Page 14 of Under His Control
I finally reach the top floor. The sixtieth floor.
The doors slide apart, revealing an airy, light blue reception area with pristine lighting and expensive sculptures perched on pedestals.
It’s so silent it might as well be a shrine.
Presiding over all of it, seated behind a sleek ebony desk, is the formidable Mrs. Belova, though everyone calls her Mrs. B for short. She has a stiff, upright posture, hair always pulled into a tight bun, and a hawk-like expression that suggests she’s memorized the entire employee roster and knows everyone’s deepest secrets.
I step out of the elevator timidly, my footsteps echoing on the polished floor. Before I can even speak, she hits me with a pointed glare.
“Ms. Jenson,” she greets coldly. “Do you have an appointment?”
My throat goes dry. “I…no, I don’t. But I need to speak with Mr. Ovechkin. It’s urgent.”
Her lips press into a thin line. “Yes, Charles called ahead. But Mr. Ovechkin is a very busy man. If there’s an employee concern, please direct it to your immediate supervisor or send an email. You know the protocol.”
I resist the urge to fiddle with my keycard. “I understand the protocol. But this is personal. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important. May I speak to him?”
She drums her manicured nails on the desk, sizing me up like I’m a potential threat. “He’s not available for personal issues. Return to your department, Ms. Jenson.”
The condescension in her voice is so heavy, it feels like a physical shove. Everything about her posture says, “You’re dismissed.” But this is Chris’s life on the line, so I refuse to budge. Setting my shoulders, I clear my throat.
“Mrs. Belova, I assure you, this can’t be handled through normal channels. If I don’t speak to him directly, it could result in serious consequences.”
She arches an eyebrow, clearly displeased. “Serious consequences for you or for him?”
“Me. But still.” I try not to sound as rattled as I feel.
For a moment, I think she might be showing some sign of softening, but instead, she reaches for her phone. “I’m calling security.”
My pulse spikes. “What? Ma’am, please?—”
She lifts the receiver to her ear, eyes like steel. “We have procedures. If you insist on disrupting Mr. Ovechkin’s schedule without justification, I will have you removed.”
I square my shoulders. “I’m not leaving until I speak to him.”
Mrs. B raises her eyebrows. I can’t tell whether she’s impressed or pissed.
Maybe both.
“I’ll have security escort you out and you’ll lose your job.”
“I understand the risk,” I say, “but I’m not leaving. I need to see him.”
CHAPTER 5
ANATOLY
Ipace behind my desk, rereading the damned legal documents for what seems like the twentieth time today, when the large screen in the corner of my office flashes.
A security camera feed appears, triggered by the elevator that leads directly to this floor.
Usually, I ignore it. Nobody comes up here without my permission, unless it’s a routine staffer bringing files or mail, or maintenance checking the systems.
Mrs. Belova controls my schedule like a hawk, so surprises are rare.
But then I see Taylor Jenson, one of the assistant managers on the casino floor. The same woman that creep followed into the elevator last night.
Her dark hair is pulled back into a ponytail that trails down her back.
