Chapter 7
RILEY
Has hell frozen over?
I nearly do a double take when I walk past Sloane’s office this morning.
Not only is she not chattering away on the phone or touching up her makeup, but she’s actually working. At least, if the clacking of her keyboard and the furious frown on her bright red lips are any indication.
The spring in my step stems from the hope that she’ll be too busy to crawl up my ass today, but it withers and dies as soon as I round the wall of my cubicle.
My bare cubicle.
The pictures of Taylor and me are gone; the gently-tended Monstera I’ve struggled to keep alive is nowhere in sight.
Hell, even my monitor and keyboard are gone.
All that greets me is an empty particleboard desk and a bright green sticky note smack dab in the center.
My footsteps falter as I walk closer, panicked thoughts swarming my brain.
What the fuck is going on? Where is all my stuff? I thought he said I would be okay… oh my god, did he change his mind and fire me?!
Maybe Nick talked to Sloane… God knows she would try to spin a story where I’m the bad guy here. Doubt fills me. If that were the case, she would be cackling and gloating as she watches me get the boot?
I reach out with a trembling hand, peeling the note off my desk.
Please report to Mr. D’Amico’s office immediately. —Julie
Julie, Nick’s direct assistant.
Fuck.
I’m absolutely getting fired.
Tears spring to my eyes at the thought of all my hard work going down the drain over ridiculous office drama. I should have kept my mouth shut, maybe even said that Sloane had been showing me how to work on quarterly reports. Anything that would mean a different outcome than this.
I clutch my messenger bag to my hip and keep my head down as I rush past Sloane’s office, not looking up to meet her eyes as I pass.
I can’t believe after all the hard work I’ve put in since coming here, that he’s just going to fire me.
I mean… why didn’t he just do it yesterday instead of letting me come in this morning to all of—whatever this is—only to be humiliated in the worst kind of way.
Standing in front of the elevator, I debate even going up.
Maybe I’ll just take my time and go see Taylor instead.
She’s in an entirely different part of the building and the last thing I want to do is rant via text.
I’d rather go take all of this to her desk and demand that she beat Sloane up… or something.
Taking a moment to consider everything, a heavy sigh escapes me as I shake my head. I’m not that kind of person. I don’t do the drama and I sure as hell don’t act like a child. With reluctance and my stomach rolling, I push the button on the elevator and wait to rise to my doom.
The elevator is thankfully empty when I step on, so I swipe my badge and hit the button for the top floor.
As soon as I feel it start moving beneath my feet, I pull my glasses off and press the heels of my palms to my eyes.
Tears rim them, forcing past my thick lashes as I gasp for a breath that refuses to come.
How could I end up in this mess? After all my hard work, it was all for nothing.
My jaw trembles with the force of keeping my cries from slipping out of my throat.
I worked my ass off to get a position at this company. Not just this field, but D’Amico Global specifically.
From the second I realized halfway through college that financial analysis was my calling, I set my sights here and here alone.
There was no partying for me in college, and the one boyfriend I bothered with—a biochemistry major named Dallas who took my virginity and then broke up with me a week later—didn’t take up much of my time either.
I’ll be gutted if I lose this job.
I don’t have a backup plan. Sure, I could probably get a job at most Fortune 500s with my resume, so that solves the issue of not having enough in savings to last me more than a few months, but it wouldn’t be the same.
It wouldn’t be what I want.
This place is everything: the networking opportunities and the ability to make a difference in major companies that help change the world.
It’s why I wanted to come here. It isn’t just about the logistics aspects of the company or the stock factors that it deals with.
It’s about the medical research companies that it works with that are trying to save the lives of people all around the world.
People like my mother.
The elevator chimes far before I’m ready, and I hurriedly wipe at my eyes and paste on a smile as I step out.
Hopefully I don’t look as terrified of getting fired as I feel.
I allow myself five seconds to calm down in front of Nick’s door before raising my hand to knock, but it swings open before I have the chance.
“Right on time,” he says.
