Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Hailey
"Long time, princess."
The words hit my ear like a red-hot needle, then burned straight down my spine to my feet.
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. My brain flatlined. All I could do was watch him straighten, watch that face up close—the one that belonged to Mr. X and also to "Mr. Ivanov"—slide right back into that cold, untouchable mask.
He didn't look at me again.
That dangerous, intimate pressure that had wrapped around me got yanked away in an instant. His hard features didn't crack once, like that whisper—the one that could've stopped my heart—had been nothing but a hallucination from the edge of a breakdown.
He tipped his head slightly, gaze cutting past me, sharp as a blade as it swept the executives sweating in the lobby.
"Sergei." He angled his head toward the assistant glued to his side, his voice returning to that ice-cold, strictly-business tone. "Notify all department heads. Ten minutes. Top-floor conference room."
"Yes, Mr. Ivanov."
That was it. One sentence, and the whole crowd—those executives who'd just been swarming him like hungry fish—jerked like they'd been whipped. They scattered, yanking out phones, sprinting for the elevators.
I stayed frozen, legs shaking so hard I barely stood. Eyes clung to me from every direction—coworkers, executives, random employees—crawling over my skin like ants.
I wanted to evaporate.
Viktor turned to leave. After a few steps, he stopped like something had occurred to him. He looked back, his gaze sliding over the crowd to land on a woman with a paper-white face.
"Carol."
Carol flinched so hard she almost dropped her files again. "Y-Yes, Mr. Ivanov!"
"Bring your subordinate." His chin flicked, barely, in my direction. His tone sounded like he was assigning someone to pick up coffee. "She's coming to the meeting."
Carol blanked for a full two seconds before it clicked that "subordinate" meant me.
"Y-Yes... yes!" She nodded like crazy, practically glowing. The look on her face was a mess—sycophantic, stunned, and beneath it a flash of jealousy and curiosity she couldn't hide.
Viktor didn't spare another word. He walked down the path the crowd opened for him, black-suited security surrounding him as he disappeared into the private elevator.
The dead silence in the lobby held for a few seconds, then snapped back to life. A low buzz of whispers rose like surf.
Carol was on me immediately.
The nasty, superior look she usually wore was gone, replaced by a warmth I'd never seen on her face—almost... eager. But her eyes gave her away. They scraped up and down me like she meant to peel me open.
"Woods. Hailey." She actually said my name, forcing a stiff smile. "You and Mr. Ivanov, you know each other?"
"I don't—" My throat was sandpaper. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't play dumb." She lowered her voice, and the smile turned sour. "He personally called you into the meeting. I've been here seven years. I've never seen that."
I didn't answer. What was I supposed to say? That I'd thought he was a male escort? That I'd left two hundred bucks on the nightstand afterward like I'd been the one doing him a favor?
"Move. Don't make Mr. Ivanov wait." Carol grabbed my arm and hauled me toward the elevator, pushing and pulling like I was luggage. Then she hissed, "And you'd better not embarrass me today."
She dragged me along while my mind blew apart into a knot of noise.
He'd known who I was from the start.
From that "chance" run-in in the hotel hallway, to that ridiculous one-night stand, to three weeks of filthy, shameless texts, to this "special hire" job—
He'd known it all.
He'd played a stranger, flirted, reeled me in, kept me in his palm, inch by inch, watching me walk straight into the trap.
Why?
A man who ran a multinational group. A CEO who made a room full of executives sweat. Why waste this kind of effort on a nobody analyst like me?
The question stabbed at me, but I didn't even get a second to think.
The elevator doors opened.
Top floor. Conference room.
It was huge.
One wall was all glass, Manhattan spilling out below. Along a ridiculously long wooden table sat a packed line of executives—tailored suits, tight faces, tablets and laptops out. The air felt like a bowstring pulled to the limit.
Viktor sat at the head of the table.
Carol shoved me into a seat, and I realized—too late—the empty chair was way too close to him. Two seats away, I could practically feel his eyes.
I wanted to slip to a corner, but everyone was already seated. If I moved, every gaze would snap back to me. So I sat, stiff as a corpse, folding myself small, wishing I could melt into the chair.
The meeting started.
I had to admit it—this man at the head of the table looked nothing like the bastard who'd texted me at midnight, "Touch yourself. Pretend it's my hand."
He listened while a director reported quarterly M&A losses.
He didn't say a word, just tapped his knuckles on the table, slow and lazy.
