Chapter Six

Dante 

My brows furrow, and my jaw clenches when I see the person who walks into my office. There's no mistake—she's the woman from the lobby. The one who tried to cook up a fake story.

A one-night stand in Milan? 

What a lie.

From the moment she approached me, I knew she was trouble, but I didn't want to cause a scene. I was glad she didn't get to my office like the two incidents we've had over the past months.

It seems I was mistaken.

"Who let you in?" I demand, picking up my phone. Daria said the new consultant was here, but this woman is not a consultant. She's good at fooling people and must have gotten through Daria.

"Who let you in?" I repeat.

She doesn't answer my question; she just stares at me with a shocked look and her jaw on the floor.

"Daria," I bark into the intercom, "in my office, now."

She snaps out of her daze when the door opens, and Daria walks in. "I'm Jenna Martins," she rushes forward. "The new risk management consultant."

I scoff, shaking my head. "Who do you think you're fooling?" I turn to my secretary with a stern look. "Get this woman out of my office. And I will need you to reevaluate your ability to discern between a poser and the real deal."

"But—but," Daria stammers, "she's Miss Martins, the consultant. I double-checked before she came and checked again when she arrived."

She hurries out of the office and returns with the file, showing me her resume. I look from the picture to the woman in front and back.

"Thank you," I say calmly. "You may leave."

When the door closes, I face her squarely, folding my arms. I don't need to point out the obvious.

"I'm sorry," she says, sounding apologetic. "I didn't mean to accost you in the lobby. I mistook you for someone else and by the time I realized my mistake, you were gone. I'm very sorry, Mr. Salvatore."

I'm not quick to buy her apology, and I regard her with skepticism, trying to read into her body language. The more I stare at her, the more my annoyance ebbs away.

She's beautiful.

Her hair is in a tight bun, showing off her slender neck and her eyes are light brown, almost hazel. The stud earrings on her earlobes catch the sunlight that streaks into my office, brightening up her face.

Her neatly put-together appearance is why I suspected she was a poser.

Most people who work here are usually in a hurry to be somewhere. However, with closer inspection, I can tell that her calm attitude is only on the surface. She has an air about her that suggests a hidden layer, the kind that pulls you in, begging to be explored.

"Jenna Martins," I murmur with intrigue.

She strikes me in a way I can't quite place. It's almost like she reminds me of someone else, a forgotten memory.

"Please sit," I point to the leather chair in front of my desk.

She nods and walks to my desk, taking purposeful strides. My gaze is drawn to her feet…the pretty blue that sits on her toenails through the open part of her heels.

I clear my throat, pulling my thoughts together. "So," I address her, flipping through the file. "What can you tell me about yourself?"

An hour later, Jenna Martins walks out of my office. My eyes follow her as she leaves, and once again, I'm drawn against my will and into some sense of familiarity.

I shake my head slowly, running my hand over my face.

Could it be that she was telling the truth? 

I have no way of knowing if I was in Milan three years ago or if I ever drank at the Mandarin bar. I was in an accident two years ago, and I lost some of my memories from before that time.

The doctor said my memories would return if I gave it time. It's been two years, and I still stumble upon pictures and other things in my apartment, but I have no idea how they got there.

For all I know, I might have had a one-night stand with Jenna Martin. She didn't seem like the kind of woman to lie…what reason did she have to? It's not like she knew I was the CEO.

The shock on her face when she walked into my office was real. Curious, I type up the hotel. A swanky looking rooftop bar appears, with a five-star hotel in Milan.

"Huh," I stroke my cheek.

I have no recollection, but it's the kind of place I would go to unwind. I could see it happening—meeting her in a swanky rooftop bar, striking up a conversation, and ending up in bed together. She's a gorgeous woman, that much I can admit.

Picking up my phone, I dial a number.

"Jamie," I say. "Let's meet at the usual spot. Seven pm."

I end the call and drop the phone on my desk, leaning against the headrest and folding my arms. I sigh as I close my eyes, forcing my mind to conjure up a memory from before I had the accident. I pinch my eyes tight, looking into the darkness in my head, but nothing comes out.

Finally, I give up with a sigh of exasperation and turn to the one thing that didn't leave after I lost my memory—work.

***

"Hey, man," Jamie pats my back as I walk into the VIP section of an exclusive, member-only club. "How're you doing?"

I shrug when he releases me. "Good. Could be better."

"Well," he smiles, "I'm the man you come to when you want to get better. What's your poison tonight? Brandy? Whiskey?"

Anything to keep my mind from falling apart. "Something strong," I respond.

He nods and beckons to the bartender, raising two fingers. Then he sits down next to me, tapping my knee. "What's going on with you? You look like shit."

I come out with it. "Do you know if I took a trip to Italy?"

"When? You take a lot of trips?"

"Three years ago?" I say, recalling what Jenna said in the lobby. "Some hotel called the Mandarin in Milan?"

Jamie strokes his chin. "I don't know, man. What month? I was out of the country for a while, but I came back close to the end of the year. That's when we reconnected. Besides, wasn't it before your accident? What happened? Did you run into someone you couldn't remember?"

That's what I'm trying to find out. 

I can't admit to him that I might have had sex with my employee, and I don't remember a single thing.