The next day arrived with a rush of morning sunlight streaming through the windows. Sam scrambled to get ready, hurriedly pulling on his clothes while his mother, Mrs. Carper, peeked out from the kitchen. "Sam, why are you rushing? Where are you going?"
"Work," Sam muttered without stopping, throwing on his jacket before bolting out the door.
But he wasn't planning to meet Ivanov. Hell no.
Meanwhile, in the sleek confines of his office, Ivanov sat in his leather chair, tapping his fingers impatiently on the polished oak desk. His sharp gaze flicked to the golden watch on his wrist, the seconds ticking by with an irritating slowness. His jaw clenched. Patience was not a virtue he possessed, especially when it came to time — and Sam made it worse.
He clicked his tongue in annoyance as the office door opened. The manager entered, a few files in hand. "Sir, these need your approval," he said before pausing, noticing the tension thick in the air.
Ivanov's eyes darkened. "Where's the new worker? Sam."
"Ah... he took a leave for today. Said he was sick."
Ivanov's lips curved into a slow, disbelieving smile. "Sick, huh..." he murmured, voice low with amusement.
Across town, Sam sat in a dimly lit bar, laughing softly with his friends. The music thrummed gently in the background as he took another sip from his glass, warmth buzzing through his veins. He hadn't mentioned Ivanov — hell, he barely understood his own feelings. But the mixed emotions churned inside him, bubbling up like an itch he couldn't scratch.
They drank, they chatted, and before he realized it, the night blurred by. By the time Sam stumbled back to his apartment, it was near midnight. The elevator dinged softly as it climbed to his floor. Sam rubbed his temple, his head heavy with the haze of alcohol. But something made his nose crinkle.
That smell. Strong. Overpowering.
Ivanov's cologne.
At that moment, his phone buzzed. A message from his mother flashed on the screen: "Son, me and Dad had to leave for some reasons. We'll be back Monday. Take care."
Sam blinked, confused. Why so sudden? What reason? And why now?
Lost in thought, the elevator doors slid open. He stepped out, but his feet faltered.
"Had fun, I guess, my little rabbit?"
The voice was calm, soft, but laced with a quiet fury. Ivanov stood there in the dim hallway light, his expression calm — too calm. But his eyes... they burned.
Sam's breath hitched. His slightly drunken mind struggled to process. "Uh... sir?"
"I thought you were sick..." Ivanov's voice lowered, almost tender. He lifted a hand, showing a neatly wrapped bag. "I even bought you some presents. But it seems you lied. Did you really hate the thought of spending time with me that much?"
The guilt sank in fast. It pressed down on Sam's chest, heavy and uncomfortable. He couldn't understand why — why Ivanov looked so hurt, why it twisted something deep inside him.
"I... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..." He faltered, placing a hand against his forehead as the room tilted slightly. The alcohol was finally catching up to him.
Ivanov stepped closer, concern softening his features. He reached out gently, steadying Sam with a hand on his shoulder. "You're drunk. Let me help you inside."
Too tired to argue, Sam allowed him to guide him into the apartment. He sank onto the couch, eyes half-lidded as his head lolled back against the cushions. Ivanov disappeared into the kitchen, the faint sound of running water filling the silence.
A buzz. Ivanov glanced down at his phone.
A message from Mr. Carper.
"We left just as you asked, and my son will probably not be home today, so you won't have any problem. I hope the water issues get fixed soon. Thank you so much for helping us out."
Ivanov stared at the screen for a moment before his lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk. His eyes flicked back toward the living room, where Sam was dozing off, unaware.
Oh, this was going to be fun.