hapter 2
CASSANDRA
Two months later, Cassandra is running late for work, praying she won’t lose her job over it.
She remembers her interview at Rodriquez International like it was yesterday. Scott Smith, her now-boss, was all smiles and handshakes. But it’s not him she’s worried about. The whispers around the office paint a picture of the big boss—the man who owns the whole building and has his own executive suite a few floors up—as a stern, intimidating, and relentless figure.
She hasn’t met the big boss yet. He’s been away on business. But the way the women in the office talk about him, it’s clear he’s a playboy. Cassandra steers clear of men like that. Not that it matters. Men like him usually go for tall, slim women like Gwen, not short and curvy ones like her.
This morning, Alex was a handful. When she dropped him off at the daycare a few blocks from her apartment, his cries echoed in her ears. She held him a little longer than usual before heading to the subway station. Then, of course, the train was delayed due to technical issues.
When she finally arrives at the towering glass building where she works, Cassandra rushes past the receptionist and makes a beeline for the elevator. The ping of the elevator signals her arrival on her floor, and she hurries to her desk. On the way, she runs into Emily, Mr. Smith’s personal assistant.
“You’re late,” Emily whispers.
“I know—I got held up. I hope no one noticed.”
Cassandra smooths down her plain, black skirt, thinking it’s seen better days.
“Mr. Smith isn’t here yet, but the big boss is, and he wasn’t too happy about finding your desk empty.”
Oh shit! She’s definitely getting fired. “Where is he?”
“He left. I’ve gotta go now.” Emily quickly heads to her own desk.
Their floor is impressive, with floor-to-ceiling glass windows and black marble tiles. The office must have cost a fortune, but Cassandra loves it. It’s not every day you get to look at a floor and see your own reflection.
The cleaners really do a great job keeping this place spotless.
All morning, Cassandra waits for the inevitable call from the big boss, telling her she’s fired. But the day is quiet and slow. Clients come and go, but it’s not until she’s sorting through some mail later in the day that Mr. Smith calls her desk.
“Ms. Miller, can you please come to my office?”
“Yes, sir.” Cassandra hangs up the phone, stands up, and walks down the hall.
When she knocks on his door, Mr. Smith says, “Come in,” so she nervously opens the door and steps inside. Seeing her, he adds, “Sit down, Ms. Miller. I’ll be with you in a moment.”
Cassandra complies.
On Mr. Smith’s glass desk are two photographs, one of his beautiful wife and one of his two kids. There’s a couch near the window with a small table in front of it, and a coffee machine in the opposite corner. A few gallery photos from different artists hang on the wall behind him.
Cassandra nervously twines her fingers together in her lap. Mr. Smith is in his late thirties and looks it at this moment, as he waits for the right moment to say something. The suspense is killing her.
Oh Lord, don’t let me get fired. I need this job, especially since Gwen moved out last month.
“You weren’t at your desk this morning.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Smith. The train was delayed today.”
“You take a train? Don’t you have better transportation?”
The train is cheap, and she needs to save as much as possible. “That’s what I can afford at the moment.”
“Mr. Rodriguez wasn’t happy about seeing the front desk empty. He wanted me to fire you and I refused. You’ve done a great job these past two months, and I don’t want to let you go. I’m happy with your work; I just hope this won’t happen again.”
Mr. Rodriguez really isn’t messing around. From now on, Cassandra will have to be on her toes; Mr. Smith saved her this time, but next time she might not be so lucky. “I promise, sir. It won’t.”
“That will be all, Ms. Miller.”
Cassandra stands up, but when she is at the door, Mr. Smith calls her back. “I understand you have some mail for Mr. Rodriguez.”
She did see some letters addressed to him. Emily normally takes the big boss’s mail up, but on her way to Mr. Smith’s office, Cassandra didn’t see her.
“Yes, sir.”
Mr. Smith holds out a file. “Can you please take this up to his office, along with his mail? I sent Emily out on an errand, and he is expecting this file now.”
Great. Now Cassandra’s going to meet the big bad wolf, the man who wanted to fire her.
She takes the file from Mr. Smith, leaves his office, and goes back to her desk, where she collects all the mail that was addressed to Mr. Rodriguez. She thinks that maybe she should’ve sent someone else but presses the elevator button anyway.
By the time the elevator takes her all the way to the top floor, her heart is pounding in her chest.
EMILIANO
Emiliano Rodriguez is standing by the window of his office, looking out at the city. It’s been a rough week; his mother just had a heart attack. She’s okay now, resting at home with the private nurse he hired, but it was a close call.
And her words keep echoing in his mind. I’m not getting any younger, Emiliano. I want to have grandchildren and see my son get married—is that too much to ask for?
Emiliano rakes a hand through his dark hair. He’s not the kind to settle down, get hitched, and start a family. He’s all about the bachelor life—no strings, no obligations. He’s well aware that women only share his bed for his wealth and the perks that come with it. They’re no different from those who get paid to sleep with men.
He’s more than happy to have women in his bed, accepting what they offer, but he doesn’t trust anyone. He learned early on not to expect anything from anyone, that people are only out for themselves.
And anyone who knows Emiliano knows better than to cross him or get on his bad side. His reputation speaks for itself.
Just back from a business trip in Italy, Emiliano is wiped out. He needs to rest, but he knows that’s not going to happen, especially since he’s still waiting for the financial report that Scott was supposed to send over with his assistant.
He can’t stand people who aren’t on time. What if he were a client or a customer needing information about the bank and its services? This kind of delay is unprofessional, and it’s not how he runs his bank.
Emiliano strides over to his desk and dials Scott. “Where’s the report I asked for?”
“I sent it with Ms. Miller. I thought she’d given it to you by now.”
“Who’s she?”
“The receptionist. Emily’s out running errands.”
That explains it, Emiliano thinks. She’s probably scared he’ll fire her, which is why she hasn’t shown up yet. He still can’t fathom why Scott ignored his directive to let her go in the first place.
Emiliano notices another call coming in. “I’ll call you back,” he tells Scott. Switching lines, he says, “Nicole,” to his secretary.
“There’s a Ms. Miller here to see you, sir. She says Mr. Smith sent her.”
“Send her in.” He hangs up the phone and stands up.
