(An interview for AR Businessmen Magazine)
"My name is Leonid Belov."
(Interviewer: We heard you returned from your Europe trip just three hours ago, sir. Is there a problem?)
Leonid smiled,not warmly.
"No. Europe is predictable."
(Interviewer: May we ask why you cut the trip short?)
"Personal matters."
He glanced briefly at his assistant. The entire room understood the warning.
"I will only be answering business-related questions."
(Interviewer: Of course, sir. Then,what does business mean to you?)
Leonid leaned back.
"People," he said calmly.
"Business is understanding people well enough to solve their problems before they realize they have them,while ensuring profit, influence, and continuity."
Silence.
(Interviewer: Is there a plan to…)
The question dissolved as Leonid stood.
_
(Leonid POV)
I leave places before they learn how to look at me properly.
Attention is never admiration. It's curiosity first, entitlement later.
I do not allow either.
People call me arrogant. They're free to misunderstand me.
I prefer efficiency to explanation.
That night, I wanted anonymity. Something uncomplicated.
I changed into something comfortable, drove without direction, and stopped at a small bar in Patriach ponds quiet, forgettable, beneath notice.Or so I thought.
The place was almost empty. Disappointing.
I approached the bar anyway.
He was cleaning. Slow. Distracted. Like someone unaccustomed to being rushed.
I ordered whiskey.Straight.
He turned.
People usually stare. Men. Women. Everyone does eventually.
But his pause was not hunger or ambition.
It was recognition.That unsettled me.
He poured the drink quickly, like his hands knew what they were doing even if his mind didn't. Still, his eyes kept returning to me. Not boldly. Not nervously.
Carefully.
I drank. I Let the silence stretch.
Silence tells you more about people than conversations ever will.
I caught him stealing glances. I returned them.
Brief. Controlled.
There was something in the way he watched me,like he was trying not to.
Like restraint was a skill he'd learned too late.
I finished the whiskey. Paid. Said nothing.
My phone buzzed. A message from my Assistant,I smiled before I could stop myself.
When I looked up again, his eyes were on my mouth.
I nodded once.
I Left.
⸻
(Maksim pov)
It is disturbing how easily a random stranger can occupy your mind.
Life is already heavy enough. I didn't need this
I Didn't need him.
He could be straight. Married. Untouchable.
When he left, my coworkers descended on me, laughing, whispering, shaking me like I'd missed something obvious.
Apparently, I had
They told me his name like it was legend,told me his family moved money the way governments move borders. Quietly. Permanently.Political history. Cultural influence. Loyalty bought and buried deep.
"He's basically royalty," one of them said.
I laughed it off.
I didn't sleep.
A week passed. Then another.
He stayed. He stayed on my mind.
There was nothing about his private life anywhere. No scandals. No lovers. No careless photos. His social media read like a quarterly report or a business magazine
That kind of privacy isn't normal.
It's deliberate.
It bothered me more than it should have.
One night, a commercial played,while I was cleaning.
The voice stopped me cold.
"Whiskey. Straight."
His voice.
His shoulders in that coat came back to me. The way he stood too close to nothing. The way it felt like the room had bent around him.
I exhaled sharply.
What is wrong with me?
This is ridiculous. Pathetic.
I don't obsess over men who don't even know my name.
And yet
I poured the drink.
The glass felt heavier than it should have.
I told myself it was habit. A Muscle memory. A reflex built from too many nights and too many strangers who wanted the same thing done the same way.
Still, I lined the glass carefully. Adjusted it. Made sure it was perfect.
No one came to claim it.
I left it there longer than necessary, pretending to wipe the counter while my eyes kept drifting back to it. The amber caught the light differently when it sat untouched. Accusatory, somehow.
I shook my head and finally slid it aside.
This meant nothing.
People pass through. Faces blur. Moments dissolve. That's how bars work. That's how life works when you stay behind the counter long enough.
And yet, every time the door opened, my chest tightened before I could stop it.
A laugh from the back room snapped me out of it. I returned to my tasks. Counted bottles. Checked inventory. Did everything that required my hands but not my thoughts.
It didn't help.
When my shift ended, I locked up in silence.
On the walk home, I caught my reflection in a darkened window and barely recognized the expression on my face.
Anticipation didn't suit me.
I slept poorly again.