Chapter 3 #2
Only the two of us were left in the conference room, and that damn cavernous space.
I slowly turned around.
He was already sitting by the conference table, suit jacket draped over the chair back, one elbow propped on the table, looking down at some documents, movements leisurely, like keeping an employee behind was as ordinary as drinking water.
I stood there clutching my notebook and water bottle, using every ounce of strength to keep my expression stable.
It's fine. Maybe he just has work stuff to discuss. Architecture Department stuff. Something about your designs. This could totally just be a normal work conversation, nothing to do with Friday night.
"Sit."
He didn't look up, just gestured with his chin toward the chair across from him.
My legs carried me to that chair on autopilot. Sat me down.
A document lay on the table. I recognized it—my quarterly proposal draft from late Friday afternoon, the one Andrew demanded before end of day.
My stomach started sinking.
He flipped to page three and tapped it with his pen tip. "Source for this data set."
"It's..." I cleared my throat. "Last quarter's baseline report, March version."
"Updated in June." He pushed the document toward me, tone calm. "You used old data."
I looked down.
He was right.
"Here," he turned the page. "Facade proportions."
I stared at the drawing, feeling the back of my neck start burning.
"Did you calculate this?"
I didn't speak.
"Clearly not." He answered himself.
My fingers dug into my notebook cover, knuckles white.
Why the hell is my draft even on your desk?
I screamed internally. The Architecture Department has twenty people—senior designers, project managers, senior engineers pulling six figures—he could've pulled any one of them for public critique, and it would've been a hundred times more normal than picking on me.
I'm just an intern assistant architect. My submissions normally wouldn't make it anywhere near the CEO's desk, but he put my draft on this table, flipping through page by page, picking apart every detail, leaving me nowhere to hide.
Please, just let me go.
But no matter how much I was falling apart inside, right now all I could do was swallow my pride and apologize. "I'm very sorry, Mr. Volkov. I'll be more careful next time."
He closed the document and set it on the table.
Then looked up, meeting my eyes for the first time.
Gray eyes, calm, deep, holding something I couldn't identify. He just looked at me like that. Said nothing.
I didn't look away, even though every nerve was screaming at me to run.
"Redo it." He finally spoke. "Report to my office Friday before end of day." He stood up, grabbing his jacket. "I don't like employees being distracted at work, Miss Collins."
Those last few words were especially crisp.
I nodded frantically, grabbed my folder, stood up, and speed-walked toward the door. My hand was already on the handle.
"Did you rest well this past weekend, Miss Collins?"
I froze.
The question was casual, polite, like a hallway pleasantry between colleagues. But goosebumps instantly spread across my back, from the base of my neck all the way down to my waist.
"Pretty well," I heard my own voice, tight as a wire, "thank you."
I pushed through the door, stepped into the hallway, and heard that heavy door slowly close behind me.
Then, through that thick door, came a soft laugh.
Low, casual.
Like someone privately enjoying a very entertaining show.
I leaned against the cold hallway wall, closed my eyes, breathing hard, feeling my heart still beating at an abnormal rhythm.
I stood in the stairwell for five minutes, making sure my legs weren't shaking anymore, before pulling out my phone.
It rang less than twice.
"Yo, Super Cleaner—"
"Sasha," I cut her off, voice low, "I'm in trouble."
Half a second of silence.
"What kind of trouble?" Her tone changed immediately. "Are you hurt? An accident? Or did that scumbag debt collector come after you again—"
"None of that." I took a deep breath. "Remember that job I told you about Friday? The penthouse."
"Oh yeah! The sexy silver fox who owned it! You guys had sex—"
"That man," I interrupted, closing my eyes, "is my company's CEO."
Three full seconds of silence on the other end.
"What did you just say?"
"Sergei Volkov," I enunciated each word. "Volkov Group. It's him. This morning at the all-hands meeting, when he walked in, I almost threw coffee in my own face."
"Wait, wait, wait—" Sasha's voice suddenly shot up, and I had to hold the phone away from my ear. "You're saying your one-night stand hottie is your boss now?!"
"Yes."
"O! M! G!" Her voice reached some bizarre frequency between a scream and choking. "Ella Collins, how the fuck did you pull this off? You never win the lottery, but you manage to hit this!"
"This isn't good luck!" I said through gritted teeth.
"This is a disaster! Sasha, this is a career disaster!
I was just celebrating that he wouldn't remember some nobody like me!
But he kept me behind today, picked apart every page of the proposal I submitted this morning, then asked me if I rested well this weekend—he remembers everything!
And it sounds like he's not planning to let it go! "
"Jesus! What else did he say? About Friday?"
"That's the problem!" I bit my lip. "Sasha, he didn't mention Friday at all! And he told me to come see him again this Friday."
Silence for a second, then Sasha said, "Ella."
"What?"
"You're screwed."
I pressed my back against the concrete stairwell wall, tilted my head back, staring at the harsh fluorescent light overhead.
"I know."
"So what are you going to do?"
The stairwell vent hummed. Distant voices in the hallway filtered through two doors, blurring into noise.
"I don't know," I said. "All I know is I'm pulling an all-nighter to redo that proposal."
Sasha sighed. "Ella, have you thought about talking to him? Maybe he—"
"No." I cut her off. "I haven't thought about anything you're about to say. I'm hanging up now. I'm going to redo the proposal. I'm never doing anything illegal again for the rest of my life. Bye, love you, hanging up."
"Wait—"
I hung up.
The stairwell went quiet again.
I clutched my phone in my palm, stood there, stared at nothing for a while.
Then I crouched down, wrapped my arms around my head, and let out a wail.
Fuck!
How did my life end up like this?