"Travis and Becky don't need me to make up their mind for them about someone. And they do like you. It's obvious," Maxim muttered, surprising her. "That's the problem."
"I'm sorry? The problem? Why is that a … ?"
"Pint and Pitchers!" Travis broke in as he rejoined them. Savannah had been so preoccupied with Maxim that she hadn't even noticed the other man leave. That was Task Force 101: keeping an eye on every actor and variable. So much for checking her premises.
"Woohoo!" Rebecca cheered. Savannah summoned her concentration, and from the cage of Maxim's arms managed to offer a grin as well.
"How the hell did you manage that?" Maxim asked approvingly as Travis topped them all off from their personal pitcher.
"I may have told the owner I can get ahold of an old Ural for him," Travis confided, aiming a wink Savannah's way as he handed her a refreshed pint.
These people were likeable. Worst of all, Maxim was likeable, although she would never admit to the fact out loud. That was a dangerous character trait conspicuously missing from his file. He certainly knew how to turn the charm on when it served him-the only question was … how did a flirtation serve him now? Was it a means to her end, the one they were meant to be collaborating on, or did he have some more primitive purpose for letting his hands fall to her continuously that evening?
"Oh, Maxim! You've barely worked on your own!" Rebecca laughed, leapfrogging past Savannah's easel to look at Maxim's half-assed bowl of fruit. "Do you need someone to tell you what the colors on the pallet are? I can definitely tell you the banana isn't supposed to be black like this." Rebecca pointed, looking positively tickled, and Savannah craned to look.
"Why would he need someone to tell him what colors to use?" Savannah asked suspiciously. "Does he need someone to put the bumpers up for him during bowling as well?"
"Max is colorblind," Rebecca explained. "That's why he always wears black and white. Didn't he tell you?"
Savannah's eyebrows pulled together. "No. It didn't come up … in his dating profile, I mean." She cursed herself for the slow recovery. She felt Maxim's arms tighten around her shoulders and realized the Russian was embracing her in earnest from behind, almost leaning his weight against her. There was no way she was getting any painting done, much less drinking, with her arms pinned against her sides like this. She hated the feeling of helplessness, the inability to detach herself from the warm, solid presence holding her. It went against her every instinct to let herself be secured and protected. Her head spun at the invasion.
Maybe it was a good thing she couldn't drink. Maybe she shouldn't have helped herself to that last pint.
"If it wasn't obvious from the outset, I couldn't care less what my painting looks like. I'm taking artistic license, thanks," Maxim replied, looking surprisingly nonplussed by all the shit he was getting. He rested his chin atop her head, and Savannah wanted to head butt him hard enough to open up a whole new spectrum of color for the infuriating man.
"Just don't start taking artistic license with my bikes," Travis suggested as he stepped back to address his own bowl of fruit. Savannah thought the other man was taking it the most seriously of all of them. "You do a shit enough job as it is."
"Yeah, right. Then why don't you go hire somebody else?" Maxim asked him.
"Would if I wasn't so scared of you and your family," Travis muttered cryptically. "And anyway, Rebecca would leave me if I just cut you loose like that. I swear, sometimes I think you guys are still dating behind my back." Travis left to go coerce a closer look at one of the pieces of fruit from the instructor.
This was a lot of information to process. Savannah found herself drawn out of her strange contemplation of Maxim's secrets by two major revelations: one of them being that Travis, and likely Rebecca, knew about Maxim's past and familial ties to the Russian mafia, the second being that Maxim and Rebecca had actually dated. Her gaze moved to study the woman by Maxim's easel with renewed curiosity, but she could read nothing new in the receptionist's body language.
Was it possible Rebecca was jealous of Maxim's blossoming fake relationship with her? She didn't detect any trace of ill-feeling in the other woman, and Savannah prided herself in being an accomplished reader of others.
She seized her opportunity to find out more by following Maxim to the bathroom when the Russian excused himself. He drew the curtain to the back aside, and they reconvened in the hallway, stepping back into the comfortably-maintained distance of two relative strangers. Savannah crossed her arms and glared at him underneath the low back hallway lighting.