Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Hailey
When I walked into Finance wearing that obviously-not-cheap, made-to-fit business suit, every head snapped my way.
"Damn, Hailey!" Daniel shoved his glasses up and let out an exaggerated whistle. "What the hell—are you meeting a client or walking a runway?"
"Seriously," Amy from the next desk slid over, her eyes crawling up and down me like she didn't even try to hide it. "That's Max Mara, right? I saw it on Fifth last week. It's, like, eight grand. Hailey, did you hit the lottery or what?"
My face went hot. Eight thousand dollars? I hadn't had a clue it cost that much.
"No. I just—uh... a friend gave it to me," I mumbled, and I hustled to my desk.
"Oh yeah?" Amy's voice jumped an octave. "I've worked here three years. What kind of 'friend' drops eight grand like it's nothing? Hailey, you're not—"
"Amy." Daniel cut her off fast and shot me a sympathetic look. "Stop running your mouth. You finished your work? It's work hours. The supervisor's coming any minute."
I gave him a grateful glance, sat down, and opened my laptop.
My fingers hovered over the keys. I couldn't type a damn thing.
My head kept replaying this morning—waking up in that bed that didn't even feel real, and finding the suit laid out on the nightstand beside a perfect French breakfast.
Then an email popped up in the bottom right corner.
Sender: Human Resources
Subject: [Company-Wide Notice] Employee Housing Benefit Program Officially Launched
What?
I blinked and clicked it.
"[Core Talent Benefit Notice] Dear Miss Woods, in recognition of your outstanding performance on recent core projects, you have passed the group's assessment.
As a benefit, the group will provide you with an employee apartment.
The unit has been fully furnished. Please go to the Administrative Center today to collect your personal access card and keys. "
An address sat at the bottom.
My heart kicked hard.
Too perfect.
Last night my landlord had tossed me out, and this morning the company just "happened" to hand me housing. The timing made my scalp prickle.
My first thought was him.
Viktor. That controlling, dictator-level psycho.
Had he pulled strings and shoved an apartment into my hands? He'd held my hand in the car and told me I had to stay in his line of sight. Was this what he'd meant by "arrangements"?
Before I could spiral, the office erupted around me.
"Holy shit!" Daniel stared at his screen and actually said it out loud. "Did these capitalist assholes grow a conscience overnight?"
"Oh my God!" Amy practically launched out of her chair, arms flailing. "They officially started the housing program! I'm on the eligible list! Thank you, Jesus—I finally won't have to share that Queens basement with three freaks!"
"I got it too!" someone yelled from another cubicle. "Mine's in Jersey City, but it's free housing near Manhattan!"
My grip on the mouse loosened.
And then this weird guilt slid in.
Hailey, you narcissist. Not everything is about you.
I mocked myself in my head. Viktor Ivanov ran a financial empire. His days were mergers, acquisitions, and God knew what darker deals behind closed doors. He wasn't going to rewrite an entire benefits policy just to find me a place to sleep. That was ridiculous.
So he'd pushed a company-wide perk, like the king he was, and I'd landed on the list because I'd nailed that XM deal yesterday.
A beat later, relief came in warm and slow, sinking into my bones.
I needed somewhere to land.
Last night still played like a nightmare—my landlord strolling into my living room with a spare key, sitting there like he owned me.
Those sleazy eyes. That disgusting, "Come on, have some fun with me.
" I couldn't go back. But my sad little savings couldn't rent a decent closet in Manhattan.
I'd been panicking about where I was going to sleep next.
This apartment was a lifeline dropping out of the sky.
Even if it was in Jersey. Even if it was four people in a two-bedroom. Even if I had to take three trains a day—if I had a door that locked, if nobody could creep in at night, I'd take it. I'd be grateful.
"Hailey, where'd they put you?" Daniel leaned over.
"Didn't really look yet." I forced a smile. "Probably the same as you guys."
I couldn't wait to get to the afternoon and grab the damn key.
After work, I picked up the key set from the front desk—small silver key, clipped to a leather fob I didn't recognize but screamed expensive. I opened the attachment from the email, plugged the address into my map.
Upper East Side. 72nd Street.
I stared at it for two seconds, frowning. Upper East Side? That was one of the priciest corners in Manhattan. How the hell did "employee housing" exist there?
Old building they renovated, I told myself. Had to be.
I followed the map and took the subway.
But when I actually stood at the address, right in front of the entrance, my whole body locked up.
It wasn't some old building.
It was one of those glass towers I always had to crane my neck to see the top of—gold light flashing off it in the sunset. A doorman in uniform stood outside. The lobby floor was polished marble I couldn't even name, spotless like a museum.
"Excuse me... Miss Woods?" The doorman glanced at the key in my hand and smiled—professional, respectful. "Your apartment is on the top floor. I'll swipe you in. That level requires special access."
I followed him into the elevator like I was sleepwalking.
The numbers climbed and climbed. My stomach twisted with each ding.
Top floor.
When the doors opened, it was a private hallway—one unit, one door. I held the keys so tight my palm sweated. I stopped in front of the heavy door, inhaled, and slid the key in.
The lock clicked. The door swung open.
And I forgot how to breathe.
This—
This was insane.
Floor-to-ceiling windows framed all of Central Park. The last light of the sun poured in, turning the entire living room gold.
An Italian leather sofa. Clean Nordic-style art. An open kitchen lined with the newest appliances like it was staged for a magazine.
