Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Vivienne
I clutched a cheap cardboard box and kicked open the screeching glass door of Urban Style magazine.
Yesterday felt like some wild fever dream. But right now, it was time to settle scores with these parasites.
The office stank of cheap perfume, printer ozone, and stale coffee beans—a toxic mix that turned my stomach. I marched straight to my desk and slammed the box down hard.
The keyboard clicking stopped instantly.
"Well, well, look who's here." Jessica leaned against Brittany's cubicle, clutching her eternal iced Americano.
When she spotted me, she flashed that teeth-grinding fake smile.
"I heard someone went psycho at the Ritz-Carlton ballroom last night and threw a whole glass of wine in our editor's face.
What's this? Here to pack your crap and crawl back to the sticks with your crazy mother? "
Brittany immediately covered her mouth with exaggerated shock, letting out a shrill giggle. "Oh my God, Vivienne, were you so sexually frustrated you tried to force yourself on Gary and got rejected? With all that flab you can't lose, you can only seduce men in your dreams."
If this were yesterday, I probably would've bitten my lip, kept my head down, stuffed my things in the box, and left with red-rimmed eyes like a deserter.
But today was different.
Last night, I walked arm-in-arm with a mob boss in front of Washington's elite and completely humiliated my cheating ex. I even signed a contract with that dangerous man worth enough to buy this trash magazine outright.
I stopped what I was doing, turned slowly, and leaned back against my desk with my arms crossed. I gave Jessica and Brittany the kind of look you'd give roadkill—slow and thorough.
"Jessica." I pulled my brightest, coldest smile.
"You think moving that decimal point on last month's Prada sample report and almost getting the whole department sued just disappeared because of your pathetic IQ?
If Gary hadn't given you 'private tutoring' in storage room three for a solid half hour—and if you hadn't walked out looking like you'd been through a hurricane, caught on camera—you think you'd still be standing here with your iced coffee? "
Jessica's smugness froze. Coffee sloshed onto her white blouse.
"You... you're lying!" she shrieked, face flushing.
"And you, Brittany." I ignored Jessica's tantrum and turned my blade-sharp gaze on the other woman.
"That 'exclusive interview' you're so proud of?
You misspelled the CEO's name. Your pitiful work skills are good for exactly one thing—gossiping in the break room about discount Botox.
You garbage people can't even pull an Excel sheet.
Where the hell do you get off mocking me? "
"What's going on! All this racket first thing in the morning!"
Gary's nasally bellow came from down the hall. His greasy, balding head appeared, gut straining against his shirt buttons as he charged over. When he spotted me in the middle of the crowd, his meaty face twisted into an ugly liver color.
"Vivienne Cole! You've got some nerve showing your face here!" Gary jabbed his finger at my nose, spittle flying. "I fired you last night! Get your trash out of my company now! Security! Call security!"
"Save it, Gary." I let out a cold laugh and brushed at my shoulder where he'd touched me yesterday, like I was wiping off a deadly virus. "Your little trick of threatening female employees with termination doesn't work on me anymore. You didn't fire me. I quit you."
I looked straight into his murky eyes, voice loud enough for the entire office to hear. "Here's some advice, Gary. Next time you try using your position to prey on female employees, take a shower first. Lose that disgusting gut. You smell like a dead rat—worse than garbage in a sewer!"
Dead silence fell over the office. Everyone sucked in their breath, staring at me like I was an alien.
Gary stood frozen. He never dreamed the hardworking assistant who worked overtime for a few hundred bucks in attendance bonuses would rip his fig leaf to shreds in front of everyone.
"You—" Gary's lips trembled.
I stood there with my arms crossed, watching him. He was just a parasite living off my blood. If I really left, all those tedious reports, the nightmare clients no one wanted, the source documents that needed checking all night—he'd have no one left to clean up his messes.
And now, judging by his expression, he'd realized it too.
"Wait, Vivienne." Gary's tone flipped 180 degrees.
He forced out a smile uglier than crying and tried to grab my arm.
"Last night... I just had too much to drink.
I was joking with you. You're a talented girl, I know that.
How about this—take back what you just said, and I'll promote you next month!
I'll make you a full editor and raise your salary twenty percent... no, thirty! How's that?"
Watching his groveling, nauseating face, I felt nothing but satisfaction.
"Take your thirty percent and buy some hair growth serum." I slapped his hand away without mercy, picked up my box, and walked toward the door in my heels, spine straight, under everyone's shocked stares.
