Chapter 5Jenny
CHAPTER 5
JENNY
I step into the office, my heels striking a sharp staccato against the polished marble floor. Natalia smiles when she spots me from behind her curved reception desk when I reach the C-Suite.
“Good morning, Jenny.” She practically bounces in her chair, her Russian accent lending a musical quality to her words. She taps her manicured fingers excitedly on her desk calendar. “Mr. Markov asked me to show you to your new office. He was very specific about having everything ready for you.” She stands, smoothing her skirt. “And between us,” Her voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, “I’ve never seen him so particular about an office setup before.”
I blink, caught off guard. “New office?”
She nods, her enthusiasm infectious. “Come on. I’ll show you!”
Her heels click against the marble floor as she guides me through an unfamiliar wing of the building. I didn’t realize this was here, but I never spent much time on this floor when Miranda was the CEO. The hallway stretches before us, all gleaming wood panels and indirect lighting. When she pauses in front of a heavy wooden door with subtle brass accents, my pulse quickens.
“Ready?” Her eyes sparkle with excitement as she twists the handle.
The door swings open, and I stumble back a step. “Oh, my… Wow...”
Sunlight streams through wall-length windows that stretch from floor to ceiling, bathing the room in natural light. Beyond the glass, Atlanta’s skyscrapers pierce the clouds. A massive mahogany desk commands attention in the corner—the wood so polished I can see my reflection. The leather chair behind it looks butter-soft.
“This can’t be...” My voice trails off when I spot the seating area—a cream-colored sectional with accent pillows that probably cost more than my old Honda. Abstract paintings in muted blues and grays hang on the walls, perfectly complementing the room’s sophisticated palette.
“The computer.” Natalia points to a curved ultra-wide monitor flanked by two smaller screens. “Mr. Markov insisted on the latest model, and look—” She opens a hidden panel in the wall. “Private bathroom too.”
“This...this can’t be right,” I stammer. “This looks like a CEO’s office, not?—”
“Not a personal assistant’s?” She grins. “Mr. Markov was very specific about your new workspace. He said you deserved the best.”
I trace the polished mahogany of my new desk, and its surface is cool and flawless. The pristine workspace blurs at the edges as memories as I recall the same kind of highly polished sheen on Stephen’s desk that one time he insisted we fool around in his office. I blink, startled by the intrusive thought, but it takes too long to clear him from my mind.
Thinking of him inevitably leads to memories of everything he’s sent to me over the past year. I tried reporting it to start with, but his father’s money ensured no one cared if he was violating the terms of his probation. The last cop I spoke with told me it was just some harmless venting, and I shouldn’t worry since he was in London.
My phone sits silent in my pocket, but the ghost of his messages makes me pull it out to check—nothing. For now.
“Thank you, Natalia,” I say, my voice catching as I shake off the unwanted memories and try to suppress the fear. I don’t want Stephen to take any pleasure from this moment. “This is incredible.” The words feel small compared to the grandeur surrounding me.
“You deserve it.” Her smile brightens her entire face. She normally looks like a sculpted ice goddess, but when she smiles, warmth suffuses her. “I’ll let you get settled. Just buzz if you need anything.” She closes the door with a soft click.
Alone in this surreal space, I lower myself into the chair, which cradles my body like a cloud. The leather still has that fresh, expensive smell. Outside my window, Atlanta’s skyline stretches endlessly, but my reflection in the glass looks small and uncertain.
My hands shake slightly when I open the top drawer, half-expecting to find some sign this is all a mistake. The pristine office supplies inside are arranged with military precision. Even the paperclips seem gleam with purpose.
I try to focus on the screens in front of me, but my mind keeps circling back to that night now that Stephen is on my mind again. The sound of breaking glass as I raced down the fire escape, fleeing my own apartment to escape him in my terror. My fingers drift to my throat, remembering how it felt to scream before he grabbed me and choked. He punched me so hard I saw stars…
The contrast between that darkness and this light makes my head spin.
Then the man who saved me. I wish I knew more about him. Sometimes, I imagine his face or pretend he stayed in touch. I want to think it’s just gratitude, but even at the worst point in my life, I couldn’t ignore how attractive he was despite not being able to fully see his face, or deny I wanted to know him better.
