I arrived at the glass tower in Palo Alto at 7:38 am in the morning on purpose. Early enough that Viktor Volkov cannot call me late again. The building is exactly what I expected from a man like him. Cold. Imposing. Floor to ceiling windows that scream money and control. Security at the private entrance scans my face without asking for ID. They were expecting me. One of them nods once and escorts me to the private elevator that goes straight to the penthouse.
The doors open directly into his world.
The space is massive and minimalist. Black marble floors. White walls. Furniture that looks like it costs more than my entire loft. Panoramic windows show the entire Silicon Valley laid out below like a glowing circuit board waiting to be hacked. The air smells faintly of expensive leather and fresh linen. Everything is too clean. Too perfect. It makes my skin itch.
I hear the low clang of metal before I see him.
Through a wall of glass on the left is the private gym. Viktor is inside. Shirtless. Wearing only black gym shorts that sit low on his hips. He is doing controlled deadlifts. Every muscle in his back and shoulders flexes hard as he pulls the bar up. Sweat traces slow lines down the deep groove of his spine and over the ridges of his abs. His chest is broad and powerful. Arms thick from years of disciplined lifting. Low grunts escape him with each rep. The sound is raw. Private. I stand there longer than I should. My brain betrays me completely.
I hate how good he looks when he is not even trying.
I force my eyes away and stare at a pointless abstract painting on the wall instead. My pulse is already doing stupid things and the day has barely started.
A few minutes later, the glass door slides open. Viktor walks out. Towel in one hand. Sweaty dark hair pushed back from his forehead. Gym shorts clinging to powerful thighs. He looks even bigger up close. Six three of pure controlled power. He wipes the towel across his chest and abs without hurry.
“You are early,” he says. Voice still carrying that thick Russian accent. “Good.”
I shove my hands into my pants. “Figured you would dock my imaginary paycheck if I was late.”
He smirks. Catches me glancing at his torso again before I can stop myself. “Problem, Lennox?”
“Did not know you turned your home into a private gym,” I mutter. “Thought CEOs just sat in meetings and barked orders.”
Viktor laughs once. Low. Surprised. The sound rolls through the open space and does unfair things to my stomach.
“The workout?” he says, tossing the towel over one shoulder. “My body is a temple. I treat it accordingly.”
I roll my eyes. “Must be nice when the temple comes with a personal chef and a view worth millions.”
He tilts his head. Amused. Before he can reply, a quiet man in a black suit enters from a side door holding a thick black pouch. He hands it to Viktor without a word and disappears again. Viktor opens it, scans the contents, then pulls out two items. A matte black American Express card and a slim company laptop.
He holds them out to me.
“Use the card. Buy whatever makes you look like you belong in my world. No hoodies. No sneakers that cost less than a mortgage payment. The laptop has restricted access for now. You will earn more as you prove yourself.”
I take them. The card feels heavy. The laptop is cold and expensive in my hands. “You are really committing to this fake assistant thing.”
“It is not fake,” he says calmly. “You are my executive assistant. That is the story. Discretion and technical skill. You shadow me at all times. Meetings. Calls. Travel when needed. You will gain deeper system access gradually to prepare for AetherLynx. Understood?”
I nod. My throat feels tight.
He walks to the living room and drops onto a long sofa like he owns the air around him. Which he does. A woman in a neat uniform appears almost instantly carrying a tray. A thick green post workout smoothie. Viktor takes it and pats the cushion right next to him.
“Sit.”
I hesitate half a second before I do. The sofa is huge but he still feels too close. His body heat radiates. The scent of clean sweat and that woody cologne from last night hits me again. I hate how aware I am of his thigh only inches from mine.
He starts the briefing while sipping the smoothie. “To the outside world you are my new assistant. Hired for your discretion and technical background. You will sit in on every important meeting. Handle sensitive documents. Stay close. The closer you are, the faster you learn the systems we need for AetherLynx.”
Halfway through he glances at me. “You need anything?”
