Page 1 of Craving Danger

“Reality doesn’t impress me. I only believe in intoxication, in ecstasy, and when ordinary life shackles me, I escape, one way or another. No more walls.”

–—Anaïs Nin

Chapter 1

Samantha

Franco Vitale; 35. Samantha Blakely; 26.

I’ve only been Mr. Vitale’s personal assistant for two weeks, and I’m already considering quitting.

God, the man is impossible.

Letting out a huff, I suppress the urge to kick the printer. The stupid machine keeps giving me error messages.

I’m starving. I could wolf down an entire pizza on my own right now.

My phone starts ringing for the millionth time today, and I feel like whining like a puppy as I dart to my desk to answer the internal call from Mr. Vitale’s office.

“Yes, Sir?”

“Where’s the contract?”

I close my eyes and take a deep breath before I explain for the fourth time, “The printer is giving error messages. I’m waiting for Andy from IT to fix it.”

“There are hundreds of printers in this building! I want the contract on my desk in five minutes,” he barks before hanging up.

Impatient ass.

I’ve worked atVitale Pharmaceuticalsin the administration department for the past eight months, and until I got promoted to Mr. Vitale’s PA, I loved my job.

It’s only been two weeks. Give it more time. You just need to get used to how Mr. Vitale wants things done, then it will get better.

I roll my eyes because my gut instinct tells me it won’t improve. Mr. Vitale is just one of those people who’s never satisfied with anything.

All the employees in the building cower in fear whenever he’s near. I should’ve known I was in trouble when I got promoted and the admin team gave me looks of pity as if I was on death row.

While I worked on the third floor, I didn’t see much of Mr. Vitale, but the few times our paths crossed, he always looked like he was a second away from wringing someone’s neck.

The past two weeks as his PA have shown me the man is always grumpy, and he loses his temper at the speed of light. He’s downright rude and impossible to please.

I quickly email the contract to the admin department’s printer, which is still linked to my profile, before hurrying to the elevators.

While heading down to the third floor, I wiggle my toes in the high heels I’m wearing. It gives my tired feet some relief before the doors slide open, and I rush toward the printer. I lose precious time when I have to sift through all the printed documents and ensure I have the whole contract before hurrying back to the elevators.

Who needs to go to a gym when you work for Franco Vitale?

In the elevator, I quickly pull my bra strap back into place. I’ve lost weight from all the running around and need to get new underwear.

The doors open, and I shoot forward like a bullet, but my heart sinks when my desk comes into view.

Crap.

Mr. Vitale is standing by the printer in all his six-foot-five glory, his arms crossed over his broad chest as he watches the machine spit out page after page.

When I reach him, I hold the papers out to him. “Here’s the contract, sir.”

His dark brown eyes flick to me, and I feel the punch of his intense gaze in my gut. I swear, whenever this man looks at me, I feel like I’m nothing but a worm.

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