Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Hailey
I stared at the spreadsheet on my monitor, the numbers finally lining up, and I honestly didn't believe my eyes.
The XM Group M&A report—the nightmare Carol had tossed on my desk just to humiliate me, the one she'd said I had three days to "prove I belong"—actually made sense.
The subsidiaries that had been stacked inside each other like Russian dolls had fallen into place, neat and clean, following that Harvard Business School template Mr. X had sent me.
My fingers flew over the keyboard. Every time I finished another ratio analysis, the tight, suffocating pressure that had been sitting in my chest all day loosened a little. The numbers danced across the cells like they were talking to me, "See, Hailey Woods? You fucking have this."
Outside the window, the sky shifted from harsh white to soft gold. People around the office started packing up. I glanced at the time in the corner.
5:47 p.m.
I had done it.
No—technically I had done seventy percent. But that was enough. At this pace, tomorrow I'd slam the full report right onto Carol's nasty face.
I leaned back, took a deep breath, and pulled out my phone.
My thumb opened the chat with no name—the one I'd pinned anyway.
Me: You still there?
Three little dots popped up immediately.
Mr. X: Always.
I bit my lip, fighting the stupid smile trying to break free.
Me: I'm almost done. For real. That template was a lifesaver. I don't even know how to thank you.
Mr. X: You already thanked me, princess.
Heat rushed straight to my face.
Shit. He meant the underwear. The black lace panties I'd followed his order and slipped off, then dropped into the bathroom trash.
I could still feel that faint, empty nothing under my skirt. Every time I shifted, my stockings brushed the most sensitive spot and reminded me exactly how insane I'd been this afternoon.
Me: That didn't count.
Mr. X: Why didn't it?
Me: It was too much.
Mr. X: But you still did it.
Me: ...
Mr. X: And you liked it, didn't you?
I stared at the words until my throat tightened.
I should've denied it. I should've told him it was a moment of bad judgment, that his filthy talk had gotten under my skin and I'd lost my mind.
But I couldn't.
Because he was right.
I had liked being controlled. I had liked the way he ordered me around like no wasn't an option. I had liked doing something slutty in public that only he knew about.
The shame and the thrill tangled together until it felt addictive.
Me: Maybe.
Mr. X: Not maybe. Yes.
Mr. X: My good girl.
My heart kicked hard.
My.
That word made my stomach go weightless every damn time.
"Woods?"
I jerked my head up. Carol stood beside my desk in that charcoal suit, hair yanked into its tight bun, her mouth already set in that sharp little line.
"Leaving early?" she asked, pure sarcasm. "I thought your deadline is five p.m. the day after tomorrow."
I took a breath and forced my voice steady.
"I'm almost done," I said. "At this pace, I can submit the full report tomorrow."
Carol's brows lifted, disbelief flashing through her eyes.
"Yeah?"
"Yes."
She stared at me for a few seconds, then gave a cold snort.
"Then I'll be waiting."
She turned and walked off. Her heels cracked against the floor like a sentence being read out loud.
But this time I didn't feel scared.
I watched her disappear down the hall, then looked back at the clean rows of data on my screen.
Fuck you, Carol.
I stood, packed up, and headed out.
Just as I lifted my bag and moved toward the elevators, Emily at the front desk called out.
"Miss Woods?" She stood up with a clear plastic cup in her hand. "Someone sent you juice."
I froze.
"Juice?"
"Yes." Emily handed it over with her practiced office smile. "No name. They just said it was for you."
I took it. Orange-yellow liquid, condensation beading down the sides.
"When did it get here?"
"About ten minutes ago," Emily said.
I scanned the office.
Hardly anyone was left. Carol was gone. Robert wasn't around. Just a few coworkers I didn't know, still pounding at their keyboards.
"Okay. Thanks," I said.
Emily nodded and sat back down.
I carried the cup toward the elevator, my head spinning.
Who the hell sent me juice?
Not Carol. She'd rather see me fired tomorrow.
Not Robert. He'd been nice, but not like that.
Matthew?
The second his name hit, my stomach rolled.
But it didn't make sense. Matthew didn't even know where I worked—at least, I'd prayed he didn't.
I stepped into the elevator, hit the lobby button, and pulled out my phone.
I snapped a photo of the cup and sent it to Mr. X.
Me: One more weird thing today. The front desk said someone sent me a cup of fresh juice. Nobody knew who. I don't have a single friend at this company.
Me: Either it got delivered to the wrong person, or there's some mysterious good Samaritan in this building.
A few seconds later, he replied.