“Coffee?” I say before I can think better of it.
He nods once. The woman returns in under two minutes with a perfect pour over in a heavy ceramic mug. I add way too much sugar. Stir it loudly. Viktor watches with clear judgment.
“That much sugar will kill you before thirty,” he says.
I take a defiant sip. “I have survived worse than bad dietary choices. Like federal warrants and asshole ex boyfriends.”
He almost smiles. “Fair point.”
Then he starts quizzing me. Sharp questions about AetherLynx public facing architecture. Their login flows. Known vulnerabilities in their recent patches. I answer sharply. Showing off a little because it feels good to remind him I am not just some broke hacker he can push around.
While I am mid sentence explaining their weak API endpoints Viktor stands up. Still in nothing but gym shorts. He gestures for me to follow without interrupting the quiz.
I do. Of course I do.
He leads me into his bedroom.
The room is ridiculous. Massive king bed with black silk sheets. Another wall of glass overlooking the valley. A walk in closet bigger than my entire loft. Minimalist furniture that probably costs six figures. I keep answering his questions while my eyes go wide taking it all in.
Viktor stops by the bed. Casually hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his gym shorts and pushes them down. He steps out of them in his sweat soaked black boxer briefs. The fabric clings to everything. Thick thighs. Powerful legs. The clear outline of his cock and heavy balls. His abs are carved deep. A light trail of dark hair disappears under the waistband. Sweat still glistens on his skin.
He asks one final question about AetherLynx encryption layers.
I answer it. Barely. My eyes are locked on his body.
Viktor nods. Impressed but not showing it much. “Good.”
He turns and walks to the bathroom.
I watch the whole way.
Ass flexing under clinging black briefs. Hamstrings and glutes carved like they were built for this exact moment. Sweat tracing lines I have no business memorizing. The front is still burned into my head—abs like armor, cock thick and heavy against damp fabric—but the back view is worse. Because it’s leaving.
And I’m still standing here.
Staring like an idiot.
Already knowing this job is going to ruin me in ways Andrew never could.
There are moments that shift the axis of your life so quietly you almost miss them. No explosions. No dramatic declarations. Just a man, a room full of glass and marble, and the realization that you have stepped into something far bigger than you planned.
I should look away. I do not.
Viktor turns toward the bathroom. Pauses in the doorway. Looks back at me over one broad shoulder, still in nothing but those sweat soaked black boxer briefs.
“Your first day at the office might be more interesting than you expect,” he says. Voice low. Casual. Like he is commenting on the weather instead of the fact that I just watched him strip in front of me. “Get changed. Boris will show you to one of the guest rooms. You will find a change of clothing already laid out. Appropriate for the office. You can buy whatever else you need with the card later.”
I open my mouth to say something sarcastic but nothing comes out. He does not wait for a reply. Just disappears into the bathroom. The door closes with a soft click. A second later the sound of water starts. Steady. Rhythmic. Filling the silence.
I stand there alone in his bedroom. Surrounded by his luxury. His scent was still hanging in the air. The ghost of his half naked body burned into my retinas like a brand. The silk sheets on the bed. The faint steam already creeping under the bathroom door. The valley glittering below the glass like it belongs to him. Because it basically does.
I used to hate hot shot CEOs like him on principle.
The untouchable ones who think the world bends because they say so.
Now I have become a personal assistant to one.
A quiet knock on the open bedroom door snaps me out of it.
A man in a crisp black suit stands there. The same one who handed the laptop to Viktor earlier. He gives a small nod.
“Mr. Lennox. I am Boris. If you will follow me.”
I follow. Because what else am I supposed to do?
Boris leads me down a sleek hallway lined with more abstract art that probably costs more than my entire life. We pass two more guest rooms before he stops at the third door on the left. Opens it.
The guest bedroom is larger than my loft. King bed with crisp white linens. Floor to ceiling window with the same killer view. A small desk. A chair that looks too expensive to sit in. And laid out across the bed is a complete outfit.
