The Master (The Game Maker #2)(98)

I’d finally learned how the man had discovered my hidden “safe.” The perv had secretly filmed me and other female residents.

But the strangest thing had happened—Shadwell had . . . disappeared. Never to be seen again! I’d asked Vasili if he knew anything about this. The man had said, “Al-ee-gahtor accident?”

Now the name of the game for that apartment complex was repairs. We planned to turn it into the neighborhood’s oasis. Already people’s lives were so much better.

In the meantime, Máxim and I eyed our next acquisition. We’d been working together every day, plotting to take over Miami. As we read reports and evaluated holdings, the dogs lazed at our feet.

He and I took plenty of time off for cafecitos, and each night we jogged and cooked. On weekends, we’d go boating, exploring islands and keys. Often he would use persuasion to make me shop. Well, when the vendors just showed up, I guessed I could.

For my birthday, we’d visited Martinez Beach and my childhood home. It’d been emotional, but I’d gotten excited when Máxim found an architect—who could actually take that one room off the house. Why the hell not?

I thought my dad would’ve liked Máxim. Would my mother? I didn’t know; it didn’t matter. Though Máxim’s endowment to my college in her name couldn’t have hurt things. . . .

Shortly after our move to the island, he’d made a formal proposal (with an obscenely large marquise-cut diamond ring). I’d asked him to give me more time. True to his word, he’d proposed every week.

He’d asked again yesterday.

I glanced from behind the curtain at my Russian. His gaze found and locked on mine. Look at him. I sighed.

Only one more person was left before the dean called my name! I blew Máxim a kiss, then ducked back behind the curtain. With a grin, I peeled off the cover I’d affixed to my graduation cap, revealing the hidden message I’d written. I would tip it to Máxim, make the man’s day and all.

“Ana-Lucía ‘Cat’ Martinez. Summa Cum Laude.”

As I strode across the stage, I canted my head so my Russian could read . . .