Page 1 of Master Vidar & Vali

Chapter One

Zara

My heart pounded painfully against my ribcage as I approached Mr. Aziz’s office. I tried to remind myself I wasn’t some scared little girl, but as the sound of my footsteps on the polished marble floor echoed through the hall, my fear overrode logic. Somehow, in my quest to become a success, I’d forgotten my good sense. Instead of living my best life, I was trapped in a foreign country working for a man who I realized wanted more than I was willing to give.

I knew that if something seemed too good to be true, it usually was. But when I was offered my dream job at a pay level I hadn’t even imagined was possible, I’d jumped at the chance to leap ahead in my career. Growing up poor had made me long for the good things in life. My parents had tried to swindle their way into wealth and failed spectacularly. After everything I’d survived, I’d fooled myself into believing this opportunity was just good karma finally coming my way.

Why had I fallen for the belief that the universe would make things fair? It’s like we were all born with this lie ingrained in our souls.

Don’t believe me? Think about it. Thousands of people believed in the concept of karma that could be summarized as good things happening to good people and bad things happening to bad people. We believe that the scales of a person’s life experiences exist in a constant state of balance while the reality was far from such a simple explanation.

Need more proof? Santa Claus, revered by children everywhere, rewards the good and punishes the bad. Or you could subscribe to the idea that there are two Santas … the merry one, and Krampus who was hell-bent on making wicked children suffer.

Normally, I thought the possibility of any sort of universe that maintained fairness was bullshit. With my life experiences, I would never fall for that fairy tale again. If I survived to get back to the United States, I would remember one simple truth.

Life isn’t fair.

I’d started to suspect that my dream job was anything but perfect in less than a week. Seven days after that, I realized I needed to get the hell out of Albania. Unfortunately, I’d hesitated because I didn’t know how to do that without ruining my chances of finding a good job back at home. He was a well-respected business owner and had the power to destroy my reputation. If I left on bad terms, I’d be committing career suicide.

As time passed, that became less important, but fear for my personal safety grew. I’d become increasingly more positive that he wasn’t just into shady shit, but outright illegal activities. Not speaking Albanian meant I couldn’t prove a thing, but I’d grown up around enough criminals that I recognized the signs.

If that wasn’t bad enough, every day that passed made it more obvious he was looking for more from me than a professional relationship. Being paraded about at a dinner party like some sort of exotic bird had made my stomach swirl. He’d held me next to him with a firm grip on my arm. To outsiders, it would have looked like we were a couple, but I’d felt like a prisoner. It had been the last straw. If I ended up back in the U.S. homeless and penniless, I didn’t care. All that mattered was getting the hell out of Albania safely.

In front of me, the ornate wooden door stood like the gates of hell. My knees trembled as I stared at the one barrier between me and my freedom. I hesitated, my hand midair. The memory of the hungry look in his eyes when he finally let me go home had bile rising in my throat. If I didn’t leave, the next time he might not stop at an uncomfortable look. I took a deep breath and knocked.

“Come in,” Mihal Aziz’s deep voice called from the other side.

Pushing the door open, I stepped into the room. The man I’d come to loathe sat behind his massive mahogany desk like a mighty emperor on his throne. Like a king and his servants, he’d created this superior segregation between himself and anyone entering his office. You might enter, but you were only allowed in the outer orbit of his space.

His sharp cheekbones and dark eyes were framed by a neatly trimmed beard that added to his intimidating image. He was a highly successful man in his forties who had a penchant for lording it over his empire, reminding me too much of the mafia I’d left behind. Even his tailored suits clung to his lean muscular body as if they feared to step out of line.

“Zara,” he greeted, his accent was thick and held a hint of surprise in his voice. “What brings you here so early?”

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my nerves. “Mr. Aziz, I need to talk to you about something important.”

“Mihal. I’ve told you to call me Mihal, darling.”

His use of an endearment grated on my nerves, and it took everything in my power to not physically flinch at his use of “darling” in a husky whisper as if I were already his.

“Fine, Mihal. We need to talk.”

He raised an eyebrow, gesturing for me to sit. “Of course. What’s on your mind?”

Perched on the edge of the leather chair, I sat, my palms damp with anxiety. I had rehearsed the dialogue in my head so many times that I had it memorized, but as soon as I entered the office, anxiety took over and my mind went blank. Taking a deep breath, I steadied my nerves. “I’ve decided to resign from my position here. I want to return to America.”

Shock flashed across his face, quickly replaced by a calculating look. “Why? Have I not treated you well?”

I took another deep breath. I’d anticipated him questioning my motives. Hopefully, he’d buy the excuse I’d come up with.

“I’m homesick and I don’t think I’m the right fit for what you need.” The polite lie was bitter on my tongue.

“Nonsense, my girl. You are important to the company. Just give it more time.”

Damn it. Why couldn’t he just once make things easy? When he spoke so sweetly, it was hard to remember he wasn’t a good guy. If I wanted my freedom, I would have to be blunt and pray he didn’t get offended.

“Last night, at dinner, you useddashuraand my name in the same sentence when talking to your cousin. You know I don’t speak much Albanian, but I do know that means love.”

He flicked his wrist at me as if wiping away my concern as trivial. “It is an endearment, sweetheart. Do not overreact.”

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