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A suite, apparently. With privacy. And a doctor.

And a salary so absurd that I still half expect someone to tell me there’s been a decimal-point error.

Why am I fighting this so hard?

Because accepting help has become something I associate with owing people. Because Evan used to make every favor feel like a debt. Because I have spent so long trying to prove I can manage on my own that I have apparently forgotten how to recognize a practical solution when one arrives wearing a very expensive suit.

I look at Anya.

She is watching me hopefully.

I sigh. “Okay.”

Her eyes widen. “Okay?”

“I'll come back to the house while I recover,” I say. “And we can see how things go.”

She makes a noise so loud that Viktor winces. “Anya, you're going to give the woman another concussion,” he says, laughing.

Anya immediately lowers her voice. “Sorry,” she says, although her smile remains enormous.

I smile back, then glance toward Viktor. “Your brother said I could continue looking for a finance job while I was there, and that the arrangement could be temporary. Is that still the understanding?”

“Of course,” Viktor says. “Nikolai isn't expecting you to abandon your career. He wants Anya to have someone she likes around her, particularly while she's recovering from what happened yesterday.”

I nod, relieved that at least this part of the offer appears to be genuine. “Then I think I can manage that.”

Anya leans forward. “Does that mean you'll help me with maths?”

“I suppose I could be persuaded,” I say. “But I should warn you that I take fractions very seriously.”

She grins. “I like fractions.”

“Then we're going to get along beautifully.”

Viktor looks between us with an amused expression. “I'll let Nikolai know you've accepted,” he says.

My stomach gives a small, uncomfortable twist.

Anya giggles.

I settle back against the pillows and allow myself to feel something I haven't felt in a long time.

Relief. Not because all my problems are solved. They aren't.

But because for once, I don't have to figure out where I'm going to sleep tonight or how I'm going to earn money tomorrow.

I can be selfish for two weeks. Maybe three.

I can rest. I can let somebody else worry about dinner. And then I can leave. Simple.

Probably.

By the time I am discharged, Anya has decided that we are going to be best friends.

She informs me of this while sitting beside me in the back of the SUV, which is apparently the same one that transported me here yesterday.

I have checked.