I walked forward and pushed open a glass door.
There was a private pool on the terrace.
The water rippled under the sunset, little shards of light. Lounge chairs sat beside it, plush and perfect.
This wasn't employee housing.
No fucking way.
Upper East Side. Penthouse. Private pool. My paycheck wouldn't have covered the monthly building fees, let alone the rent. What company hands this to an analyst who's been hired for a week and hasn't even cleared probation?
That ice-cold HR email. That neat, legal "housing plan." It looked so official, so airtight—and the more official it looked, the tighter something pulled in my chest.
I thought of him immediately.
Viktor.
Who else? Who else could conjure a multi-million-dollar penthouse overnight and wrap it in a clean, legal bow?
That kind of control—total, seamless—should've made me run.
And it did. It made my skin crawl.
But somewhere deep inside, in that starving little part of me that wanted safety, that wanted someone to stand between me and the world... my heart went absolutely off the rails.
Still, I couldn't just keep taking his protection like it was normal.
I didn't want to become one of those women who clung to him for money and power.
I sucked in a breath and opened the pinned chat labeled "Mr.X." My fingers hovered forever, then I typed fast before I could chicken out.
Me: I came to see this ridiculous "employee apartment." I know you did this. The place, the job, and that landlord... Viktor, I don't want to owe you this much. This penthouse is too much. I can't live here. It makes me feel like some pet you keep on a leash.
I hit send, then pressed my phone to my chest like it could hold my heart in place.
I expected him to text back and argue. Or throw some filthy line at me just to watch me squirm.
Instead, less than five seconds later, the silent apartment filled with a sharp video-call ring.
"Mr.X" flashed on the screen.
I jumped, fumbled, and accepted.
The screen flickered. Viktor's face snapped into view—so striking it felt like a punch.
He looked like he was still in his private place, the background dim with a single floor lamp. His suit jacket was off. He wore a black dress shirt with the top two buttons undone, tie loosened like he'd yanked it down. A glass of amber whiskey sat in his hand.
He looked lazy, lethal, and dangerously sexy.
"Pet?" Viktor watched me through the screen, ice-blue eyes amused like he was holding back a laugh.
His voice came through low and rough, filling the huge living room like he was right behind me.
"Hailey, your imagination has been working overtime.
This is a normal benefit. The company ensures quality of life for core employees. "
"Bullshit." I snapped, anger rising clean and hot. I held his gaze, no flinching. "I asked other people. They got normal apartments in regular neighborhoods. Nobody gets an Upper East Side penthouse with a private pool. I'm not taking some random handout."
The smile drained off his face.
He set the glass down and leaned in, and even through a phone it felt like pressure on my throat.
"Handout?" His voice dropped. "Hailey. First—this company answers to me. If I say that benefit exists, it exists. If I say you've earned better, then you have."
"But—"
"No." He cut me off hard. "Your shitty Brooklyn place doesn't even have a door anymore.
You're valuable. The company has an obligation to keep you safe.
That unit has the best security system in New York, and it's ten minutes from the office.
That improves your efficiency. Or do you want me to go digging you out of that trash heap every night? "
Every reason he gave sounded polished, airtight. The argument I'd built in my head jammed in my throat with nowhere to go.
"But it's too much," I said, biting my lower lip. My voice went softer, but I stayed stubborn. "I can't afford living like this. I don't want to owe you something this big."
On screen, Viktor leaned back on his couch, long fingers tapping the leather armrest.
"If it bothers you that much," he said, tone smoothing into something that almost sounded like a concession—almost gentle, almost seductive—"then consider it a company asset you're using. As long as you work at Ivanov Group, you have the right to it. The day you quit, you give me the key back."
I froze.
Using it.
I hesitated. I looked around at the space—safe, warm, sealed against the world. No one barged in. No landlord with a spare key.
Then I saw my old place in my head—shattered door, Matthew's obsessive harassment, that landlord's smug face.
Did I really have another option?
"Just using it," I said, swallowing hard, forcing myself to give ground. "Utilities and building fees come out of my paycheck. And I'll save up and pay you back for rent."
A quick flash of satisfaction crossed Viktor's eyes.
"Do whatever you want," he said, casual like it meant nothing.
I drew a breath and made myself look at him again—the man who moved pieces like he owned the board. "I don't want to owe you, Viktor. Tell me what you want. How do I repay you?"
He went quiet for three seconds.
"Go on a date with me this weekend."
I honestly thought I'd misheard.
"What?" I asked, stunned.
"Scared?" Viktor lifted a brow. "Or were you planning to 'thanks' your way out of it? That's your big plan for not owing me?"
"I didn't say I was scared," I shot back automatically, my cheeks burning again.
"Then you've agreed." He didn't give me an inch to negotiate. "Saturday. Ten a.m. I'll send a car."
Under that relentless push, my flimsy resistance cracked and crumbled.
"Fine." I hesitated, then gave in.
He smiled, satisfied. "Goodnight, princess."
"Goodnight, Viktor."
The call ended.
I sat on the expensive sofa, staring at the dead screen.
I'd agreed to a date.
A date with Viktor Ivanov.
My boss.
The man who'd given me a job, an office, and a penthouse I couldn't even dream of.
What did he think I was?
I got up and walked to the windows, looking out at Central Park.
Night settled in. City lights blinked on one by one.
I closed my eyes and breathed in.
Viktor Ivanov.
What did you actually want?
And me—
What the hell had I been hoping for?