CHAPTER 2

CHELSEA

I can't believe I have to go through this every morning.

Shit.

I take a deep breath, straining against the urge to rip the hairband into shreds. This is what I get for being Iraqi. Hair as thick as a fucking forest.

After more attempts than I care to count, I finally pull my hair into a neat ponytail without stray strands flying about like they don't belong on my scalp.

I mean I could just let my hair loose but it has a tendency to be rather wild. And nothing is gonna stand between me and Dante.

Not even my own hair.

Staring at my reflection in the large mirror, I force a wide smile onto my face.

"Good morning, Mr. Romano," I say to the mirror with a wide and noticeably fake smile. My eyes alone carry the weight of the pain and anger that even the smile can't hide.

Guess I'll have to really get into character.

"Good morning, Mr. Romano," I repeat to the mirror, filling my mind with every good memory my less-than-beautiful life has accumulated. This time, my smile reaches my eyes.

Well then, happy thoughts all the way.

Satisfied with my smile, I turn to see the trouser suit I am wearing. It sits neatly on my body like second skin, accentuating curves that I am proud of.

Finally, I stare at my eyes in the mirror, my gaze taking in my forehead, the bridge of my straight nose, and my full lips before tracking back to my amber-brown eyes. Silence. This is it. This is what I have worked two years for.

Grabbing my bag, I head to work.

~

I glance around the office. It is just like the other one where we had the interview but several floors higher.

This time, there is an actual office behind the glass door, and windows cover each side of the door. His office is behind the second door but is covered by a half wall and windows above it. God forbid a girl needs her privacy.

How do I know this is my office? Well, there's a nameplate on the table with my name etched into it. Unwanted warmth blooms in my chest as I run my hand over its sharp edges.

"I arrived before you," a voice cuts through my reverie. It's him, my boss, Dante Romano.

"Uh." I stare, speechless. His gaze is stiff and stern, not at all the humorous stare he had during the interview last week.

"I would expect better," he says casually, strolling past me and into his office. I puff a silent breath as I strain against the urge to toss the nameplate at his head, but I definitely know better.

I follow him and sit when he sits.

"If you want to continue to work with me, there are a few ground rules."

I sit up, ready to listen. If I want my plan to work, I'd need to at least be able to last long in this stupid office.

"First, you must be up before me. I believe you were informed you'll get a private apartment directly below mine. You must move in before the week runs out. Excuses will not be tolerated. I will need a briefing during my morning run every day."

Yeah, about that, I saw that, but damn, I didn't think they were serious about the apartment.

"Lateness will not be tolerated. I believe you know how to do the rest of your job. You will work with my executive assistant, and he will catch you up on my schedules and important events."

I nod, keeping my eyes on him.

"I believe he has already covered this week's work."

"Yes, he has," I nod, my face a mask of indifference even as my heart now slows to a steady rhythm. I can't get riled up like this. I'll be working with him for a while. A long while. And if my plan is to work, I need to bury whatever anger I feel and get on with it.

I resist the urge to close my eyes as I take in a deep breath and steady myself.

"Good, that will be all."

I plant myself in my seat, eyeing him from the corner of my eyes across the glass windows. I press my feet to the foot of the table, welcoming the dull ache and steeling myself.

How the fuck do I get past this man of steel? His eyes are blank; I can't even read him. I'm so used to being the one doing the intimidating; it's different to be... intimidated by this man.

***********

I would be happy that I am getting a new apartment if not for the fact that I may as well be seeing Dante at the same apartment.

Everyday.

I decide to move in today, on my first day. Since work isn't too busy, I get off early, but not easily.

I can still remember his gruff voice when he handed me the files for the new project to coordinate and email to some employees.

Now I have to go to his apartment so I can use his laptop for the emailing and then get the emails of the other workers so I don't have to do this shit again.

I stack the last box on the cart and nod at the man from the moving company. I don't have many things, not necessarily because I don't like many things, but because my small apartment made everything a clusterfuck.

I roll my suitcase into the apartment building. The moving man, as I call him, follows me into the elevator.

On the third floor, the elevator dings softly and opens. A pair of cold, dark green eyes meet mine, and my breath hitches. He holds his jacket in his hands.

Heat rushes to my cheeks and then disappears in the next second, replaced by a dull rage I quickly silence. He darts his eyes to the moving man and the boxes stacked on the cart and then back to me again.

Another man stands by him, more relaxed. Dante—my boss—is a few inches taller than the man he is standing with, but they have almost the same build and similar eyes.

And I recognize him from the pictures of everyone in his circle I had to memorize—to know who I'll need to kill and who deserves to live when the time comes.

And he is on my list to be killed.

He nods and steps into the elevator, crowding the place with his awfully large shoulders. Well, maybe not crowding, but he's a big man, you get it.

As the ding of the elevator sounds on the floor below his, he steps out, and I shuffle out with the moving man and my cart of belongings.

"Wise decision." He nods at me as he strides back into the elevator with his aide.

As long as it'll kill you and make you miserable. Of course, I don't say that out loud, but in my head. But I still shoot glaring daggers at the back of his head.

I still have to go to his apartment later.

Alone.

SHIT.