Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Hailey
Saturday morning light poured through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse duplex, scattering bright flecks of gold across the carpet.
I stood in the oversized bathroom and stared at the woman in the mirror—hair a full-on bird's nest, cheeks flushed—and it still felt like some ridiculous, decadent dream.
I took a deep breath, pulled on a comfy light-gray knit sweater and jeans, grabbed the solid-black access card, and headed out.
I had planned to meet Samantha outside an indie coffee spot in SoHo.
By the time I came up from the subway, she had already posted up on the corner with two iced Americanos.
She wore a tight strappy top and a leather skirt like she was about to set the block on fire, red hair loud over her shoulders.
"Jesus, Hailey!" The second she saw me, she clicked over on heels, shoved a coffee into my hand, and ran those winged-liner eyes over me like a scanner. "What the hell happened to you? You look like a rose that finally got watered. Spill. What's the dirty little secret?"
Guilt bit at my mouth. I tugged her into the shadowed, quieter side of the street.
"Samantha, I'm going on a date." I lowered my voice, and my cheeks went hot all over again.
"A date?" Her eyes lit up like fireworks. She grabbed my arm, nails damn near digging in. "With who? Is it that mystery 'Mr. X' from the hotel? You finally decided to lock him down?"
"Actually, Mr. X is..." I swallowed hard and forced out the name that made my pulse jump. "He's Viktor Ivanov. My boss. The CEO of Ivanov Group."
"Holy shit!!!"
She shrieked loud enough to crack the whole damn street. People turned. I clapped a hand over her mouth and dragged her into a sleek designer boutique next door.
"Are you out of your mind? Keep it down," I hissed.
"Am I out of my mind, or are you?" She yanked my hand off, breathing fast, eyes huge.
"Wait—let me get this straight. So the guy you 'bought' for two hundred bucks in a hotel room was actually the untouchable big shot with the scary background, the one even the mayor has to smile at?
Hailey, you didn't catch a fish. You harpooned a prehistoric fucking crocodile. "
"Stop." I pretended to browse a rack, trying to hide how rattled I was. "It's not like that. It got messy. I didn't even recognize him until later, in the lobby at work. He helped me out... with my ex, and with that creep landlord. I just... felt like I owed him, so I said yes."
"Owed him." Samantha snorted and rolled her eyes so hard it was rude.
She snatched the conservative black knee-length dress I had picked up and tossed it back.
"Hailey, do I look three? A man like Viktor doesn't collect favors with dinner dates.
If he wanted payback, he would've worked you to death, unpaid, or had you scrubbing his yacht.
If he asked you out, it means he wants you in his bed, or—" she narrowed her eyes, mouth curling wickedly, "he already had you in that hotel bed and liked the taste. "
I took a huge gulp of coffee and winced at the bitter burn.
"So I'm right?" she pushed.
I stayed quiet for two seconds, and that was all it took.
"We've sent... some dirty texts," I admitted. "But that doesn't have to mean anything."
"Oh, please. Don't lie to yourself." She smacked my shoulder, hard enough it stung.
"Hailey, you're the Hailey who got wrecked by that piece of trash Matthew and swore off men forever.
Three weeks ago you were crying into my couch like your heart had been cut out.
And now you're agreeing to go on a date with a shiny, untouchable CEO? "
"It's not the same," I muttered. "I—I can't explain it. He saved me. More than once. This is me... paying him back."
"Paying him back," she repeated, dragging it out, then she grabbed my arm and hauled me toward the high-end section.
"Enough stalling. Listen, babe. With an alpha who owns the room just by breathing, you don't dress like a good little girl about to present quarterly earnings.
You wear something that makes him look at you once and want to slam you onto the restaurant table and tear you apart. "
Samantha basically played dress-up with me, dragging me through one luxury shop after another.
"This one?" She held up a red dress with a slit cut all the way to my upper thigh, eyes sparkling. "Hot. Dirty. He'd stare at your legs all night."
"Too much," I said, shaking my head. "I'm not going to a club."
"Fine. This?" She swapped it for a sequined bodycon skirt.
"Sam, I'm going on a date, not performing the Super Bowl halftime show."
She rolled her eyes and shoved it back. "You're hopelessly conservative."
I drifted between hangers, honestly lost. I didn't even know what Viktor planned. He had told me a car would pick me up at ten Saturday morning. That was it. As usual, he held every card.
"So where do you think he'll take you?" Samantha asked, holding a top up against me like she was plotting. "With his money, did he rent a yacht? Fly you to the Hamptons in a helicopter?"