When the guy finished, Viktor spoke—short sentences—slicing out two fatal holes in the plan and tossing out a solution I'd never heard before that had everyone at the table nodding like disciples.
"Reassess the Eastern Europe line by next week." His voice stayed calm and low, pure authority. "Anyone who can't deliver doesn't need to show up to next week's meeting."
Nobody argued.
The named director's forehead beaded with sweat. "Yes, sir. Of course."
Watching it made the absurdity in my gut grow heavier.
I forced myself to follow the financial jargon I barely understood and told myself, Hailey, focus. Don't look at him. When this is over, run. Find a way to quit. Never—
Something brushed my ankle under the table.
My whole body locked.
I assumed someone bumped me by accident. I pulled my foot back.
It followed.
Hard. Smooth. Expensive leather. The pointed toe of a man's shoe. It didn't stop when I retreated. It hunted. Like a snake that had already chosen its prey, it slid along my ankle, then grazed up my calf through my thin stockings, a slow, deliberate scrape.
My heart nearly jumped out of my throat. I snapped my head up, terrified, toward the head of the table.
Viktor leaned back, one hand propping his jaw, expression blank while Carol—voice shaking—presented the overall XM acquisition report. His eyes looked focused and cold, brows slightly drawn, like every bit of his attention was on the numbers. A restrained, untouchable king.
If that foot hadn't been doing what it was doing, I would've thought I'd lost my mind.
I bit down on my lip until it hurt. Under the table, I clenched my skirt in both fists and tried to shift my leg away.
I moved an inch. The shoe came after me, aggressive, unrelenting. This time he didn't just follow—he pushed higher. The toe hooked the edge of my skirt with mocking insistence and slid up the inside of my knee, slow and sure.
"Oh my God..." A tiny inhale slipped out of me, and I slapped a hand over my mouth.
The room was quiet—just Carol's report and the soft clack of keys. Everyone took notes like their lives depended on it, terrified of missing a single order from the tyrant at the head of the table. Nobody noticed the insane thing happening beneath that polished, sacred slab of wood.
Every fraction higher, my breathing sped up. The fear of getting caught—mixed with that familiar, damn tremor crawling up from between my legs—left me feeling like I'd been held over open flame.
Heat rushed to my face. Sweat gathered at my nose. I couldn't make a sound. I couldn't move. I sat there like a stiff doll and let him tease me under the table.
"About the XM Group subsidiary carve-out..." Carol swallowed, voice wobbling. "Because the equity structure is too complex, we've only finished the surface—"
"Stop."
Viktor spoke, and the foot under the table stopped too—right at the edge of a line it had no business nearing. It didn't withdraw. It just pressed there, cruel and patient.
His ice-blue eyes cut across the table and pinned me—cheeks burning, breath wrecked.
"I heard the analyst handled this dataset alone." His tone stayed flat, but his mouth curved with faint amusement. "Miss Woods. Give us your opinion. How do you plan to avoid the hidden tax exposure in these subsidiaries?"
My brain went white.
Every head turned toward me. Carol stared like she wanted to kill me on the spot.
I opened my mouth. Cotton filled my throat. I stuttered for ages and couldn't even get a full syllable out. Opinion? My legs were so weak I couldn't stand, and the culprit's shoe was still jammed right where it had no right to be.
"I... the structure... the tax..." I stumbled over the words, shame burning so hard my eyes watered.
Other managers traded looks—pity, contempt, and the kind of anticipation people get when they smell blood. It slapped me in the face. I wanted the carpet to split open and swallow me.
Viktor looked pleased. He watched me teeter on the edge of tears, something dark flashing in his eyes—then, like a generous god, he finally pulled his foot back.
"Looks like our new analyst needs a little time to adjust to high-intensity meetings." He leaned back, wearing a smile that passed for considerate. "That's fine. Sit. Speak next time."
How the next half hour ended, I couldn't remember.
When Viktor dismissed the meeting and left first with assistants clustering around him, the tension in my body finally snapped.
I didn't give a damn about Carol barking behind me. I bolted out of the conference room like I'd escaped a fire, stumbling down the hall and into the women's restroom at the end.
I turned the faucet on and splashed cold water onto my face, handful after handful. I braced both hands on the marble sink and dragged in air.
The woman in the mirror looked flushed, eyes wet, guilty and wrecked like a criminal running from a scene.
What the hell did he want?