I check my phone again even though there’s no vibration to indicate I’ve received anything. It’s a tense habit I’ve developed over the past year. Fortunately, there are no new messages from Stephen or the mystery texter from last night. Was he Stephen? If not, what are the odds I have two tormentors?
In one way, the silence is almost worse than the threats. I know it’s only a matter of time before Stephen reaches out again, and the dread is killing me. What horrible image will he send next, or what lewd text? Changing my number doesn’t matter. He’s always managed to get it somehow. In the back of my mind, I suspect someone on the staff before Ivan bought this place and fired them all was feeding him information. It was the only conclusion that made sense.
A knock on the door startles me out of my thoughts and spiral into fear. “Come in,” I call, straightening in my chair and striving to seem composed and hide how rattled I am.
Ivan enters, and his presence immediately fills the room. He’s impeccably dressed as always, but there’s a tension in his shoulders that wasn’t there yesterday. He scans the office before looking at me. “I see you’ve found your new workspace,” he says, his voice carefully neutral. “I trust it meets your needs?”
I nod, still a bit overwhelmed. “It’s amazing, Mr. Markov. Thank you, but isn’t it a bit...much for a personal assistant?”
A flicker of something — amusement? — crosses his face. “You’re not just any personal assistant, Ms. Graham. I expect great things from you.”
Before I can respond, another man enters the office. He’s tall and muscular, with short-cropped black hair and intense brown eyes. There’s an air of quiet competence and watchfulness about him that immediately puts me on edge.
“Ah, Marcus,” says Ivan, gesturing to the newcomer. “This is Jenny Graham, my new personal assistant. Jenny, this is Marcus Reyes, head of security and operations.”
Marcus nods at me, his expression unreadable. “Ms. Graham.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. Something about his presence makes me nervous, though I can’t put my finger on why. Not that he frightens me exactly. I just feel like maybe…danger follows him? What a strange thought.
Ivan turns back to me. “We have a meeting to discuss some sensitive matters. I’ll need you to?—”
“Of course,” I interject, reaching for a notepad. “I’ll take notes and?—”
“That won’t be necessary.” Ivan cuts me off, his tone brusque. “I need you to go to the company library and fetch some DVDs of classic films. We have a project coming up that requires research. Bring them to my office in thirty minutes.”
I blink, taken aback by his dismissal. “Oh. All right. Any specific titles you’re looking for?”
He waves a hand dismissively. “Anything relevant to the golden age of Hollywood. I trust your judgment.”
Frustration bubbles up inside me, but I push it down. “Of course, Mr. Markov. I’ll get right on that.”
They leave my office, and I follow them, shutting the door behind me. I head toward the archives as they go back to his office. My reflection fragments across the mirrored walls of the hallway—a hundred tiny Jennys, all wearing the same irritated expression.
“Are you all right?” asks Natalia as I pass. “Is something wrong with the office?” The way she’s fretting leads me to believe she designed it, or at least coordinated it, herself.
“I’m fine, and the office is perfect.” I force a smile. “Just headed to the archives.”
The company archives spans the entire floor below the C-Suite. It has every movie ever made, I swear, plus books about films from different time periods, case studies, and even white papers. Usually, this room calms me, but today, its cavernous space only amplifies my unease.
“Golden age of Hollywood,” I mutter, trailing my fingertips along DVD cases. “Whatever that means.”
I pull titles that catch my eye: Casablanca, Citizen Kane, and Gone with the Wind . Each one is completely random, since I have no idea for what he requires them.
Without specific guidance, it doesn’t take long to gather as many as I can carry. Definitely not thirty minutes, but it’s probably close enough. I’m desperate to set down this stack, so with my arms laden with classic films, I take the elevator and go straight to Ivan’s office. The closer I get, the clearer the voices become—sharp, angry Russian cutting through the usual office quiet.
“Security protocols aren’t negotiable…” That’s Marcus, his deep voice unmistakable even through the heavy oak door. He’s speaking in English, so I can actually understand the words.
I freeze mid-step, the DVDs pressed against my chest like a shield. I press myself against the wall beside Ivan’s door, the stack of classic films sliding in my trembling hands. Each raised voice pierces through the wood like a needle, making my pulse thunder in my ears. I shift my weight, adjusting my grip on Casablanca before it slips completely.
