I hadn't seen him practically all day, except from afar. Last night's conversation seemed to have given him a wake-up call. His overloaded schedule was being neatly managed by my replacement, who stayed glued to his side. Finally, it looked as though he was adjusting. Last night was . . . overall weird. I swear he was drunk. I never thought I'd get a marriage proposal from him—while in pajamas, no less. After sniffing him, though, I realized he wasn't drunk. Just crazy. Stress-induced, probably. I slammed the door on him "accidentally".
But it didn't close all the way. Startled, I looked down and saw the tip of a suede shoe wedged between the frame and the door. I had no choice but to open it as he demanded to know why I hadn't accepted his "offer."
This man, I swear.
I simply told him I wanted to marry a normal guy. Someone sweet. Attentive. A normal family with a normal life. His foot slid out—probably because it hurt—swinging the door back in place. But he kept talking through the closed door anyway.
"Then what am I supposed to do without my secretary?"
It almost got me—almost. He sounded emotional. But I knew better. Before I could respond, he walked away. I heard his car start, then leave. A moment later, my phone buzzed.
Fabrizi: It would be very inconvenient for you to marry someone normal.
Maybe it was a blessing that today, I managed to dodge him without even trying. Still, my brain replayed last night on a loop, no matter how hard I tried to distract myself in meetings. At least he hadn't summoned me to his. That was for the better.
When I got home, my thoughts drifted back to our very first meeting. Madam Lorenski had been waiting for me outside his office. She walked me in after I finally worked up the nerve to leave the bathroom. He seemed nice enough. Decent-looking. He could have been more attractive—except I never went for blondes; especially with sun burnt looking strands. He must have noticed me sizing up his features, because he cracked a smile from behind his desk and said:
"No reason to introduce myself. You've probably seen me all over the magazines by now. No need to have crushes. I'm looking for a secretary, not a girlfriend."
I was horrified. He had completely misread me. I was here to work.
One glance at Madam Lorenski's tight smile told me to ignore his arrogance. This man was, quite literally, the walking definition of self-love.
The Next Day
Ms. Fallon's training with me was officially wrapped up. Anything leftover—Mr. Fabrizi could teach. I couldn't help her much with things like being conversational in Italian, but she'd learn. International deals weren't constant, and a few phrases would probably carry her through business parties. I had confidence in her. The only thing left was to make her comfortable with the staff. Though, judging by the way the male staff hovered, they had already introduced themselves twice too many.
"And this is Cherry, who you met on your first day. Next to her is Liam, and over there in the corner, sketching drafts, is Jacob."
They all waved politely.
"Should we start calling you Secretary Marcie when she leaves? You really walk and act like her," Jacob teased from his desk.
Ms. Fallon blushed.
"Oh, no. I just try my best to be like her and watch how she manages everything."
"Well, we don't tolerate copycats here—or office romances."
We all turned toward Cherry after that random comment.
"I'm only saying my piece. No hard feelings. Nothing to freak out about," Cherry replied, flipping her hair.
"I'll certainly abide by the rules," Ms. Fallon assured with a smile.
As I walked her back toward Fabrizi's office, I glanced behind me, searching for gossip. Cherry was clearly upset—her tone, her eye rolls, the hair flip gave it away. She'd have to get over herself when it came to newbies. We all knew she crowned herself the "Office Beauty." Her remark about romances was extra ironic, considering she'd tried to start one with nearly every male employee here—including Mr. Fabrizi, who, thankfully, was oblivious.
When we entered his office, the desk was buried under paperwork. Fabrizi stood behind it, waiting with a smile—though one aimed only at Ms. Fallon.
"These are the records of every business trip since the company started. I'm expanding soon, and I need you to memorize the countries, the things I like there, and—most importantly—the people I can't stand. I don't have time to experiment. By the way, how's your Italian?"
Ms. Fallon shot me a nervous look before stammering:
"I never lear—"
"Ms. Marcie will tutor you before she leaves."
What? That could take forever, and he knows I'm planning on leaving.
"Sir—" I started.
"I'm sure she'd love to," he cut me off smoothly. "The papers are there for you to study. I'll be back around three."
I clenched my jaw. I didn't want to leave Ms. Fallon alone in his office, but the anger brewing in me didn't care. I wasn't tutoring anyone. I followed him out onto Rodeo Drive, but he slipped into the back of his red car, slamming the door right in my face.
His chauffeur looked ready to pull away when Fabrizi's tinted window rolled down.
"So," he says with a smug little smile, "Doesn't feel nice having doors slammed on you, huh?
I fold my arms, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of my frustration.
"Maybe you should stop showing up uninvited."
For a heartbeat, something flickers across his face—a shadow, almost hurt—but then the smug look returns, polished and unshaken. The window glides back up, cutting me off from further conversation as the chauffeur sped off.