Chapter Three
ADRIANO
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F INE .
I stare at my phone, disgusted with myself. Since when do I accept a flat "unavailable" from my secretary?
Since never.
I swipe to my calendar and glare at tonight's dinner with Senator Holbrook. The old man has been rambling about judicial nominations for months. Nothing that can't wait.
I send a quick text to his chief of staff.
Emergency case development. Need to reschedule. My apologies.
Then I call my driver.
"I won't need you tonight, Milos."
"Everything alright, Mr. Kontides?"
"Business emergency. I'll drive myself."
I hang up before he can ask questions. Milos has been working for me for twelve years, and one thing he does a lot is play chess with my secretary during their free time. Traitors, the lot of them. How did I end up paying so much money just to be betrayed like this?
But to hell with that.
Right now, it's all about figuring out where Shayla's going, and if for one moment she actually thinks I'd let her spend the evening with that courthouse slimeball—
My teeth start grinding against each other, and I find myself cracking my knuckles at the mere thought.
It's just concern , I tell myself.
Professional concern.
I've invested nine years in training the perfect executive assistant. I'm simply ensuring she doesn't ruin herself with some third-rate lawyer who smells like cheap aftershave and desperation.
I wait at my desk, pretending to review briefs while actually watching the clock. At 6:05, I hear the click of her heels passing my door. No goodbye. No checking if I need anything before she leaves.
Not typical of her, and the thought has my blood boiling.
Could she really be going out with that ass? And this early on he's proving himself to be a bad influence on my secretary? Has that sleazeball somehow convinced my Shayla that he's more important than me, her rightfully concerned boss?
Bastard .
I give her ten minutes, then follow. My Maserati purrs to life in the parking garage, and I keep a careful distance as her cab turns onto Sixth Avenue.
It eventually stops in Tribeca, and I make sure to park half a block away. Shayla steps out, and what the—
How did she change in that cab?
The ponytail, the glasses, and even the shapeless pantsuit.
It's all gone.
And in their place is a strapless dress that hugs her every curve—curves that my sensible secretary of nine years should have no business of possessing.
Dammit.
A muscle starts ticking in my jaw as I follow her into an upscale Japanese restaurant. I force myself to hold back and wait until she's past the inner set of doors before letting the guy at reception see me.
His face registers immediate recognition, but he's trained well enough not to express any surprise even though he's clearly aware that the woman who entered before me is my secretary.
"Good evening, Mr. Kontides. Table for how many?"
"Just me, and I'd like a good spot where I can likely catch up with old acquaintances."
"Of course, Mr. Kontides."
My conscience starts to nag me as I follow behind him. I know I'm crossing a line here. I'm her boss, not her keeper.
But...I'm just concerned .
It's not like I'm going to get myself involved or anything.
I just want to make sure she's alright, that's all.
The guy at reception gives me a table right in front of a private room.
Ah.
I see.
They want privacy.
While I...want to murder someone.
I give it an hour, nursing a whiskey at the bar, watching the hallway.
But no one comes out.
What the hell's happening in there?
Is she already being smooth-talked into saying yes to something she shouldn't? Is she being seduced? Or having her drink spiked?
Enough of this, dammit.
I'm going in there.
Just to make sure she's safe and not being taken advantage of.
It's nearly eight o'clock. If it's an innocent dinner, I can apologize for the interruption and leave.
But if it's not?
My muscles tense as I head toward the private room.
I hear laughter. And another female voice?
Relief floods my entire being.
So it is an innocent dinner, after all.
Of course it is.
But you can't be too sure, you know?
I turn away, deciding it's high time I leave—
"Greek billionaires think they own everything. Including people."
But then I turn back just as swiftly the moment I hear Shayla's voice and what she has to say—
"He's the absolute worst!"
—about me.
SHAYLA
Dinner with Hope and her husband Colin has me feeling free and relaxed like I can't ever remember being. So much so that I end up having one too many sips of sake, and the next thing I know—
"Greek billionaires think they own everything," I declare, "including people."
—saying out loud the things that I only think about but know better than to express.
Hope leans forward, amusement dancing in her eyes. "This sounds specific. Are we talking about a certain Greek billionaire lawyer?"
"The one and only."
"And yet you've stayed nine years," Colin observes.
"For the salary."
Colin's gaze turns thoughtful. "Hope has told me a lot about you, and so you saying that you've stayed all the years for the money? It doesn't add up."
"It does," I insist even while taking another sip. "I'd have left if I could afford to. He's just so... mean! "
Hope laughs. "If that's all you can complain about him, then I'll have to take Colin's side—"
The sake hits me suddenly, and my head feels light, my tongue too loose. Did I really just vent about Adriano out loud? And in public?
"He's going to kill me."
"For calling him mean?"
"For lying to him about being married," I say with a gulp.
Hope nearly chokes. "Did you just say—"
"And he thinks I'm divorced, too, and...and...and I think I'm going to be sick!"
I rise unsteadily to my feet. Turn around to slide the door open. Only to have my worst nightmare come true as I find myself face to face with Adriano Kontides' gorgeous and un-gorgeously furious face.
Oh no.
Because I just can't control it.
I want to, but I can't.
And the next thing I know, I'm throwing up on my boss' ten-thousand-dollar suit.
I am so fired.