Chapter 30 Episode 30
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“I can’t stay here,” I whisper to myself as I step through thelobby doors. “We have to go.”
I’m halfway across the lobby and already determined to packup our things and get myself and Elise out of New York Citytonight… when I remember I left my laptop in the conferenceroom at Zhukova Incorporated.
If I lose it, the money for a replacement will come out of mypaycheck. Roger already made that clear before I left for thetrip, and I can’t afford that.
I’m frozen on the wooden floor, my mind spinning as I try tofigure out what to do next.
I turn and see the night concierge smiling back at me over thedesk. “Is everything all right?”
“Yeah, I just—” I approach the counter. “Could you call a carfor me?”
“On Mr. Zhukova’s account?” she asks quietly, almost like it’sa secret.
I smile. “Yes. That would be great.”
If I’m going to leave the city, I may as well squeeze Nikolaifor every dime I can.
Back at Zhukova Incorporated, it feels like I’m stumblingthrough the longest day in recorded history.
My feet ache from my supposedly sensible heels, and mystomach keeps growling. I never finished my dinner and I’mhungry. Maybe I’ll make use of the unlimited room serviceone more time before Elise and I get the hell out of Dodge.
I step into the lobby and turn towards the security desk, but thelight is off and Stan isn’t sitting there.
“Fine with me,” I mutter. I don’t mind letting myself up.
But when I walk to the elevator and press the button, nothinghappens. It doesn’t even look like the elevator is working.What the—
“You need permission to use the lobby elevator this late,” avoice behind me says.
I turn and see a middle-aged man leaning against a broom. Apile of dust and small trash is gathered at his feet.
“Stan isn’t at his desk,” I explain. “But I need to get upstairsand—”
“Call someone from your company to let you up.”
I give him a patient smile. “No one else is up there.”
“That makes sense. It’s late,” he deadpans. His eyes arebloodshot. It looks like it’s pretty late for him, too.
“I know. I forgot my laptop, so I really need to get up thereand—”
“Stan left for the night,” he interrupts. “Access is closed unlesssomeone can let you up.”
He shrugs. “Too bad.” He could not sound less sympathetic ifhe tried.
“How do you get around?” I ask. “You have to clean all theother floors, right?”
He pats his hip with a wrinkled, calloused hand. “Keys. I takethe stairs.”
“Where are the stairs? I’ll take—”
I stare at him for a few seconds, blinking slowly. “Which youhave.”
“So… you could unlock the door for me?”
He shakes his head again. “I’m not authorized to let anyoneinto the building. The only reason you got through the frontdoor is because I forgot to lock it after my smoke break. Icould get in trouble by you just being in here.”
I huff out a small sigh. “Listen, sir, I—”
“Sir?” He guffaws. “That’s nice.”
“Listen, sir,” I repeat. “I am leaving tomorrow morning for avery early flight, and I left my laptop upstairs. If I don’t get itback, I’ll be in serious trouble. Could you please help meout?”
He looks me up and down, but not in a suggestive way. Rather,I get the sense he is a man with very little power who issuddenly getting a taste of what it feels like to hold all thecards.
“Sorry,” he says with a shrug and a shake of his head. “No cando. You’re out of luck, Miss.”
I sag. “I’ll only be up there a minute. I just need to run up and—”
He turns towards the entrance. “I’ll show you out and lock upbehind you. Good luck with everything.”
For half a second, I consider following behind him and quietlyleaving the building.
I’ve always been a rule follower. A “nice girl.” I don’t pushback or make waves. I don’t complain when I get the wrongorder in a restaurant. When someone cuts me off in traffic, Islow down to give them more space.
But right now, I’m done being pushed around.
“Listen,” I bark, all politeness gone from my voice, “tonightalone, my ride home was hijacked by a CEO on a power tripand I was locked in a closet.”
