Aria's POV
"David knew."
I can't stop saying it. The words tumble out of my mouth like a prayer or a curse, I can't tell which.
"We don't know that for certain," Gabe says, but his voice lacks conviction.
"He works for Vaughn. He's worked for him for six months." I stand up, my legs shaking. "That's not a coincidence."
Dominic ends his phone call and turns to face me. His expression is unreadable.
"Sit down, Aria."
"Don't tell me what to—"
"Sit. Down." His voice doesn't rise, but the command in it makes my knees buckle. I sink back into the chair. "Panicking won't help. We need information before we make assumptions."
"Assumptions? My ex-fiancé works for the man who framed me for murder!"
"Which could mean he's complicit, or it could mean he's another victim." Dominic's eyes bore into mine. "Either way, you're going to find out. But first, you're going to learn how to do your job."
I stare at him in disbelief. "You want me to work? Now?"
"Especially now. Because whoever sent that message to David wants you distracted, scared, making mistakes." He moves to his desk and pulls out a tablet. "So we're going to do the opposite. You're going to sit at your desk, do exactly what I hired you to do, and show whoever's watching that you're not afraid."
"But I am afraid."
"I know." Something almost like sympathy crosses his face. "That's why you're going to fake it."
Before I can argue, the young Asian woman from earlier appears in the doorway.
"Your desk is ready, Aria," she says with a bright smile that seems out of place given the circumstances. "I'm Maya Chen, by the way. Tech specialist. I'm the one who's been blocking access to your files all week."
I manage a weak nod. "Thank you."
"Come on, I'll show you around." Maya gestures for me to follow. "Fair warning though—this job is intense. The last three assistants quit within months. One of them actually cried in the bathroom before leaving."
"That's encouraging," I mutter.
Maya laughs. "Hey, at least I'm honest. Most people here will just smile and wish you luck while secretly betting on how long you'll last."
She leads me to a desk just outside Dominic's office. It's sleek and organized, with two computer monitors, a phone system that looks complicated, and a neat stack of files.
"This is you," Maya says. "Everything you need is here. Dominic's schedule is on the main monitor—it updates automatically when he makes changes, which is constantly. He's kind of a control freak."
"I noticed."
"The phone system is easy once you get used to it. Red button is his private line—never, ever answer that. Yellow is internal calls. Green is external. And this—" she taps a black button, "—is the panic button. Press it and Gabe's team responds within thirty seconds."
My stomach clenches. "Why would I need a panic button?"
Maya's smile falters. "Because Dominic deals with dangerous people. And now, so do you."
She shows me the filing system, the coffee maker, the supply closet. The whole time, she keeps up a steady stream of chatter—office gossip, Dominic's preferences, warnings about his moods.
"He's brilliant but cold," she says. "Demanding as hell. But fair, if you can handle the pressure. Just don't lie to him. He hates liars more than anything."
I think about the contract I just signed. About becoming bait for a murderer. About David working for Vaughn.
"What if I can't handle it?" I ask quietly.
Maya studies me with surprisingly perceptive eyes. "Then you wouldn't have survived the streets for three years. You're stronger than you think, Aria."
Dominic's voice cuts through the office. "Aria. In here. Now."
I jump. Maya gives me an encouraging pat on the shoulder before disappearing.
When I enter his office, Dominic is behind his desk, surrounded by files and screens. He doesn't look up.
"Your first task," he says. "Organize my schedule for the next month. I have seventeen meetings that need to be rescheduled, six that need locations confirmed, and three that shouldn't exist because the people are wasting my time. Figure out which is which."
He slides a tablet across the desk.
I stare at it. "How am I supposed to know—"
"You're smart. Use your brain." Now he looks up. "You have two hours."
It's a test. I can see it in his eyes.
I take the tablet and return to my desk. My hands shake as I pull up his calendar. It's chaos—double bookings, conflicting locations, meetings with no notes or context.
But as I start reading, something clicks.
My photographic memory kicks in. I remember everything Maya told me. Every detail from the contract. Every name Dominic mentioned on his phone calls.
I cross-reference meeting attendees with company databases. Flag suspicious requests. Note which clients have standing appointments versus one-time consultations.
Two hours later, I walk back into Dominic's office with the reorganized schedule.
He takes the tablet without comment and reviews my work. His expression gives nothing away.
Then he picks up his phone and makes a call.
"Cancel my 2 PM on Thursday," he says. "Yes, I'm sure. The gentleman is trying to get free security consulting under the guise of a business proposal." He pauses. "Because my new assistant actually reads the fine print."
He hangs up and looks at me.
"The other two meetings I should cancel?"
I pull up my notes. "Monday's lunch meeting is with someone who's been flagged for fraud in three states. And Friday's consultation is from a shell company that doesn't actually exist."
Dominic's eyebrow raises a fraction of an inch. "How did you find that?"
"Cross-referenced the business registration with public records. The company was dissolved six months ago."
For the first time, something like approval flickers in his eyes.
"Not bad," he says. "Let's see how you handle the rest of the day."
He wasn't joking about testing me.
Every hour, he calls with a new impossible request. Find a file from five years ago. Track down a client who's avoiding calls. Reorganize a meeting with twenty minutes notice. Coordinate security for an event I know nothing about.
Each time, I use my memory, my research skills, everything I learned as a gallery curator to solve the problem.
By 6 PM, I'm exhausted but I haven't failed once.
Dominic emerges from his office, putting on his jacket.
"You'll do," he says simply. "Be here tomorrow at 7 AM."
That's it. No praise, no criticism. Just acknowledgment.
As he walks toward the elevator, I find my voice.
"What about David? What about whoever sent him that message?"
Dominic pauses. "I'm handling it."
"How?"
He turns to face me, and there's something dangerous in his eyes.
"By inviting him to lunch tomorrow. At noon. Here." His smile is cold. "And you're going to serve us coffee and take notes while I figure out exactly what your ex-fiancé knows."
My heart stops. "You want me to face David? After three years?"
"I want you to watch him. Listen to him. Use that ability of yours to read people." Dominic steps closer. "And I want you to tell me if the man you loved was part of destroying you."
The thought makes me sick.
"I can't—"
"You can. And you will." His voice softens slightly. "Because if David Mitchell is innocent, we need to warn him he's in danger. And if he's not..." Dominic's jaw tightens. "Then you deserve to look him in the eye and see the truth."
He leaves me standing there, shaking.
I somehow make it through the next hour—shutting down computers, organizing files, pretending I'm fine.
Maya pops by as I'm preparing to leave. "Survived day one! That's better than most. Want to grab dinner?"
"I can't. I need to—"
My phone buzzes. A text from an unknown number.
I open it and my blood turns to ice.
It's a photo of me. Taken today. Sitting at my new desk.
Below it, a message:
Welcome back to the land of the living, Ari. We have so much to catch up on. See you tomorrow. -D
Not D.C. for Dominic Cross.
Just D.
David always signed his texts to me with just his initial.
My hands shake so badly I drop the phone.
"Aria? What's wrong?" Maya asks.
I can't speak. Can't breathe.
Because David didn't just receive information about me.
He's been watching me.
All day.
From somewhere in this building.