Chapter 2
Quentin
I glanced up as Barbara Simmons set a white bakery box on my desk. "Your Friday zeppoles."
"You're the best." I took one, savored the powdered sugar. "What am I going to do without you?"
"You're going to hire one of these candidates and I'm going to train them for the next two weeks." She smiled. "Then you're going to be just fine."
"Maui ready for you?"
Her whole face lit up. "Five grandkids, Quentin. Paradise and family. I still can't believe you made this happen."
"You've earned it." And she had. Eight years of loyalty and discretion—qualities that weren't just valuable in my line of work, they were essential. "I won't be able to replace you."
"You'd better try. Someone needs to keep you organized." She headed for the door. "Three candidates waiting. Time to find my successor."
After she left, I sat in the quiet office.
Replacing Barbara wasn't going to be easy. She’d given me her notice three months ago, so I’d known it was coming. But that was before everything went to hell.
Two months ago, I’d lost a deal years in the making. All because someone had murdered my business partner in the venture. Salvator Russo, or Big Sal to us in the business, had been gunned down in his own home.
It seemed like a personal affront to me and I'd had to pick up the pieces. I'd managed to salvage most of the deal, but I'd lost millions.
Thank God for Isobel. My lawyer had worked around the clock to restructure the agreements, renegotiate terms with the other parties involved, and minimize the financial hemorrhaging.
Without her strategic mind and legal expertise, I would have lost everything instead of just millions.
She'd saved my ass more times than I could count over the years—this was just the latest example.
The one bright spot? I'd managed to save the California real estate acquisitions—a portfolio of commercial properties in Los Angeles that would be perfect for film production.
Buildings with soundstage potential, office space, the whole package.
Bianca didn't know about it, of course. We hadn't spoken in twelve years.
But my father's last words to me had been "take care of your sister. "
So while I'd let other parts of the deal collapse to limit my losses, I'd fought like hell to secure those properties.
Paid more than I should have. Called in favors.
Made promises that would cost me down the line.
All so that when Bianca's production company was ready to expand—and according to the industry news I definitely wasn't following obsessively, that time was coming soon—the real estate would be there.
She'd never know I had anything to do with it, of course. But I'd know. And somehow, that made the few million I'd lost on everything else a little easier to swallow.
My father had asked me to take care of her. Twelve years of silence didn't change that obligation.
But now if I wanted to keep the rest of my expansion plans intact, I’d need to find another business partner—soon, but for some reason I’d been dragging my feet.
I’d worked hard for a lot of years to get where I was today, so where was my motivation? The loss of the deal had something to do with it. But lately, I’d grown bored with it all. The excitement of power and control just didn’t seem like enough anymore.
Now Barbara was moving on, and I had to find a replacement I could trust. I’d resigned myself to the fact that no one would take care of me the way she had, so I’d just have to get used to the loss.
At least one thing was certain. I would pick the candidate I could work with, and I wasn’t going to settle for anything less.
I glanced through the folders The Agency had sent me. All of them were vetted for discretion. All had experience with high-level executives who valued privacy.
But qualifications weren't everything.
I needed someone sharp. Observant. Loyal enough to keep their mouth shut about the nature of my business.
Three candidates. One position. Two weeks to decide.
I buzzed the receptionist. "Send in Lori Johnson."
Time to see if anyone could fill Barbara's shoes.
∞∞∞
The Agency wouldn't send anyone truly dangerous, but I still planned to have Stone run deep background checks on my final choice. Forrest would verify every digital detail twice.
Standard procedure when hiring someone with access to everything.
I'd just finished interviewing the first two candidates. Lori Johnson—competent but arrogant. Susan Chambers—qualified but impersonal. Neither was right.
Julia Russell was my last option.
I opened her folder.
Her résumé was solid. Maybe too solid. Something about it had caught my attention during initial screening. Small gaps in the timeline. Nothing obvious. The kind of thing most people wouldn't notice.
The kind that made me curious.
A knock at the door.
"Come in."
Julia Russell walked into my conference room, and every carefully prepared interview question disappeared from my brain.
I'd seen her photo with the application.
Attractive. Professional. Dark, expressive eyes.
Shoulder-length mahogany hair. But photos didn't capture the way she moved—confident without being showy.