His eyes sparkle with an amusement that I’m not used to seeing on him, although his face is stuck in its normal expression of cool passivity. I stumble back a step, all too aware of how close he is when my heart rate kicks up impossibly higher in my chest.
He’s perfectly put together today—though there’s a dangerous edge to him that makes my thighs press together at the thought of him.
Dark hair, thick and a little unruly, is swept back like it knows the rules but dares to break them.
The sharp cut of his jaw is dusted with stubble, longer than usual, making him look less like the untouchable billionaire he is and more like a man who could ruin you in a back office and still walk into a boardroom minutes later like nothing ever happened.
Everything about him screams control. From his tailored suit that clings to the hard lines of his body to the kind of casual power that makes expensive fabric obey.
It’s everything about him that’s completely captivated me from the moment I met him.
Maybe it’s just the adrenaline rush from the fast-approaching moment of truth about my job security, but he’s almost glowing, radiating confidence and control even more than usual.
“Come with me, Riley.”
He steps past me without waiting for a response, breaking me out of my one-sided staring contest.
I fall into step behind him, trying to come up with something to say, some way to ask if I’m getting fired without just blurting it out.
I hate the fact that I always seem to be at a loss for words around him.
Especially when it comes to things that are important.
We don’t walk far, not even a quarter of the way down the hall before he stops me, glancing back with one hand on the doorknob of the room that shares a wall with his office.
I’ve always assumed it was a meeting room, but I’m disillusioned of that idea as soon as he swings the door open and gestures me inside.
I squeeze past him, my panic giving way to confusion as I look around.
It’s an office nearly double the size of Sloane’s, with a massive mahogany L-shaped desk taking up half a wall. The windows stretch from floor to ceiling, showcasing a breathtaking view of the cityscape beneath.
“I told Julie not to unpack any of your things. You’re free to decorate as you see fit.”
Wait… what?
He nods to the single box resting on top of the glossy wood desk, and I go a little faint when I see the familiar leaves of my Monstera peeking out over the cardboard sides.
“Decorate?” I ask weakly, my mind reeling as I try to figure out what’s going on.
“It’s your office, after all.” I whirl to face him, my eyes wide with shock, but he just raises a single shoulder in a careless shrug. “I don’t care how you organize things as long as you get your work done.”
Panic rears its ugly head again, unbidden and entirely uncontrolled. My stomach flips unpleasantly as understanding slams into me, and I shake my head frantically.
“What?” The word comes out far sharper than I intend, and I take a deep breath to center myself before continuing. “Mr. D’Amico, you promised to keep my name out of things when you talked to Sloane. You have to understand how this will look!”
This explains why she looked so angry when I got here and why she was actually in her office instead of making snide remarks at everyone while hogging the coffee maker.
She’s going to rip me to pieces next time I see her.
Christ, I think I might throw up.
He raises a brow, tilting his head slightly as he drags his gaze over me.
“I haven’t spoken to Sloane yet. This won’t look like anything but me moving my best analyst into a proper office.
Besides, I need you close so I don’t have to wait if we need to discuss details of the Fourneaux files. Lacy Fourneaux isn’t a patient woman.”
As much as I’d love to fly high on hearing Nick call me his best analyst, I’m too busy trying to soothe the feral, terrified part of my brain that’s screaming and ready to gnaw its own arm off to get away from the perceived danger.
Yes, I wanted to be recognized for my work, but not like this. I want to climb the ladder, make connections on my way up, and be respected. I don’t want people to think I only got where I am because I ratted out my supervisor.
Even if Nick hasn’t talked to Sloane yet, she’ll still see a correlation here. Anyone with eyes will.
“Sir,” I say weakly, torn between being overwhelmed and flat out scared. “Please, I just want to keep my head down and do my job. Sloane’s going to talk, and so is everyone else. I’d really rather just—”
“That’s too damn bad,” he says, cutting me off without hesitation. “I need you in this office, so this is where you’re going to be. Take the morning to get everything set up to your liking. I’ll have more work for you this afternoon.”
He leaves me with that, stepping out of the office—my office—as I gape at his retreating back.