Page 161 of Dirty Demands

I look toward Aleksei’s office on pure instinct, but the glass is empty. He isn’t there. Because if he were, no one on this floor would dare make a sound.

Another snicker. That does it.

I grab my bag so hard it nearly topples the coffee, turn, and walk as fast as I can without running.

Then someone behind me says, “Guess she’s not denying it.”

And the last shred of control I have snaps.

I run.

Not elegantly. Not with dignity. I run straight down the aisle, past the copier, past Vivian’s desk, past Lina whispering my name, past every face I can feel but refuse to look at.

By the time I reach the elevator, I can’t breathe properly. My chest hurts. My ears are ringing. I punch the button once, twice, then don’t wait for it at all. I bolt for the stairwell instead, shoving through the heavy door and stumbling downward in heels that were a mistake and a skirt that suddenly feels too tight and too visible and wrong.

I don’t stop until I hit the lobby.

And even there, even with cool air and marble and security and the revolving doors spinning strangers in and out of the building, I still feel like every eye is on me.

My worst nightmare came true. And it didn’t just find me.

It found me at the one place I was starting to believe I might actually belong.

The revolving doors spit me out into cold air and traffic noise and a city that does not care if I’m dying in the middle of the sidewalk.

Good. At least the city is honest.

I make it half a block before I have to stop, one hand braced on the stone wall of the building next door, the other pressed hard to my mouth like I can physically force the humiliation back down my throat.

My phone is in my bag. My hands are shaking too badly to reach for it. I can still hear the snickering. The word hooker landing in the middle of the office like something sticky and impossible to scrape off.

I should have known.

Of course it would come out like this. Of course, the one thing I kept hidden because it helped me survive would be dragged into the light the second I started thinking maybe I could have something better.

A car door slams nearby. I don’t look up. I don’t need another witness.

Then a voice says, smooth and poisonous, “Well. This is embarrassing.”

I turn slowly.

Alena stands a few feet away in a cream coat and dark sunglasses despite the weather, one hand on a leather handbag that probably cost more than my yearly income from every job I’ve ever had combined. She looks immaculate. Bored. Pleased.

Which somehow makes all of this worse.

I stare at her. “What do you want?”

She smiles, slow and cruel. “Right now? Nothing. I just happened to be nearby and saw you bolt from the building like your hair was on fire. I wondered if the office finally figured out who they hired.”

My stomach turns.So she knows.

She begins to circle me in a slow, measured arc, heels clicking softly on the pavement, like a cat that’s already sure the bird can’t fly. “You really thought,” she says, “that you could go from sex recordings to Aleksei Vasiliev without anyone noticing the gap?”

I swallow hard. “Go to hell.”

“Maybe later.” She stops in front of me again, head tilted, taking me in like I’m a puzzle she solved too quickly to respect. “Tell me, did you actually think you deserved to be with him?”

The words hit harder than the snickering did.