Navy blue suit. Tailored. Sharp. White dress shirt underneath. Black leather belt. Polished oxfords on the floor. Even black socks folded neatly beside them. Everything looks like it was measured for me.
Boris gestures toward the ensuite bathroom. “Everything should fit. There are toiletries inside. I will wait in the hall. Please be ready in twenty minutes.”
He leaves. Closes the door softly behind him.
I stand in the middle of the room for a second. Staring at the suit like it might bite me.
Then I strip out of my hoodie and jeans. The air feels cool against my skin. I step into the bathroom. Marble everywhere. Rain shower. Towels folded like origami. I splash water on my face. Try to wash away the image of Viktor stepping out of his shorts like it was nothing. Try to ignore how my body reacted anyway.
Back in the bedroom I pull on the clothes. The shirt is soft. The trousers hug my thighs and ass in a way that feels obscene for office wear. The blazer fits perfectly across the shoulders. I glance in the full length mirror on the closet door.
I look like I belong here.
I hate how easily the money made it happen.
When I step out into the hallway Boris is waiting. He gives a small approving nod. No words. Just leads me back to the main living area.
Viktor is already there. Dressed in a charcoal suit. White shirt. Top button open. No tie. He looks like sin and power rolled into one. His hair is perfectly set. A few strands fall across his forehead. He glances up from his phone. Eyes me slowly from head to toe.
“Better,” he says. The word is quiet. Almost approving. “Much better.”
We take the private elevator down to the underground garage. A sleek black Mercedes is waiting. Driver already holding the door. Viktor slides in first. I follow. The backseat is wide but he still feels close. His knee brushes mine as the car pulls out into traffic.
The drive to Volkov Security headquarters takes twenty minutes. Viktor spends most of it on his phone. I stare out the window trying not to think about the fact that I am now literally being driven to work by the man who I saw in his underwear a while ago.
At the headquarters building everything is glass and steel and branding. Volkov Security in massive letters across the top. We walk through the lobby together. Heads turn. People nod respectfully at Viktor. A few glance at me with open curiosity. I keep my face blank. Professional. Inside I am screaming.
The conference is on the twenty-third floor. A large glass walled room. Eight executives and two investors are already seated. Viktor introduces me simply. “My new executive assistant, Kai Lennox. He will be shadowing me closely from now on.”
The meeting runs long.
When it finally ends Viktor stands. Everyone else waits until he leaves the room first. I follow like the obedient shadow I now am. In the hallway he checks his watch.
“We have another call in thirty minutes. My office.”
His office is the size of a small apartment. Massive desk. Another incredible view. He closes the door behind us. The silence feels heavier.
“First day going well?” he asks. Voice casual but eyes sharp.
I set the laptop down. “If by well you mean I have not thrown myself off the roof yet then yes.”
He chuckles. Low. “You will get used to it. The shadowing. The proximity. All of it.”
He steps closer while saying it. Not touching. Just close enough that I feel the air shift. Close enough to smell his cologne again. Close enough that my brain helpfully reminds me exactly how he looked in nothing but sweat soaked underwear less than two hours ago.
I swallow. “Do I have a choice?”
“No,” he says simply. “But you will find the pay and the protection make it worth it.”
He reaches past me to pick up a tablet from the desk. His chest brushes my shoulder. He does not move away immediately. The moment stretches. My heart is hammering again.
When he finally steps back he says, “We leave at six. Tonight you will start reviewing the initial AetherLynx access points from my penthouse.”
I nod. Because what else can I do?
As he turns toward his desk I catch my own reflection in the dark window. Neat clothes. Corporate posture. Standing in the office of one of the most powerful men in tech.
I used to despise men like Viktor Volkov.
The untouchable billionaires who thought the world was theirs to control.
Now I am his personal assistant. A lil bitch.
Shadowing his every move.
Living in his orbit.
And the worst part is the small, treacherous voice in my head that keeps whispering I might not hate it as much as I should.
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