“We’ve used legitimate channels before.” Ivan’s rich baritone carries through, his typical precise pronunciation giving way to harder Russian consonants. “The entertainment industry has always been?—”
“Too risky now.” Marcus’s deep voice slices through Ivan’s argument. Metal scrapes against wood—probably his chair pushing back. “The feds are watching those channels like hawks. One wrong move moving through the company, and they’ll be crawling up our asses with a microscope. We can’t afford that kind of heat.”
“There are other ways.” Ivan says something in Russian, followed by the sharp crack of something hitting his desk. “I didn’t build this empire by playing it safe.”
I clutch the DVDs tighter, their plastic edges digging into my palms. The conversation beyond that door is rapidly becoming something I absolutely shouldn’t be hearing.
My fingers go numb. The corner of Casablanca digs into my palm while I struggle to process what they’re saying. “No,” I whisper, shaking my head. “This isn’t...” But the words die in my throat as more angry Russian spills through the door.
Suddenly angry, because I was so hopeful about the changes around here, I storm into the office, my arms still full of the DVDs of the classic movies. Ivan and Marcus turn to me, surprise evident on their faces.
“Ms. Graham, I don’t recall inviting you in,” says Ivan sharply.
I slam down the DVDs on his desk, fury coursing through me. “I won’t work for you if your business is tainted by illegal dealings,” I say, my voice shaking with anger and disappointment.
Ivan’s eyes widen, and he takes a step toward me. “Jenny, let me explain?—”
“No.” I cut him off, holding up a hand. “I don’t want to hear it. I trusted you, Ivan. I thought this job was chance to build something real, but it’s all just a front for your criminal activities, isn’t it?”
Marcus moves to stand between us, his posture tense. “Ms. Graham, you’re making assumptions based on a fragment of conversation you overheard.”
I laugh bitterly. “Am I? Then explain to me why you were discussing moving something through the company. That sounds like money laundering or drugs, and I want no part of either. So, go ahead. Explain. I’m all ears.”
Ivan’s expression hardens. “This is a complex situation that you don’t fully understand.”
“I understand enough that I can’t be a part of this. I quit.” I turn on my heel, ready to storm out, but Ivan’s voice stops me.
“Jenny, wait. Please. Let me explain.”
For a moment, I hesitate. Part of me wants to hear him out, to believe there’s a reasonable explanation for all of this, but the larger part, the part that’s been burned too many times before, won’t let me stay. “I’m sorry, Mr. Markov,” I say coldly. “I can’t do this. Goodbye.”
I walk out of the office, ignoring his calls for me to come back. My heels click against the polished floor while I make my way to my new office—the one I’ll never use now. I grab my purse and jacket, then head for the elevator.
Natalia rises from her desk when I pass. “Jenny? Is everything okay?”
I force a smile. “I’m not feeling well. I’m going home for the day.”
She frowns, concern evident in her expression. “Do you want me to call you a car?”
“No, thank you. I’ll take the bus.”
The elevator arrives, and I step inside, relief washing over me as the doors close. I slump against the wall, closing my eyelids and taking deep breaths. What have I gotten myself into?
Outside, the Atlanta heat hits me like a wall. I make my way to the bus stop, my thoughts spinning. How could I have been so blind? The lavish office, the sudden promotion, and the air of secrecy—it all makes sense now. I was just a pawn in Ivan’s illegal operations. Was he setting me up to be a fall-guy since he kept only me on from the old company staff?
Reaching the bus stop, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I glance across the street and freeze. A figure stands in the shadows, watching me. My heart leaps into my throat. Is it Stephen? Has he found me?
I blink, and the figure is gone. I whirl around, scanning the area, but there’s no sign of anyone suspicious. Just the usual crowd of commuters and pedestrians.
My hands shake when I pull out my phone, ready to call...who? The police? What would I even say? I have no proof of anything, just overheard snippets of conversation and a paranoid feeling of being watched.
The bus arrives, and I climb aboard, sinking into a seat near the back. As we pull away from the curb, I’m afraid my life has just taken a dangerous turn. Ivan Markov, with his intense gray eyes and promises of a better future, has dragged me into a world I never wanted to be part of, and now, I don’t know how to escape.