Mr. X: Maybe someone has been watching you.
My pulse jumped for no reason at all.
Me: That sounds kind of creepy.
Mr. X: Does it? I think it sounds romantic.
Me: Romantic? A stranger hiding in the shadows and sending me juice? That sounds like the first scene of a horror movie.
Mr. X: Or the first scene of a love story.
I smiled into the cup, hugged it close, and leaned against the elevator's cold wall.
Me: Then I guess I should thank this mystery person. If he even exists.
Mr. X: He would have loved hearing that.
The elevator dinged at the lobby.
The doors opened.
I stood there, staring at that line on my screen, and the world went quiet.
What if it was him?
What if Mr. X had been watching me?
No. No way. How would he even know where I work? We've only texted. He doesn't even know my full name.
Right. Impossible.
I shoved my phone back into my bag, stepped out, and walked through the lobby with the juice in my hand.
Honestly, it tasted amazing.
The sun had sunk between the skyscrapers, turning the street into warm orange light. People rushed past. Taxi horns blared nonstop.
I drank and, for the first time all day, I thought maybe... today hadn't been total shit.
Then I reached my apartment building.
My feet stopped dead.
That car sat right there.
The silver-gray Audi I could've recognized with my eyes closed—Matthew's. Parked across the street from my building.
My blood went cold.
Fuck.
How the hell did he know I live here?
I snapped back into the shadow at the corner, my spine pressed to cold brick, my heart hammering. I leaned out just enough to look.
A shape sat behind the wheel.
It was him.
Disgust crawled up my throat.
That feeling—being followed, watched, pinned under someone's stare—wrapped around my neck like a cold snake.
I had moved. I had switched jobs. I had scrubbed my tracks and tucked myself into the most forgettable corner of the city.
And he still found me.
He always finds me.
I pulled out my phone, fingers shaking.
Should I call the cops?
And say what? He was sitting in a car. He was not doing anything illegal.
And he was an assistant DA. He had buddies in the precinct. Calling would only make me look pathetic.
I forced a breath, tried to calm down.
My thumb hovered over the screen—and I almost texted Mr. X.
But what would I even say? That my ex has me trapped outside my own home again, too humiliated to walk through the front door?
I didn't want to. I needed one last scrap of dignity.
Right when I felt stuck, right when tears threatened—
It happened.
Two men in dark suits appeared like they'd stepped out of the air.
They were tall. Solid. They moved with slow, deliberate confidence straight toward Matthew's Audi. I couldn't see their faces from here, but their presence hit like pressure in my lungs.
One of them bent and knocked on the driver's window.
I couldn't hear anything. Half a street away, I only saw the window slide down and Matthew's face—first angry, then confused, then turning into something I had never seen on him.
Fear.
The men never touched him. They just stood there and talked. Their posture stayed polite—almost courteous.
Matthew's face kept draining white.
And then—
What made my jaw nearly drop—
Matthew, the obsessive asshole who'd clung to me like a parasite for three straight weeks, started his car like a good boy.
The silver Audi turned around and merged into traffic, disappearing down the street.
Gone.
He just... left?
I stood frozen in the corner with the juice cup crushed warm in my grip, like someone had dumped ice water over my head. Like I'd dreamed something ridiculous and woke up inside it.
I had no clue what I'd just seen.
Who were those men? What did they say to him? Why had Matthew looked that scared?
I waited too long, then finally forced myself out of the shadows and edged toward my building.
The two men in suits were still there.
When I got close, they both turned to look at me.
My heart damn near stopped.
But they didn't move like a threat. One of them dipped his head—a small, almost respectful nod. Then both of them turned and walked into deeper shadow at the corner, vanishing in seconds like they'd never existed.
I stood at my building's door, key shaking in my hand.
What the hell was that?
My mind spun up every stupid possibility.
Building security?
The thought died as soon as it formed.
This was a beat-up, cheap apartment building where the elevator broke every other day, half the hallway lights didn't work, and the greasy landlord stared at my chest while he collected rent. This place didn't have suit-wearing security swooping in to scare off my ex.
None of it added up.
Not one part.
I stumbled upstairs, unlocked my door with trembling hands, slipped inside, and slammed it shut behind me.
I sank down against the door and buried my face in my knees.
My heartbeat took forever to settle.
But the curiosity wouldn't shut up. It climbed through me like a vine, fast and hungry.
I pulled out my phone.
Me: You would not believe what just happened.
I dumped everything at once—Matthew's car, the two men in suits, the fear on his face when they "asked" him to leave, and that strange, almost respectful nod they'd given me.
