sounds.
โMaxim Andreevich,” a grayโhaired man with a face distorted with concern spoke up. โ Falling from the scaffolding on the third floor. One worker. He did not lose consciousness, but suspected a spinal fracture. They were taken to the Sklifosovsky Research Institute.
โ The reasons?
โ Preliminary โ violation of safety regulations. He wasn’t wearing a seat belt. But, Maxim Andreevich, this isโฆ
“I’m not interested in the buts,โ Voronov said coldly. โ Who is responsible for this site? Where is the master? Where is the TB engineer?
His questions came like bullets. He demanded names, reports, diagrams. He was in his elementโcrisis-prone, tough, unemotional. But I could see how tense his jaw was, how his pulse was racing in his neck. He took on the whole burden of responsibility, and he pushed.
An excited girl from the PR department came up to me.
โ Ekaterina, the press is already here. Journalists from “”Business view”” and “RBC”. They want a comment from Voronov. And…” she lowered her voice, โsomeone has already managed to post a photo of the victim and a screaming headline in the telegram channel: “Did Voronov’s greed cost a man his health?”
โOh my God,โ I breathed. โ Take the journalists to the office trailer. Tell them that Maxim Andreevich will give a comment after he understands the situation. No “no comments”, it will cause even more suspicion. Offer them coffee, connect to Wi-Fi. And find out who posted the photo. Quickly.
The girl nodded and rushed to do it. I felt strangely calm. The panic receded, giving way to a clear, almost machine-like algorithm of actions. I became his rear. What it was supposed to be.
Voronov, having finished his discussion with the engineers, turned around, looking for me. I walked over.
โ The press is in the trailer. Waiting for a comment. Photos and accusations of negligence have already surfaced in the telegram.
โIdiots,โ he hissed. โ good. Let’s go. You’ll be with me.
It was the first time I’d called him by his first name here, in front of everyone, but it seemed appropriate now. โ It’s not just necessary to give a comment. You need to show that you are in control of the situation. That the company assumes full responsibility and assistance to the victim and his family. We need a human approach, not just unsubscription.
He looked at me, and there was something like respect in his eyes.
“You’re right. Let’s do this. Give me a minute.
He stepped aside to make some calls. “”””I heard excerpts: “…the best doctors, everything is at our expense…”, “… to pay compensation to the family immediately…”, “… to conduct an unscheduled briefing at all facilities…”.
Then he came back to me, straightened his tie, which wasn’t really thereโhe was wearing an open-necked shirt.
“Come on.”
The cramped trailer smelled of coffee and tension. Two journalists, a man and a woman, immediately aimed their dictaphones and camera at him.
โ Maxim Andreevich, how would you comment on what happened? Is this a security violation or a system problem in your company?