CHAPTER 4

CHELSEA

The ride back to the office is steady and quiet, just like our morning run earlier. He had only asked me about the schedule for the day and tried to make small talk.

I mean, I knew I'd have to follow him around before I even took up this job, but now, after working for a week, I just hate it.

And now, the only sound is that of the car's engine and my fingers tapping on the keys of the laptop. I really want it to stay that way.

"So, I take it you're not purely American." He finally speaks, and there go my fleeting wishes.

I glance forward, where I'm supposed to see the driver, but a pane of black glass separates us from him.

"I'm Iraqi. I've never been to Iraq. The terrorists you all fear," I add with a snicker, not caring in particular what he thinks of it.

"Terrorists? I wouldn't throw sick accusations around. But let's just say certain groups have a bad rep. Either way, I'm not American."

"I can tell," I respond, my eyes still glued to the laptop screen.

"How?"

"Really? I glance up at him. "Romano?" And roll my eyes.

"I see," he nods with a smile.

How is someone as evil as him this handsome? It should be illegal.

The rest of the ride, uneventful as it is, actually makes me feel lighter. Not needing to talk to him, I stiffen my rising feelings back in their place and step out with Dante.

Ilya's words still did make a difference. I had to test the waters soon and see how strongly this company and Dante Romano could hold on for their dear lives.

He didn't trust me yet, but I needed to cement my place in his company and his life.

And I may know just the perfect way to do it.

~

My fingers tap away at the keys of my laptop while I work. As expected, he had given me a pile of documents to sort through and millions of meetings to schedule, and I am definitely starting to hate this hell of a job.

I prop my chin on my palm, staring into nothingness. I miss my job at the bars. There, I could yell all I wanted over the music. Frankly speaking, I miss yelling. And working my former manager into a—

The door to my office clicks furiously, drawing my attention to it. A tall lady barges in. There are few times I feel like I'm a short woman, and this woman definitely makes me feel short—and I'm five foot nine inches. She has to be almost six feet or six feet one.

Her blonde hair bounces on her shoulders, and her hips dance even with her lean frame as she strolls past me like I'm too tiny for her to even acknowledge.

"Excuse me, ma'am." I regain myself and lunge in front of her, blocking her path. "The boss is busy right now. Do you have an appointment?"

"What?" She scrunches up her nose in disgust at... at me? Oh, she's definitely looking for trouble.

"Do you know who I am?"

Taking a deep breath, I place my hands in front of me to maintain the space between us. Gosh, I hated that I had to tilt my head up to look at her. Why is she so tall?

"Ma'am, you can't just barge into the office; please make an appointment, or you can inform me what this is about, and I'll relay the message to my boss."

Her eyes, even more sinister than ever, rake over my body like I am a pile of trash. I steel my resolve and stare right back.

I wasn't intimidated by men way bigger than her; what made this entitled little brat think I would be intimidated by her?

"Move." She puts her index finger on my shoulder and pushes. She probably used all the energy she could muster in that push, but I was still standing.

Her eyes flare open, and she parts her mouth, probably to rain all sorts of curses and insults on me. But she stops, her mouth hanging open.

"It's okay, Chelsea; I'll take it from here." Dante's voice is gruff and low as always. Was it even possible for him not to speak like a monster every time?

The tall girl sports a smirk and slides past me and into his office.

Stupid. Rich. Entitled brats. Of course, I don't say that out loud but in my head.

After a few minutes, the lady raises her voice, but Dante doesn't follow. His voice is merely a whisper, and even my straining against the closed windows gives me nothing, and I can't make out a word he says.

After a long silence, the tall blonde steps out, her mood even more sour than when she entered.

Is she his girlfriend? An ex? It's slightly appealing to watch her leave the office in a scowl after thinking that she won over him when he allowed her to enter the office.

I'd wager she's his girlfriend. I don't think any woman who wasn't would have the balls to barge into his office.

The small alarm on my table chimes, and I rush to his door, smoothing my clothes before stepping in.

