16. Lena
CHAPTER 16
Lena
I honestly thought I wouldn’t be able to sleep, but as soon as I stepped into the oversized hotel suite that’s two times the size of my apartment and found the bed, I passed out. The sheets and blankets are divine and probably cost the same amount as all the furniture destroyed in my apartment.
I ordered room service twice. Because why the fuck not. This shit didn’t start happening until Alek rocked up in my life, so why not take advantage of this moment? I’m searching through the multiple outfits that were delivered. Apparently, I can choose any of them I want, as they’re mine now.
Whatever the fuck that means.
My mouth gaped at the expensive price tags, but the one I was most inclined toward was a loose yellow dress. I’m under no illusion that Alek picked these out himself, because if he had, they’d all only come in one color. Black.
Whoever chose them has some serious style.
Looking at all this nice stuff, I contemplate setting my apartment on fire.
But then I remember I don’t have insurance.
This is the lifestyle I’ve dreamed of. Well, sort of.
I want to see how far I can make it with my singing. I want to make it to Broadway and thrive there until I settle down and have a family.
A knock on the door rattles me, and I whip my head in its direction.
My heart is pounding. I know it’s probably Alek, but I can’t help the paranoia that causes me to hesitate. I know it’s Cinita they’re all after. Whoever “they” are.
If it was someone else, surely they wouldn’t knock, right? I grab a glass vase just in case, and pull the door open. Standing there is the redheaded lady from the auction. What was her name again? Anya? I think so. She has on a tight black dress, with red heels to match her fiery red hair that’s pulled back in a ponytail. Her emerald-green eyes look me up and down.
“Why is my brother wanting to help you?” Those are the first words to leave her mouth.
“Umm.”
“Umm is not a word,” she snaps. Fuck, she’s brutal.
“Your brother, Alek?” She looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. “He didn’t help me. In fact, he kidnapped me, tried to make me get out of the car under a scary bridge, then made me stay at his house,” I tell her. Her gaze falls to the vase in my hand.
“Do you plan to hit me with it?” she asks.
“Do you plan to hit me?” I ask back. “Because if so, then, yes, I will hit you with it.”
“And are you on drugs or potentially have a complex where you have to please men?”
“A complex?” I ask, then it dawns on me. “Oh, you mean like Cinita.” That makes sense. She does have that.
“Do you know Cinita well?” she questions as her gaze narrows, and I can tell she is not very well-liked.
“Not well enough for our association to be the reason my apartment looks like a bomb hit it,” I mumble, feeling deflated. “Maybe I should’ve just accepted a loan from my parents to get my own place in the first place,” I say as I place the vase back on the stand near the door. She makes no move to step inside.
She eyes my jeans and crop top once again. “Get changed. I’ll wait downstairs in the car.” She turns to leave .
“Get changed for what?” I shout. “You and your brother are so bossy.” When I add the last part, she spins back around and raises a perfect brow.
“You clearly need assistance in”—she waves a hand at me—“life. I offered to help since Alek has to work.”
Most people would probably be offended by that remark, but I’ve come to discover it’s the Ivanov siblings’ specialty.
“Help with what?” I ask.
“Furniture.”
I pale. I can just imagine what type of furniture they have in mind, and it’s not the cheap kind that comes in a box that I build myself.
“Oh no, I don’t want him paying for anything,” I say, shaking my head.
“He isn’t. I am.” She turns, and her ponytail whips out behind her. “And I hate to be kept waiting,” she adds. As the elevator doors open, I recognize Clay, the guy who drove me home from Alek’s two nights ago.
She studies me, as if I’m a tiny bug on the wall, as the elevator doors close.
I shut the door in a panic because I definitely think pissing someone like Anya off would be a mistake.
I feel almost overdressed as I grab the loose yellow dress I was admiring only minutes before. I look at the wide selection of heels and then the boots I wore with my jeans last night. They work, so I opt to wear them instead.
Checking myself in the mirror, I run my hands through my hair. The red headband from last night doesn’t match my dress, so I quickly change the bandage to a smaller Band-Aid and then all but run out the door with my things.
When I make it downstairs, Clay is holding the passenger door open for me. Anya has her glasses on, her nose pointed high, as she looks down at her phone.
“Thank you,” I say to Clay as I climb in. He nods curtly. I notice another man sitting in the driver’s seat, and realize these two were the ones standing outside of the dressing room at the auction I was hired to dance at.
I wonder, if I hadn’t gone to that, would any of this escalated to where it is now?
“Did you even shower?” Anya asks.
“No, you told me to hurry,” I remind her.
“At least tell me you’ll shower when you get back.”
“Of course I will,” I scoff.
“That head gash looks nasty,” she comments. “So does Alek’s car, by the way.”
I cringe at that.
She gestures for the driver to start the car. It’s intimidating as shit to sit in the back of the car with such a powerful woman. These men are clearly at her beck and call. My parents might claim I have an attitude, but mine is a candle flame compared to the inferno of Anya Ivanov.
“So what is his name? Is it just Alek?” I ask, wanting to fill the silence.
“Aleksandr,” she says with a slight Russian accent. I like the way it leaves her mouth. It suits him more than Alek.
Anya makes a call and almost immediately begins negotiating a price for, from what ’I can tell, is a rare jewel. It makes sense, I guess, since she’s sporting some pretty expensive jewelry. Compared to her, I almost feel like the teenager Alek once described me as. I’m only two years out of college and truly starting my career now, whereas this woman has built an empire and she doesn’t look old enough for it.
My phone buzzes, and I look at the text message that comes through.
Mr. Happy: You can stay in the hotel for as long as required until your apartment is ready.
I squint at the message. I mean, it’s as direct as any message could be. I reply.
Me: Thank you, but you’ve both already done so much for me. If I can at least have a new mattress by today, I’ll go back home.
No reply. Until my message receives a thumbs-up emoji. Thumbs-up? Seriously? I stare at it in disbelief, reminding myself that Alek probably has no idea about the silent social killer of the thumbs-up emoji.
The car comes to a stop at a store I know I should never walk into because it’s one for the rich. Anya gets out. Someone opens my door, and she doesn’t wait for me. She walks in as if she owns the place, and starts bossing people around. They all jump at her command. A glass of champagne is handed to me, which she immediately takes from my hand.
“Water for her,” she says, then looks at me. “Did you forget about your head?” She taps her head and looks around. “Okay, your current style is more dumpster chic. Let’s change that up a little.”
My jaw drops. Did she just say my style was dumpster chic?
“I’m sorry, but at least my home has any type of style. Have you seen your brother’s attempt at home decor?”
A vein in her temple pulses, and she smooths a hand over her dress. “He won’t allow me to decorate for him. He’s told me multiple times no.”
A mischievous thought comes to mind. Maybe it’s the bump to the head. Or a small part of me who wants to get back at Alek a little for all the confusing hell he’s put me through these past weeks.
“Okay, but he hasn’t said no to me.” I smile at her.
That’s when I see her smile for the first time.
“No, I guess he hasn’t.”