I press the button. "What's the matter?"
"We'll discuss in person." His Russian accent turns the word "discuss" into something that sounds vaguely threatening. "Now."
My throat tightens. "I'll be right up."
I step onto the main floor of Angeloff Enterprises—sleek glass and chrome, currently strangled by silver garlands and a Christmas tree that looks like it mugged a Tiffany store.
Vladimir Angeloff in the Christmas spirit.Right.
The man probably sends coal to himself.
The decorations soften the razor-sharp aesthetic. Floor-to-ceiling glass overlooks Manhattan, where snow falls in thick, lazy spirals.
Two executives huddle near the wall, voices low.
"Have you seen him today? The big man's in a mood."
"Every department head's walking on eggshells."
When they spot me, they straighten like altar boys caught vaping.
"You didn't hear that from us," one says quickly.
I press the elevator call button. "My lips are sealed." I pause for a beat, then I add, "Pro tip—the walls up there hear everything."
Their nervous laughter follows me into the elevator.
When the doors slide open again, I step into another world: The executive floor.
Dark wood and stone.
Soft lighting.
The kind of hush that makes you lower your voice without meaning to.
The faint scent of leather and something sharper—bergamot, maybe, or expensive cologne.
His name etched in elegant serif across black glass double doors:Vladimir M. Angeloff, CEO.
My palms begin to sweat. I press them against my skirt, then catch my reflection in the chrome door handle.
Green eyes stare back. Sharp, unflinching. Or at least, that's what I'm going for.
Copper hair twisted sleek. My forest green blouse hugs curves I've stopped apologizing for.
I smooth my skirt, square my shoulders, and remind myself: I don't flinch.
Not even for him.
Even if every instinct tells me I should.
Even if there's a debt between us I’ll never fully comprehend.
I've walked through these doors a hundred times. Still, something about Vladimir Angeloff makes my pulse forget its rhythm.
Not fear—though fear would be simpler.
It's more like standing on a balcony with no railing while someone spins the cylinder of a loaded gun nearby.
