Chapter 28 Rae
RAE
IT OVERRIDE REQUEST
Submitted by: L. Lazarev (ADMIN)
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Status: EXECUTED
The roof access door booms shut behind Kir. He’s gone.
I sink back down and claim his vacant seat, with my feet hanging over the edge of oblivion.
Pavement looks up at me hungrily from fifty-something stories below.
Up here, though, it’s just me and the birds and the merciless wind.
It’s carving right through my blouse and my skin.
My teeth are chattering, but I stay put.
This feels like a decent place to sort my thoughts out.
Or to try to, at least. But no matter how hard my overworked little brain tries to process everything, it just isn’t working.
Maybe it’s because of how fast everything has changed. Two weeks ago, I was just Rae Everett. Executive assistant, orphan, big sister, virgin. Nobody special. Hardly worth noticing.
Then Kir cornered me at my desk. His hands went places they shouldn’t. He whispered things that made my skin crawl. And before I could figure out how to make him stop, his father appeared out of nowhere and made things that much crazier.
Two weeks ago—to me, at least—he was just Lukas Lazarev. Chairman of Lazarev Global. Billionaire. Widower. An enigma, as remote and distant as a mountain.
Now, I might have to add…
… Murderer?
I wrap my arms around myself. The cold is seeping into my bones now.
In those two measly weeks, Lukas has given me a whole United Nations’ worth of red flags.
He transferred me to his floor: red flag.
Gave me a raise that matched Gideon’s rehab costs down to the penny: a very creepy, invasive red flag.
He knew things about me he shouldn’t know. My brother’s treatment. My bank account. My bust, hip, and waist size: red, red, super-duper red.
Then, speaking of red, he twisted my arm into getting dolled up to his red-hued specifications, then had the gall to treat me like utter trash in front of everyone who’s ever been anyone in New York City.
To buy me like that… from under his own son’s nose, no less, when Kir was just trying to protect me… I shudder. Every time I close my eyes, I still see that spotlight’s glare and the horde of people calling out numbers, each bigger than the last, and I feel that hot sting of shame.
Five million dollars.
The bidding is over.
The girl belongs to me.
If that was the end of it, it still would have been a lot.
But it wasn’t the end. Not even a little bit.
Once he’d finished humiliating me in front of everyone in the five boroughs, he’d dragged me off that stage, shoved me in a car, put his hand where it did not belong, and reprimanded me for—*checks notes*—not wearing the panties he prefers?!?!
All that from a man who, it has now been all but confirmed, killed his wife. Talk about focusing on the speck in my eye instead of the log in his.
Yet that didn’t stop him from throwing in a bonus threat, like a baker’s dozenth in the night’s red flags.
Next time you receive instructions from me, you will follow them to the letter…
… or you might find yourself at the next gala wearing nothing at all.
I feel weak. I feel woozy. I feel very, very unwell.
And I think I know why.
It’s because despite all of it… despite all of that ghastly, nightmarish awfulness…
… when I think of Lukas Lazarev…
… I still get wet.
That’s how I know I’m as depraved as he is.
I stay on the roof until I can’t feel my face anymore. That’s nice, because it means I can’t feel my feelings anymore, either. It’s weirdly calming to recede into ice-cold nothingness. Like a guided meditation led by Frosty the Snowman.
But eventually, I have to drag myself back inside.
The stairwell is warm. My skin prickles as feeling returns to my extremities. Luckily for me, some shred of the calm remains.
By the time I reach the fiftieth floor, I’ve almost convinced myself I can get through the rest of the day. Just a few more hours. Then I can go home, crawl into bed, and pretend none of this is happening as I hibernate through the most deserved weekend in the history of weekends.
Back at my desk, I sit down, pull my chair in, and try to focus.
But when I shake the mouse, my computer doesn’t wake up the way it’s supposed to. I tap the keyboard. Nothing. I jiggle the mouse again. Nope.
The screen stays dark for three long seconds. Four. Five.
Then it blinks back to life.
But instead of my desktop, there’s only one thing on the screen. White text on black background.
It’s time to collect on the evening you owe me.
Come downstairs.
The car is waiting.
My heart stops and restarts several times in the span of a minute.
I look around, wondering if I’m being pranked. But the only other person who works on this floor is Lukas, so who would even be pranking me?
The lights are normal. The air conditioning hums. Everything is just as it should be.
… Except for the message on my screen.
What I’d like to do most of all is quietly reach down, unplug the computer, and then launch it off the roof for good measure. That’s the appropriate response to something this depraved. Whatever Lukas Lazarev is collecting me for, it can’t be good.
But he knows he has me.
Because he has Gideon.
That’s what it all comes down to, at the end of the day. Gideon is fifty-three thousand dollars away from finally getting this heroin monkey off his back, and I can’t be the selfish sister who damns him to a lifetime of addiction just because I’m afraid of my boss.
Even if I really did think Lukas was going to do something sick, I’d still go through with it—because Gideon deserves that.
And also because a big part of the reason he’s in this mess in the first place is my fault. I still remember that night, my phone buzzing, grunting Tyler, the texts, the calls, so many calls… My fault. It’s all my fault.
I shake my head. Kir can give me all the warnings about Lukas that he has breath for, and it won’t change anything.
It’s math, isn’t it? Gideon deserves good things.
I deserve bad ones. So if going downstairs to meet Lukas and follow him down the rabbit hole to hell means that both Gideon and I get what we deserve, well, then, two plus two is four, and all is right in the world. All is fair.
It occurs to me, as I ready my belongings, that this is all a very neat and martyr-like explanation for why I’m doing what I’m doing. Aren’t I so brave, charging off into oblivion for my brother’s sake? Aren’t I noble?
But it’s not just for his sake, is it? sneers an all-knowing voice in my head. Even if Gideon were nothing but a dream, you’d go. You want to go. Not for your brother—for yourself.
That small, hot, insistent voice keeps crowing in the back of my mind no matter how hard I try to stamp it out. It sounds almost like Lukas whispering to me from inside his office.
Your skin is hot and flushed, Rae. Your pupils are dilated and—oh, is that excitement I sense? Adrenaline surging, nipples puckering?
You’re not afraid of the dark, sweetheart.
You’re hooked on it.
I shove that down. This is about Gideon, nothing more. It has to be.
So, with my mind made up, I rise to my feet and shoulder my bag. As I do, the first message goes away and a new one appears. The only thing that surprises me about it is how unsurprised I am.
Good girl.
I’ll see you soon.