Lily
I placed my hands on his chest, gulping in air greedily as if my lungs had forgotten how to work. He simply looked at me with those dangerously sexy eyes, and I was already lost before he suddenly lowered me and set me back on my feet.
"Can you walk?" he asked.
I nodded, confident in myself. The moment I tried to take a step, the world tilted, my body swaying like I was standing on a boat. He let out a low, dark chuckle that sent a shiver straight down my spine.
"Let me fix that," he murmured in that husky Italian accent.
Before I could protest, he scooped me up effortlessly. I instinctively wrapped my arms around his neck. He smelled heavenly, aftershave, expensive cologne, and something rich and warm that reminded me of Italian leather and danger all at once.
"You smell heavenly," I slurred, the words tumbling out without permission.
I felt his chest vibrate with a quiet laugh as I rested my head on his shoulder. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the warmth of his body lulled me into a haze. I heard him faintly chuckle again before everything faded into darkness.
"A domani, amore," (see you tomorrow love).he whispered softly.
That was the last thing I heard before sleep claimed me, somewhere between his arms and the unfamiliar comfort of his presence. He tucked me in before leaving, though I wouldn't remember that part until much later.
My alarm blared the next morning, yanking me out of sleep. I groaned and slammed my hand against the bedside table until the noise stopped. I sighed in frustration, my head pounding like a drum being struck repeatedly.
Everything from yesterday came rushing back at once, Steve, the cheating, the betrayal, the way my heart cracked when I saw him with another woman. Then the stranger at the club. His arms. His voice. His scent.
I pushed the memories aside forcefully. Today was not the day to fall apart. Today was my first day at my new job.
I tried to sit up, and pain exploded behind my eyes. I squeezed them shut, breathing slowly until
The dizziness eased enough for me to stand.
"Great, Lily. Just great," I muttered. "Starting work with a fucking hangover."
I steadied myself and walked to the bathroom, each step careful. After bathing, I dressed with intention, choosing clothes that made me feel composed and capable. I wore a long black skirt that brushed just over my heels and a champagne-colored floral shirt tucked neatly in. A black belt with a subtle designer pattern cinched my waist. I slipped into black stiletto heels, applied minimal makeup, and carefully combed my hair. The curls I'd done the day of my interview were still intact, soft and professional.
I opted for contact lenses instead of my glasses, wanting nothing to distract from the image I was presenting. I studied my reflection one last time, squared my shoulders, and left the apartment.
I stopped by a coffee shop near the company building and ordered myself a strong coffee. On impulse, I bought an extra one. Since I was going to be the boss's secretary, I figured it wouldn't hurt to start on a good note. First impressions mattered.
When I arrived at the lobby, the receptionist handed me my access card and ID badge. I blinked in surprise. It had only been a day since my interview, yet everything was already prepared.
"Your office is on the thirty-second floor," she said, finally lifting her head to look at me. Her eyes widened slightly in surprise before she smiled politely.
I thanked her and stepped into the elevator with a few others I assumed were colleagues. The ride up was quiet. One by one, people stepped out on lower floors until I was the only one left. I finished my coffee in quick gulps as my head throbbed insistently.
The elevator doors slid open on the thirty-second floor with a soft, expensive chime.
I stepped out, my heels sinking into a carpet so thick it barely made a sound. The air felt different, cooler, cleaner, faintly scented with polished wood and something subtle I couldn't quite name.
This floor was nothing like the rest of the building.
The first thing I noticed was space. There were no crowded cubicles or noisy desks. Instead, wide corridors stretched ahead, deliberate and uncluttered, allowing light to flow freely. Floor-to-ceiling glass walls revealed a breathtaking view of the city below. From this height, everything looked smaller, orderly, almost obedient.
To my right was what I assumed to be the general secretary's office. Large glass panels framed in dark steel enclosed the space. A sleek desk sat perfectly positioned, files neatly stacked, a laptop placed with precision. This was the gatekeeper's domain, the one who controlled schedules, access, and silence. Authority without indulgence.
Beyond that were offices belonging to department heads, each one carrying quiet prestige with custom desks, tasteful artwork, and muted luxury.
And then, at the far end of the floor, there was his office.
Set slightly apart, it dominated the space. The glass curved outward like a crown, and tall double doors made of dark wood stood unmarked. No nameplate. None was needed. The presence alone was an introduction.
I took a deep breath before knocking.
"Come in."
The voice was familiar. My heart skipped as confusion flickered through my mind.
I pushed the door open, and my heart froze.