Chapter Five

Jenna

Three years later. 

"Honey," I say, wiping sweat from my brow as I struggle to get my two-year-old toddler out of the car seat. "I have to go to work. Would you please make things easy for me today?"

Marie, my daughter, pouts and folds her arms. "No," she says firmly.

I don't know who she gets her stubborn personality from. On some days, I can deal with it, but not on my first day working for a new company.

After being unemployed for two years and some to take care of my daughter, getting a job like this is a lifeline. 

If I lose it, we might just end up on the streets. 

"Okay," I exhale, thinking of a compromise. "If you work with me, I promise I'll get you ice cream, okay? Chocolate?"

Her face lights up when she hears her favorite word, and she nods eagerly, letting me unhook the safety belt.

We walk into the young preschool building, where Marie meets her teacher in the hallway. Marie lets go of my hand immediately, running to meet Mrs. Pelt, making the other woman laugh. I hand over her bag, say goodbye, and head back to my car, driving down the interstate to Salvatore Industries.

***

I walk into the spacious lobby of the building, smoothing my skirt and taking a deep breath to steady my nerves.

"You've got this, Jenna," I murmur as my heels click on the floor as I stride on, heading for the elevator. "You've got this."

The strap of my bag slips down my shoulder, and I adjust it, rubbing my palms on my skirt some more. I'm halfway to the elevator when, out of my peripheral vision, I see a man coming from my left. 

Something about him seems familiar, but I can't place it.

I shake my head, reminding myself to focus on what's important—my meeting with the CEO. I want to make a good first impression, but the closer he gets, the more certain I am that I've met him somewhere before.

The sandy blond hair, the aura around him, and the hint of something dark like musk and heavy like fine wood. Then he turns around, and I gasp, almost losing hold of my bag.

Dante.

Shock runs through me, leaving me frozen in place. The last thing I expected after moving from Italy to Los Angeles was to run into the man I had sex with on the night I divorced my ex-husband.

And the father of my daughter.

I panic. 

What if he sees me? Recognize me? I should make the first move. 

It sounds logical enough that I move without a second thought, walking towards him. 

I double my footsteps just to catch up. 

 "Hi," I whisper, not wanting to draw attention.

But he doesn't hear me, so I repeat, but louder. "Hi!"

He stops then and turns around. For some reason, the first thing I notice is his eyes. I remember wondering what color they were as he stared at me across the Milan rooftop bar.

Black. A dark, intense shade of black.

"Hi," he says with an air of impatience. "Do I know you?"

I stutter for a second. "I—I don't know if you remember me, but we met three years ago at a bar in Milan. We were staying at the same hotel."

When he doesn't reply, my cheeks heat up in embarrassment. I can't claim it was a mistake now because it'll make me look silly.

"The Mandarin Hotel," I say, and color floods my face as I add, "we slept together. You're Dante, right?"

I'm taken by surprise when he grabs my wrist, almost bruising my skin. "How did you get in here? Dressed up all fancy so you could trick the security guards, right?"

His eyes roam over me with something akin to pure distaste. "Listen to me and listen well. If you want an autograph, wait outside. Or the next time you step foot in here, you'll be thrown out."

What the hell?

I snatch my hand away, almost losing my bag in the process. "What're you talking about?" I say angrily, massaging my wrist. "Why the hell would I want your autograph?"

Dante scoffs. "Don't try to trick me. You look like one of them. Dressing professionally isn't going to fool me, and you're lucky I have better things to do; otherwise, I would have you arrested."

I'm still in shock as he storms off, changing his course midway and heading for the elevator.

What the hell was that? Autograph? 

Anger quickly builds to white, hot rage and disgust. Who the hell does he think he is? I was going to strike up a conversation and assess whether I should tell him about Marie or forget he exists.

"And he dares to blow me off like I'm nothing?" I scoff, still rubbing my wrist.

I thought he was the man I met that night—suave, charming. I should have known there was more than meets the eye.

"Good riddance to bad rubbish," I mutter as I approach the elevator.

He must be an employee here, and based on his need to seem important, he is middle management at best. Hopefully, I will never see him again, and even if I do, I know I'll be walking the other way.

I've been Marie's mother and father for over two years—I can manage just fine. He was just a sperm donor anyway.

I enter the elevator with another woman and face the reflecting side, checking my appearance. The brief scene with Dante might have ruffled me some, but it's nothing I can't hide.

I smoothen my skirt, pat my hair to ensure it's still in a tight bun, and step out when the doors ding on the fifteenth floor. The hallway in front of me stretches out far, and the sound of my heels is muffled by the thick, brown carpet laid out.

"Hi," I walk into his secretary's office. "I'm Jenna Martins, the new risk management consultant. I'm here to see the CEO, Mr. Salvatore?"

Sara, according to her name, picks up the phone and makes a call. Seconds later, she points to a door in front of me. "You can go in," she says.

Taking a deep, steady breath, I knock once and wait for a couple of seconds before opening the door and stepping in.

"Mr. Salvatore, I—"

The rest of my sentence dies on my lips as I stare at the man sitting behind the desk. The nameplate on his desk is visible, spelling out his first and last name, but I don't need to look at it to confirm.

The CEO of Salvatore Industries is the man I met downstairs, the same man I had sex with in Italy, and the father of my daughter.

My whole world comes tumbling down.