The perfect tailoring of that suit. She was younger than me, but appeared to be in her forties.
She wore a gray Italian wool tapered suit and carried a bag that matched her shoes.
"Miss Russell." I extended my hand, already breaking my rule about keeping interviews professional and distant.
"Mr. Vanetti." Her voice was steady, but her hand was cool. Pulse visible at her wrist, beating just a little too fast. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
I held her hand a fraction longer than necessary. Felt her pulse jump.
So. Not as composed as she was pretending.
"Please, have a seat."
I returned to my chair, opened her folder. "You've got an impressive résumé."
"Thank you." She'd recovered her composure. Sitting straight, hands folded. "I believe I'm a strong match for this position. I understand the value of discretion."
"Do you?" I closed the folder, watched her reaction. "Tell me."
She launched into her background. Former positions at international corporations—several of which had been raided by federal agencies. She'd never been charged, never even questioned.
Either she was extremely good at keeping her mouth shut, or she'd been exceptionally lucky. Or her entire background was fabricated.
I made a mental note to have Forrest dig deeper into those companies. Something felt rehearsed about her delivery. Too smooth. But that could just mean she'd prepared well for the interview.
After going over her résumé, I sprung my question about a personal interest or hobby. She was into thoroughbred race horses. Who would have guessed?
Listening to her story, I saw a different side to her. Her eyes lit up. This woman was genuine. Passionate. Authentic. And there was something else in her demeanor. The way her eyes flashed, like she could hold her own, and wasn’t afraid to challenge me.
After chatting about thoroughbred horses and her ponies, I had a final question. “Do you know what the most important part of this job is?”
“Loyalty.”
Staring into her eyes, they reminded me of mysterious deep pools. Beautiful and dangerous. “That’s one hundred percent correct.”
I swear something magical flashed between us at that moment. I knew I should thank her and send her on her way. Instead, I stood. She stood too.
"Thank you for coming in, Miss Russell."
"Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Vanetti."
We shook hands. I held on longer than I should have. Felt her pulse racing under my thumb.
She felt it too—this thing between us. Whatever it was.
"I’ll walk you out."
She nodded, smiled—trying to look professional—and stepped to the door.
I opened it and ushered her into the hallway. “After you.”
“Thank you.”
Her confident stride was professional, but I noticed a little something extra. I tried not to stare. Unsuccessfully. We walked silently down the hall. At the elevators, I pushed the button for the visitor’s parking level. The doors opened and she stepped inside.
“Thank you again, Mr. Vanetti.
“I’ll ride down with you.”
Her cheeks turned rosy, and satisfaction rolled over me.
I stepped onto the elevator and explained. “I’ve been stuck in my office all morning, so I could use a break.”
“Oh… yeah. I get that.”
I glanced at our reflections in the glass and she caught me. I smiled and turned my gaze to the numbers lighting up the control panel. Four, three, two, one, P2, P1, and then the elevator stopped.
“This is me.” she took a step towards the open doors. “I’m looking forward to hearing back from you. Thanks for seeing me out.”
“Of course. Which car is yours?”
“That one.” She pointed to a Toyota down the row.
I stepped out and walked her to the car. “A rental?”
“Yes. For now. Once I get the job, I’ll get my own.”
“I like your attitude.”
A smile played at the corners of her mouth—secretive, knowing. Like she held all the cards and wasn't showing her hand. She pulled a key ring from her handbag and unlocked the car.
I opened her door. She sat and pulled the seatbelt across her shoulder. “Thanks again.”
“I’ll be in touch.” I shut her door and watched her drive off. This whole time I’d been telling myself that I was just making sure she got to her car safely. But when I caught one last glimpse of those dark eyes in the rearview mirror, I knew the truth.
I was in trouble.
And worse—I didn't want to get out of it.
I stood in that parking garage long after her taillights disappeared, wondering what the hell I was doing.
Barbara had been right. I needed someone to replace her.
But I was pretty sure Julia Russell was going to be a lot more than just an assistant.
Whether that was a good thing or not remained to be seen.
Back in my office, I stared at her folder.
Julia Russell was either exactly who she claimed to be, or the most dangerous candidate I'd ever interviewed. For some reason, that excited me even more.