What the hell am I in the middle of?
When the merger draft is done printing, I head over to the workstation and load it all into a dark red binder. Normally, this would all be done digitally. But not with Sasha. He likes things he can hold, touch, feel.
Like me.
The thought sends a rush of heat through me. I’m not ungrateful for it—anything other than feeling fear for my life is welcome at this point.
I take one more long look at the binder in my hands and allow myself a quick proud smile before heading in the direction of Sasha’s office.
I head for the tall glass doors at the far end of the hall and weave my way through the crowds of employees making their way out for the day. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch my reflection. ThankGodI had the foresight to store a spare work outfit in my desk—I can’t imagine presenting Sasha with this thing in my dirty sweatshirt and dingy jeans.
I’m not nervous as I approach. A small eager smile forms on my lips, and for the first time in a long time, I feel excited.
I feel ready.
The elevator dings as I pass, and a woman steps out.
I know who she is. She’s impossible to miss—red hair like molten metal, a dress of emerald silk that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe, Louboutins on her feet, the red sole flashing with each step, reminding me of blood: Ruth O’Donnell.
Everyone at AngelCorp knows her name. She’s the owner of O’Donnell Shipping, an import/export empire with deep docks and even deeper ties to the Irish mob, if the rumors are to be believed. Her father’s crew ran guns and drugs back in the nineties before going “legit.”
She moves through the space like it’s a catwalk. Normally, she blows past me like I don’t even exist. But not today. Today, her sharp eyes land on me.
This is new. She’s never noticed me before. Why now? Why today?
“You,” she says, pausing like she’s trying to place me. Her smile widens, too perfect and toothy to be sincere. “You must be new.”
“I’m not,” I reply lightly, my tone inoffensive and just a little sweet. “Been here three years.”
“Well, he does like them young these days, doesn’t he?” Her gaze skims my outfit, from my blouse to my heels. I can feel her eyes linger on my body, my curves. “Not to mention full-figured.”
A thought occurs to me in that moment—does sheknow? Is that why she’s paying attention to me? I push that aside, offering her an over-the-top sweet smile, one that’s all teeth.
“He likes them good at their job. And see what happens if you make another comment about my body.”
For a half second, I catch it—a flicker of irritation tightening her jaw. She’s not used to being spoken to like that, I can tell.
She narrows her eyes, and for a brief moment I’m convinced she’s going to rip me apart. “Gabriella, is it? You’re his little finance assistant. I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”
“All good things, I hope.”
“Well,” she says, her voice low, almost intimate, “he’s been giving you quite a bit of responsibility these days, from what I hear. Let’s hope his trust in you isn’t misplaced. Sasha, as you know, doesn’t keep those who disappoint him around.”
I let out a small laugh. “Oh, I’m not worried about that. I’m tougher than I look.”
Another snort. “I doubt it.” She steps closer, her heady, floral perfume wrapping around me like a living vine. “You know, he goes through women like candy. They always think they mean more to him than they actually do. It’s tragic, really. They never seem to understand the kind of man he is.”
My pulse ticks up, but I don’t move. What does she know about me?Howdoes she know so much about me? Does she think I’m just his assistant? Does she know I’m more?
“Andyoudon’t seem to understand what manners are.”
Her eyes flash with pure, righteous indignation. She narrows her eyes into angry little slits, then opens her mouth.
Just then, the glass doors to Sasha’s office open, and he strides out. His suit is dark, his movements slow and deliberate, like the entire world runs on his time. He takes in the scene with those dark eyes, his gaze sweeping over both of us. The temperature of the hall seems to drop about ten degrees in those seconds.
“Ruth,” he says smoothly. His voice carries his usual quiet authority. “You’re early.”
Ruth smiles—too sweetly. “I just couldn’t wait to see you,” she purrs.
