CHAPTER 5

CHELSEA

That insufferable man. Ugh.

I kick a small stone in my path a bit too hard, passing a rather dark alley. I'd chosen to walk all the way home after what happened at the office.

Dante had yelled at me just before leaving work. What did I do to deserve that? Absolutely nothing.

Or maybe something.

But it was a little mistake compared to the threats he leveled at me. He would fire me and make my life miserable?

We'll see who'll make whose life miserable.

"Who does he even think he is to threaten me?"

"Your boss."

I step back, pushing a few people in my path at the voice in the alley.

Damn, I said that out loud?

I swivel, and my feet are already planted in a fighting stance before I recognize the voice of the person standing in the alley.

Concealed by the shadow, only his feet are visible to me.

But I'd know Ilya anywhere.

"Why have you come?" My feet are cautiously treading the line between the darkness of the alley and the bright light illuminating the streets.

"To give you some much-needed help." He chuckles, and even in the dark, my eyes follow the movement of his hands as he reaches into his pocket.

"I don't need it." I turn my face away.

Do I know what he wanted to give me? No. Do I care to know? No.

"You look like you're gonna punch a hole in the wall. He seems like a hard nut to crack."

Oh well, he's come to gloat, has he?

"You have two seconds before I walk away."

A small paper bag jumps out of the darkness, and I reach out and catch it before it can hit the ground.

"You'll need it," a fading voice calls out from the dark alley.

Looking up, Ilya is no longer there. Disappeared like a phantom. Well, two can play that game.

There. Home. Finally. The chill of the streets was already starting to seep into my bones.

Locking the door behind me, my phone vibrates against my pocket, and I pull it out.

"Prepare for a meeting with the Armenians tomorrow." Dante's gruff voice fills my ears.

He's still upset about the fact that I didn't print a couple of files. See? The threats were totally undeserved.

But the Armenians—I knew nothing about them.

"I have no files on the Armenians."

"I have just sent them to you."

Great, just wonderful. And the meeting is TOMORROW? But of course, I don't say that out loud, only in my head.

"Well, the meeting is tomorrow and it's too—"

"Are you suggesting you can't do your job?" The insinuation is clear. He means, 'After what happened at work, do you still want to keep your job?'

"No, of course not, sir," I spit out the words hard against my tongue.

"Good." He ends the call.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck you.

I jerk my middle finger repeatedly at his contact information on my phone until my finger is sore, and I, regardless, do the job.

~

"A few documents must be signed this morning for the commencement of the new project, and your meeting with the Armenians is by twelve p.m. at their company. After that, you have a one-hour meeting with the heads of departments by three p.m. and a shareholders meeting by four p.m."

He just nods and continues running. Working with him for a week has taught me two things.

Number one, always be on my guard.

Number two, I really need to learn to keep up with this man.

Maybe I'd be able to whack his ass, but he'd beat me in a race any day.

And right now, he's just jogging.

My face connects with a hard surface, and I stagger backward, planting my feet on the floor and looking at Dante.

Fuck, I just ran into his back. What was I thinking? Now he'll definitely fire me.

"Are you sure you can keep up?" he arches his brows, and I can almost smell the pride wafting from him.

I blink. And blink again.

"Uhh, yeah, sure."

"Really?"

"Yes. I have been keeping up all this while, right?"

"Yes, but you were being slow just now, and I don't like people being slow."

Of course it's because of that. Not because he truly cares about my well-being, but because he thinks I'm slow. What was I even expecting?

"Well, I'm keeping up fine."

"Good."

He continues jogging past me and to the gate of the park.

"Adjust the meeting with the shareholders."

"I can't."

"And why is that?" he turns to me, invading every bit of my private space.

His stormy green eyes pierce mine, and my heart flips on its axis.

God... he's... beau—fuck.

"What?" I ask, shaking my head.

"Aren't you paying attention?"

"I... I am." Oh, right, why can't I move the meeting with the shareholders? "It's concerning the new hotel. Since I resumed, you've been swarmed with work, and this is the best time for the meeting before the plans for the hotel continue."

"I'd be the one having the meeting, and I'm telling you to shift it."

He turns to continue jogging, but I side-step into his path and block him.

"With all due respect, sir, that would not be the best choice right now. With the swarm of work you're drowning in, this meeting would reasonably be now rather than later."

His eyes rake over my body for a second, and my heart skitters behind my lungs, threatening to burst out of my chest.

What's he thinking? Does he want to fire me? Over telling him the truth? Who does he...?

"You don't fear me, do you?"

I swallow hard before speaking

"You hired me for my skills. I would be grateful if you let me put those skills to use."

"Beautiful."

*************

Two guards step out of one of the three cars in the convoy that accompanied us to the Armenian company and pull the car door open for Dante and his executive assistant, Giovanni, in the backseat.

Well, plain old me has to open my door myself, without any bodyguards to do it for me.

Not like I care.

I follow Dante's long strides into the large building.

White marble floors welcome us, and we walk straight to the elevator.

Bodies mingle against each other in the cramped elevator as it starts its ascent. The back of my palm grazes Dante's slightly, and I pull back sharply, despite the suffocating space.

He keeps his face forward, but his gaze shifted when I pulled back.

Gotta be normal.

I drop my hands and let them hang loose at my sides.

Not touching him, but waiting for a shove, a push.

The elevator dings softly and opens. The man behind me at the back of the elevator squeezes his way through, shoving me.

My hands connect with his, and my heart lurches to my throat.

I don't hate him. I don't hate him. He is my boss.

I swallow the rage and pain and seal it away.

This is the only way to move forward. I have to get used to touching him. I must touch him.

He leans in, letting the back of his palm rest more on mine.

I am numb.

His palm is like a weightless feather against mine.

I keep my eyes open and glance up at him. His palm lingers, and he drags it slowly against my skin, igniting my skin wherever he touches. His face is a blank mask, devoid of emotions. Yet here I burn with every emotion possible.

Rage. Anger. Frustration, and the stupid heat that rises to my cheeks when I look at him.

The next group of people shuffles in, and the air presses against my chest again.

Why is this place so fucking crowded?

This time, he turns to look at me, and a body shoves me against his tall frame.

Fire crackles beneath my veins, but it's not the usual rage that burns beneath my skin.

His chest is pressed to mine, and his warm breath fans my forehead.

Our bodies are meshed together in the elevator, and his eyes comfortably avert mine, even when half of his body is pressing mine to the elevator wall.

Think. Think. Of anything.

School. My old job. My new job. My frie—No.

His scent of mild smoky vanilla wafts around my nose, blocking every reasonable thought in my head.

Taking a deep breath, I lift my head and our eyes lock.

The elevator dings again, and everyone shuffles out, clearing the air, and I can finally breathe.

He steps away from me before I can get a chance to take a deep breath.

Thank Goodness.