Me: It was so damn weird. This building is a dump that doesn't even have a security guard. How could someone have been out there just to run Matthew off?
After I sent it, I stared at the screen, waiting, my heart pounding.
The three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Mr. X: Sounds like you got lucky today.
I frowned.
Me: You don't think that's weird?
Mr. X: I've seen weirder. What matters is that the asshole left, didn't he?
I stared at that and felt a thin little needle of doubt push into my gut.
His tone was too calm. Calm in a way that felt... intentional.
Unless—
No.
I shook my head hard, trying to fling that insane thought out of my skull.
It couldn't be. Mr. X was just an escort I'd drunkenly hooked up with, a dirty-talking, pushy bastard who texted me all day. That was it. No way he had anything to do with two suited men outside my building.
I was overthinking. I had to be.
Me: Fine. Maybe you're right. Maybe it's just a coincidence.
Mr. X: Relax. That asshole isn't worth ruining your night.
Mr. X: And you finished a report that big today. That deserves a celebration.
My heart skipped, stupidly.
Me: Celebration?
Mr. X: Tonight. You meet me.
I stared at the words and went still.
Meet him.
Since that ridiculous night, we'd lived on opposite sides of a phone screen.
We'd talked a hundred times—work gossip, late-night secrets—but I had never actually seen him sober, really seen him.
Every memory I had was soaked in alcohol and blurred at the edges: ice-blue eyes, the scent of cedar and leather, those sharp tattoos wrapped around his wrist like a warning.
Every time I thought about that night, two opposite feelings tore at me.
Half of me had wanted it.
Half of me had been terrified.
I was scared to see him again. Scared to face the man who'd pushed me into the wildest decision of my life while I was clear-headed, no booze to hide behind. And still... a part of me I didn't want to admit had been waiting for this moment since that night.
Waiting to see him again.
I bit my lip, thumb hovering, not typing.
My brain screamed. This is insane, Hailey. You barely remember his face. You don't know his real name. You don't know what he does. All you know is Samantha hired him for two hundred bucks—she swears she paid more—and you slept with him once. That's it.
But my heartbeat betrayed my brain again.
I stared at his message for a long, long time.
Then I typed. Deleted. Typed again.
Finally, I took a breath and hit send.
Me: Fine. Where?
The second it went through, I flipped my phone facedown against my chest and felt my heart pounding like it had no shame.
A few seconds later, my phone buzzed.
I turned it over.
An address.
I stared at it, my breathing slowing to nothing.
I knew that name.
All of New York knew that name.
It was one of those Manhattan Michelin three-star places you couldn't get into even if you booked three months out. Samantha and I had seen it in a magazine once, laughing over the insane prices like we'd only ever get to look at the pictures.
I sat there holding my phone, sinking into this surreal fog.
An escort.
A mouthy, bossy escort Samantha had hired... could send me a Harvard Business School M&A template and get a reservation there?
Something uneasy stirred in my gut, a warning I couldn't name.
I shoved it down hard.
No. Not tonight. I didn't want to chase the pieces that didn't fit.
Tonight I just wanted to show up.
Me: Okay. I'll get ready.
Mr. X: Dress pretty, princess. I want everyone to see you belong to me.
My face flared hot.
"Belong to me."
It was possessive. Over the line.
And god help me, I liked it.
I pushed myself off the floor, rushed into the bedroom, and yanked open my closet.
Clothes slid off hangers and collapsed onto the bed.
I dug through everything. Most of it was work stuff—conservative suits, button-downs—totally wrong for a Michelin three-star.
Finally I found a black dress.
I'd bought it last year for a company gala. Elegant V-neck, hem above the knee. Simple, but it still had teeth.
I held it up to the mirror.
It worked.
At least I didn't look like some office refugee.
I fixed my makeup fast, then changed.
Black heels. Simple pearl studs.
I turned in the mirror.
Good.
I looked like—
I looked like I was going on a date.
Like I was going to see someone I actually gave a damn about.
The thought tightened my stomach.
Did I care about Mr. X?
I didn't even know his real name. I didn't know what he did.
But I wanted to see him.
I closed my eyes and breathed in.
Calm down, Hailey.
It was just dinner.
No big deal.
My phone buzzed.
Mr. X: The car is downstairs.
I grabbed my clutch and took one last look at myself.
The woman in the mirror had flushed cheeks, eyes bright with excitement and fear.
And she couldn't turn back now.
I drew in a breath, opened the door, and walked out.