"Hope you all rot happily in this bankrupt dump of a company."
I kicked the glass door open with my heel and, with a sharp crash, said goodbye forever to my humiliating career.
I hummed all the way back to my cramped, shabby apartment.
I tossed the box on the floor, dragged out a huge suitcase from under my bed, and started throwing clothes and toiletries inside. According to last night's contract, I had to move into that dangerous man's territory today.
Someone hammered on the apartment door.
I pulled it open. Mia burst in like a tornado. She wore a sharp khaki trench coat today, but her expression looked like she'd just witnessed the apocalypse.
"You're insane! Vivienne, you've completely lost your mind!" Mia grabbed my shoulders and shook me. "You're actually going to be Nikolai Volkov's fiancée? And you signed some goddamn cohabitation agreement?"
"Relax, Mia." I tried to brush off her hands and went back to packing my makeup. "It's just a transaction. He needs a shield, I need money for my mom's medical bills, and I can use him as perfect material for my next novel. Win-win-win. Perfect arrangement."
"Perfect my ass!" Mia screeched and slapped my suitcase.
"You have no idea what kind of monster you've gotten mixed up with!
I had my brother check that black card Sasha delivered.
The fund trail is so hidden even Swiss banks' highest clearance can't track it!
My dad dealt with some of the Volkov family's outer circle thugs before.
They're actual throat-ripping monsters!"
Mia took a deep breath, her eyes filled with genuine panic.
"Washington's underground is full of terrifying rumors about him.
They say Nikolai Volkov is cold-blooded and ruthless.
Anyone who betrays him gets chopped up and sunk in the river.
You think you're writing some romance novel about a domineering CEO?
He's a mob boss! You're a lamb walking into a tiger's den! "
"Mia, you're being way too dramatic." I stuffed my last few lipsticks into my makeup bag and zipped it up. "He's not some psycho serial killer. We've met twice. Yeah, he's sharp-tongued and has a temper, but at least... he's somewhat reasonable."
My mind flashed back to that fevered, suffocating kiss in the dressing room. My ears burned, and I quickly shook the dangerous image away.
"No, V, listen to me, he—"
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Three measured, steady knocks interrupted our argument.
I walked over and opened the door.
Sasha—the man who'd delivered the card—stood there in that same welded-on black suit, expressionless. His massive frame blocked out almost all the hallway light.
His cold eyes swept past me and scanned my bare-bones apartment.
"Ms. Cole, the Pakhan sent me to pick you up." Sasha's voice cut like metal. "The car's downstairs. If you're ready, we can leave now."
Mia immediately charged in front of me like a mother hen protecting her chick, blocking Sasha's view. She looked the Terminator-like man up and down, hostility plain in her eyes.
"You're that enforcer called Sasha?" Mia crossed her arms. I could hear the tremor in her voice, but she tried to sound brave, chin tilted high with rich-girl arrogance.
"Go tell your mob boss if Vivienne loses a single hair or suffers any mistreatment in his territory, I don't care if you're Volkov or whatever the hell kind of mafia—I'll hire the best lawyers and sue you into bankruptcy! "
I pulled her behind me and said apologetically to Sasha, "Sorry, this is my best friend, Mia Torres. She's just... overly concerned."
Sasha lowered his eyelids expressionlessly and looked at Mia with the kind of contempt you'd show a trash can.
"It's fine, Ms. Cole. But I should say, Ms. Torres—" Sasha spoke coldly, voice completely flat. "Your threats carry about as much weight as the rats running around this building. Protecting Ms. Cole is my job. I don't need you to tell me how to do it."
"Did you just call me a rat?" Mia exploded and stepped forward in her heels, ready to tear into him.
God. This was a train wreck.
I mentally cursed Sasha as an "emotionless block of wood" and quickly wedged myself between them, grabbing Mia's arm tightly.
"Okay, okay, Mia, calm down!" I patted her back soothingly and turned to Sasha with an apologetic fake smile. "Give me one minute outside. I'll be right there."
Sasha didn't waste words. He nodded, stepped back, and stood in the hallway like a sentinel.
I pulled Mia back into the room and hugged her hard.
"Don't worry, Mia. I swear I'll take care of myself." I looked into her worried eyes seriously. "My phone will be on 24/7. If anything feels wrong, I'll send you an SOS immediately. It's just one year. Think of it like I'm doing an immersive writing retreat, okay?"