The janitor’s eyes widen. “What—”
“The only reason I’m still even in this godforsaken city isbecause my boss bailed on the work trip to go to Aruba. If hehadn’t done that, I’d be done by now. I’d be back home, safeand sound, back to my regularly scheduled programming. Butno—instead, I’m here, dealing with yet another assholechauvinist on yet another power trip.”
“Hey!” he barks, having the audacity to look offended. “Youcan’t say that to me!”
“So here’s what’s going to happen,” I tell him, still riding thehigh from my rant. “You are going to give me the keyshanging from your belt, and I’m going to go upstairs and getmy laptop. If not, I’ll be sure to report to your supervisor thatyou’re taking smoke breaks in the middle of your shift.”
His face is creased and angry. “I’m allowed one smoke breakevery hour.”
“One cigarette break,” I clarify. “Right? I’m sure your bosswould have something to say if they knew you were lightingup joints at work.”
It was a guess based on the faint scent and his red eyes, but theway he presses his lips together tells me I hit the nail on thehead. “You don’t have any proof of anything.”
“I can smell it from here,” I snap. “But give me the keys andthis will stay between us.”
The man stares at me for a moment, weighing his options.
In the end, he decides I’m not worth the trouble.
“I’ll unlock the door for you,” he grumbles, stomping down ahallway that runs behind the bank of elevators. “You’ll be ableto access the elevators or the stairs on your way down. Get in,do your business, and get out. I don’t wanna see you againafter that.”
He slides a silver key into a solid metal door with arectangular pane of glass in it. As soon as it’s open, I stepinside before he can change his mind.
“Thank you kindly,” I mutter, already heading up the stairs.
The janitor grumbles behind me. “Crazy fuckin’ snitch.”
It’s a long trek up to the thirty-fifth floor, a fact I realize onlyten flights into my climb. My chest is tight and my legs areburning, so I duck into a random floor and take the elevator upto the thirty-fourth. Then I take the stairs up one more level sothe ding of the elevator won’t bring me any unwantedattention.
Bridget’s empty desk in the lobby of Zhukova Incorporated isilluminated by a single fluorescent panel above her desk, butthe rest of the lobby is dark. I don’t hear any voices or see anymovement. Still, I plan to take the janitor’s advice: get in, domy business, and get out.
The hallway is lit by every third light. The alternating brightsand shadows give off an eerie, otherworldly glow. I feel likeI’m on a movie set rather than in real life.
So when I hear low, angry voices coming from the end of thehall, I’m not even that surprised.
The scene is set. All it needed was the action.
“Get in, get out,” I say softly. “Get in, get out. Don’t linger.”
But even as I say the words, I’m tiptoeing past the conferenceroom towards the voices. Towards Nikolai’s office.
Call it a death wish. An instinct for self-destruction. Morelikely than not, I got it from my mama.
The closer I get, the clearer the voices are. But I still can’tunderstand them. Because they’re speaking Russian, I realizeall at once.
As soon as that clicks into place, the right filter flicks on andbits and pieces start making it through to me.
“… The man was a no one,” an unfamiliar voice says. “I don’tgive a f**k about him, but I was almost caught.”
Nikolai. I know that’s him. No matter the language, his voiceis rich and laconic.
“I’m your second. You should have warned me this wascoming. I could have prepared better.”
“I didn’t know it was going to happen,” Nikolai replies.
“Bullshit! You know everything, you arrogant ass.”
I’m shocked that anyone could speak to Nikolai like that andget away with it, but somehow, the man doesn’t make theinsult sound like an insult. It sounds like an endearment. I getthe sense Nikolai and this guy are close.
“I had to show Giorgos that I’m not f*****g around,” Nikolaisays. “I made a threat, and I had to follow it through.”
“Even if killing that asshole ruined your date?”
Suddenly, the hallway feels like it is closing in on me. Nikolaikilled someone? Tonight? During dinner?
I saw the speck of blood on his collar and the crusted blood onhis knuckles. Clear proof that I chose to ignore. Because it wastoo messy? Because I was afraid? All of the above, probably.
- Writer