DANTE

Chelsea. An unusual name for an Iraqi.

I glance through her papers again for the hundredth time since I gave her the job. Her foster parents were American. Of course.

All my employees were vetted before they could even step inside the building. We've had enough rats squealing to our rivals over the years.

And it's probably nothing. She's not the first one with an unusual name, and she was vetted, and Giovanni approved her.

Putting her files back in the drawer and ignoring the pit in my stomach, I pull out a pile she had delivered this morning before the meeting.

Sometimes I love my job, and sometimes I hate it. This is one of the times I hate it. Too much paperwork. It's now or never. Read the files, approve what was necessary, and throw out what was not.

I wouldn't have time for it later if I stalled.

I set off, signing the documents I had read through.

The new hotel is going to be a lot of work, and we have not even started with the investors. Still, it is my brainchild and—

A noise cuts through my train of thought. A scuffle?

"Ma'am, you can't just barge into the office..." Who is Chelsea talking to?

And even better, who wanted to barge into my office.

"Move," the other person says, and I would recognize that voice in a maze of a thousand voices.

Camille.

"It's okay, Chelsea; I'll take it from here." I calmly lead Camille past Chelsea and into my office.

But the unease crackling beneath my skin says something else other than calm.

"Have a seat." I point to the seat in front of me. I had already rounded the table and was in my seat. No matter what, I was keeping the distance between us.

"Oh, come on, Dante," she sways her waist around, her thick French accent coating her voice. "Don't act all distant and formal."

She leans on the edge of the table, running her slender fingers along my jaw.

I turn my face away. I didn't hit women, but Camille was starting to tempt me to make an exception.

Twisting the armrest of my seat, I turn my face, her hands falling away.

"What do you want, Camille?" My voice, as bored as I could make it.

After all she had done, she still had the nerve to come here.

"Oh, Dante, my love, I've missed you after our little fight."

"You call that a little fight?"

"I made a mistake, and I'm sorry about it." She whines, almost falling into my lap.

"Too bad; I don't care. What are you here for? I don't have all day." I stand, pushing her away.

"I just wanted to let you know that I'm willing to come back to you. I'll give you my all, I promise."

This woman is going to make me commit murder. Every moment with her reminds me of her betrayal. That almost cost my men their lives.

"Camille, darling. Leave." My voice is cool and restrained. I will not kill a woman unprovoked.

"You can't mean that."

"Leave."

"Why are you doing this to me?" She yells as I pull her by her hand to the door.

"Okay, okay, fine, I'll leave."

"You'll regret this." She sulks and flings her hair in my face before leaving.

The lingering smell of a strong perfume wafts around my nose.

Chelsea's hair doesn't smell like that.

Settling back in my seat, I tap the button underneath the table, and after a few moments, Chelsea pokes her head through the door.

"You called me sir?"

I nod, and she enters the room fully.

"Uh, annoying exes, am I right?" She smiles nervously, tapping her feet.

I mean she is right. Camille is just an annoying ex, but she doesn't need to know that.

"Well, she's a visitor I won't like to see next time."

"Definitely."

"And how do you think you can stop her? The last time I checked, she was a few inches taller than you."

"Tall doesn't always mean strong. And the last time I checked, she tried to push me, and I didn't budge."

"She did?"

"Yes. And I'm still standing, aren't I?"

"Very well. We have a meeting with a tech firm in a few days. They want to partner with us for the building of the new hotel."

She swipes the documents from my hand, and our fingers brush for a second.

She pulls back fast.

Why does she do that? Is she scared of me? No, not fear. I've seen it too many times to mistake the look on anyone's face. It's something else. I can't quite place it.

In any case, scared would be good, but when she speaks, her words say something different from her body.

"I will get everything ready by the end of the day."

I nod, and she leaves the office.

"I need you to do something for me. I speak into the phone."

Giovanni is on the other side.

"Look into Chelsea Shane."

"She was already vetted."

"I know; check for any loopholes. She's a strange one."

"Yes, sir."