Chapter 4 Bree #2
I glance at my watch. Well, I’ll be meeting the mystery man soon enough.
At 8:47, I hear it. A ripple effect of greetings.
“Good morning, Mr. Rossi.”
“Morning, sir.”
“Good to see you, boss.”
The voices get closer. Louder. Moving in my direction.
My heart starts doing this horrible tap-dancing routine against my ribs.
It’s just first-day nerves. Completely normal and—
I glance up, casually.
And my entire world tilts sideways.
No.
No no no no no.
It can’t be.
It can’t—
But it is.
The man walking directly toward me stops suddenly when he catches my gaze. His eyes widen.
Nico.
Nico is—
Oh my God.
Oh my God, Nico is Mr. Rossi.
The man I had sex with forty-eight hours ago is my new boss.
I immediately look back down at my computer screen and start typing frantically, even though I don’t even have any apps open. I’m just hitting random keys.
My hands are shaking. My vision is tunneling. I can hear my own heartbeat in my ears like a drum solo.
This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.
I interviewed for this job three weeks ago. The gala was Friday. We never exchanged last names. I knew I was working for “Rossi Industries” but I didn’t—I never—
How did I not put it together?
How did I not fucking Google him?
Because you were desperate for a job, my brain supplies unhelpfully. Because—
From the periphery of my vision I sense him passing my desk. I look up, but he passes by without deigning to even glance my way. Just strides into his office like I’m part of the furniture.
Which, I guess, I am now.
Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck.
The door slams behind him, making me jump.
I watch out of the corner of my eye as he sets down his bag, shrugs out of his jacket, and drapes it over his chair. Even through the glass, I can see the way his shoulders fill out that crisp white dress shirt. The way his hands—
Stop it right now.
Shit. I can’t believe he’s my boss.
I can just quit. I can walk out right now. I can—
No. No, I can’t.
I gave two weeks’ notice at my old job. Two weeks ago. I can’t go back. And I need this salary. I need this opportunity. Student loans don’t pay themselves, and my landlord doesn’t accept “I made a bad decision” as rent payment.
Besides, I already signed all the paperwork. I’m officially employed. And if I really did quit on my literal first day, what would I even put on my resume?
“Rossi Industries - Executive Secretary - 2 hours - Left because I accidentally slept with my boss before knowing he was my boss.”
Yeah. That’ll look great.
I force myself to focus on my computer screen and not on the fact I can see Nico perfectly through the glass walls and he can see me and we both know exactly what the other looks like naked and this is literally the worst possible situation I could have imagined.
Well. Almost the worst.
The worst would be if he acknowledges it. If he says something. If he—
At 8:58, a voice behind me nearly makes me jump out of my skin.
“Mr. Rossi will see you now.”
I spin around to find Cressida standing there with a sympathetic smile.
“For introductions,” she adds, like I might have forgotten why I’m here.
Right. Introductions.
Hi, I’m the woman whose fire escape you sat on while we watched the sunrise. Remember how you sucked my pussy and told me I was beautiful?
Fun times.
I grab my notepad and pen, even though I have no idea what I’m supposed to be taking notes about. My hands are shaking so badly I nearly drop the pen twice.
You can do this. It’s just a meeting. A completely professional first-day meeting with your new boss.
Just pretend Friday night never happened.
He’s probably going to pretend it never happened.
You can both be adults about this.
I walk the twelve feet from my desk to his office door and knock.
“Come in.” His voice is different.
All the warmth from Friday night has been removed.
I take a breath and then I open the door and step inside.
We lock eyes.
For about ten seconds, neither of us moves.
His jaw clenches.
My face goes hot.
I can feel the blush spreading from my cheeks down my neck and probably continuing all the way to my toes.
In my head, I’m back in my studio apartment with his hands on my hips and his mouth on my—
“Ms. Dawson.” His voice cuts through the memory like ice water. “Please, sit.”
The way he says “Ms. Dawson” feels like a slap. So... distant.
But this is what I wanted, isn’t it?
I sit in one of the chairs across from his desk, crossing my ankles and trying to remember how to be professional.
He doesn’t sit. Just leans against the front of his desk with his arms crossed, looking down at me like I’m a problem he needs to solve.
“I assume HR went over your basic responsibilities,” he says. “But I have specific preferences you’ll need to accommodate.”
“Of course,” I manage. My voice sounds almost normal.
Almost.
“My calendar is color-coded,” he says. “Green for internal meetings, blue for external, red for calls, yellow for personal appointments. You’ll maintain that system exactly as outlined. No deviations.”
“Understood.”
“I don’t take meetings before 8 AM or after 6 PM unless absolutely necessary. If someone requests time outside those hours, you clear it with me first.”
“Got it, Mr. Rossi.” The words taste wrong in my mouth. Formal and distant when the last time I called him anything it was just “Nico” whispered against his skin.
“You’ll handle all correspondence, scheduling, and travel arrangements,” he continues. “You screen my calls. Take notes in executive meetings when requested. And maintain complete discretion regarding anything you see or hear in this office.”
“Of course.”
“And Ms. Dawson?” He leans forward slightly, and I catch a hint of his cologne. The same woody, spicy scent that I couldn’t get out of my sheets all weekend. “Don’t overstep your role. You’re here to provide administrative support. Nothing more. Is that clear?”
The dismissal in his voice makes something break in my soul.
I’m just a secretary.
Not the woman whose fire escape he sat on watching the sunrise. Not the woman who traced his scars and asked questions he actually answered.
Just. A. Secretary.
I meet his eyes. “Crystal clear, Mr. Rossi.”
“Good.” He straightens. “That will be all.”
I stand up and walk to the door.
“Ms. Dawson,” he calls behind me.
I pause, hand on the doorknob, and turn back.
“Welcome to Rossi Industries,” he finishes.
The words should sound friendly. Instead, they sound like a warning.
I nod once and escape to my desk.
Except it’s not really an escape, because the glass walls mean we can still see each other.
I force myself to focus. Stare at my notepad.
Color-coded calendar. Meetings between eight in the morning and seven at night.
Don’t overstep.
My phone buzzes. I grab it, desperately in need of a distraction.
Sora: So???
I stare at the screen.
Then I type: Remember the hot rich guy?
She replies: The one night stand? He texted you??
I shake my head sadly. Reply: No. He’s my boss. NICO IS MR. ROSSI.
The response comes back almost immediately: WHAT.
Then: brEE WHAT.
Then: HOLY SHIT.
Then: CALL ME ASAP.
I set the phone face-down and take a deep breath.
Beyond the glass walls, Nico is on a call. His face is the epitome of controlled intensity. The same face that looked down at me in the dark. The same mouth that whispered sweet nothings against my skin.
I smile wistfully at that. Sweet nothings.
I never even knew what that meant. Not until him.
And now...
I’m his secretary.
He glances up, catches me watching, and his expression goes even colder.
I look away fast, my face suddenly burning.
I force myself to focus on my computer screen.
You have a fresh start on Monday, Sora told me Saturday night.
Yeah.
A fresh start.
What a joke.