"Stop guessing," I said, half laughing. "Maybe it's just dinner."
"Just dinner?" She scoffed. "Men like that don't do 'just.' Trust me."
I smiled, helpless.
Because yeah—part of me was excited. Just thinking about Saturday made my heart race.
After almost ten outfit changes, I finally hit a wall.
"I should just wear my own beige dress," I said, exhausted.
"Absolutely not. One last look. Trust me." Samantha took a black garment bag from the sales associate like it was contraband, unzipped it, and held up the dress.
It was a simple, elegant white dress. No lace. No glitter. Heavy silk that looked like it held its shape, with a soft pearl sheen. A clean straight neckline in front, waist perfectly fitted, hem landing just above the knee.
And then I took it into the fitting room, slipped it on, turned, and looked in the mirror behind me.
My breath caught.
The back was completely open.
A deep V plunge that dropped to my lower back, held together by two thin, crossed straps. A wide expanse of warm, smooth skin bared to the air. From the front I looked almost pure. From the back... I looked like sin.
I stepped out.
Samantha froze, coffee halfway to her mouth.
"God..." she murmured. She walked up, adjusted the fabric at my shoulder, and her eyes shone with approval.
"This is it. Hailey, you look like an angel who wandered into the wrong world...
and then you turn around, and you're a demon that sucks a man's soul dry.
Trust me. Viktor sees you in this, and he'll forget his own name. "
Her blunt description made my whole body shiver. My brain flashed to Viktor's hands—rough at the fingertips—gliding down my spine. Heat flared in my face again.
"I'll take it," I blurted to the associate before I could talk myself out of it.
After I paid, Samantha and I walked out with shopping bags in hand.
Manhattan on a weekend stayed busy—young people wandering with coffee, families pushing strollers. The sun sat bright, a breeze brushed my cheeks, and Samantha kept talking, tossing out the latest gossip.
"Seriously, how do you even handle his...
presence?" she said, biting into a macaron, eyes bright with analysis.
"I read that Wall Street Journal profile on him.
Four pages, and the man barely lifted an eyelid.
People call him 'the tyrant' off the record.
Cold as a machine, like a meat grinder with no feelings.
And apparently he never has women around him.
And you're going on a date with that iceberg? "
While she talked, my mind betrayed me and replayed last night—Viktor on video, loosening his tie, whiskey in hand, voice low and rough and possessive as he talked to me.
To the world, he was untouchable and ruthless. But I knew the heat of his palm. The way it made me shake.
That contrast stole my breath, and my mouth curved before I could stop it.
The light mood didn't last.
As we walked—cutting over a couple blocks toward the subway—the weird feeling crawled up my back with no warning. Like someone had eyes on me. Cold, sharp. Snake-like.
I stopped hard and looked behind me.
The sidewalk was packed. Someone talked on the phone. Someone lingered at a window display. A yellow cab laid on its horn and slid past. Everything looked normal.
"What?" Samantha asked, startled, turning too.
"Nothing." I frowned, scanning the crowd fast. "Probably my imagination."
"You're wound too tight," she said, looping her arm through mine and pulling me toward the coffee shop. "Relax. I know a guy like Viktor feels intense, but you can't drive yourself crazy before the date."
"Yeah. Maybe I'm just being paranoid." I forced myself to look away and followed her inside.
But that watched feeling stayed stuck in me like a fishbone in my throat. I couldn't swallow it down.
The café smelled like fresh-ground beans. We grabbed a window table. Samantha went to order. I set the shopping bags on the empty chair beside me and rubbed the tight ache at the back of my neck.
She was mid-rant about ten possible places Viktor might take me when my phone buzzed.
Viktor.
I tucked it closer to my body on instinct.
Samantha's eyes snapped to it. "Who's that? You're smiling like an idiot. That's him, isn't it?"
I rolled my eyes and opened the message.
Viktor: How's your day, princess?
I stared at that word—princess—and felt my ears heat.
Me: It's okay. I'm getting ready for tomorrow.
Viktor: Oh? Getting ready how?
Me: I bought a dress.
A few seconds passed. Then he sent an emoji.
A loaded one. The kind that looked like a half-smile, half-threat.
Then:
Viktor: I can't wait.
That was it. Three words, and my heart stumbled like it forgot its job.
"Look at you," Samantha said, chin in her hand, delighted. "That dopey grin. Hailey, I've known you six years. I've never seen you smile at your phone like that. Matthew didn't even get that kind of treatment."