Page 16 of Craving Danger

Jesus. The man is way too intense.

Scooting closer to my desk, I dial the number for the deli and place an order for two sandwiches.

Just as I end the call, the phone rings, and I quickly answer, “Mr. Vitale’s office, Samantha speaking.”

“Hey, it’s me,” Jenny says. “You sound so professional. How are things up there?”

I let out a sigh and relax back in my chair. “Ugh. I miss the admin department.”

“Yeah, I don’t envy you at all.”

I hear voices in the background and ask, “Are you out for lunch?”

“Yes. I’m at our favorite restaurant with a couple of the girls.”

I make a whining sound. “I’m jealous. Bring me a chocolate milkshake, and I’ll love you forever.”

She lets out a chuckle. “Okay, but as soon as Mr. Vitale’s office door opens, I’m gone. I don’t want to be in the line of fire.”

“Some friend you are,” I tease her.

It was nice hanging out with Jenny on Saturday. Instead of going to the movies, we ordered Chinese takeout and stayed in. I got her up to speed on everything she missed while she was on vacation, and she told me how Aiden proposed to her.

When she asked me to be her maid of honor, I almost cried.

“I’m just finishing my meal then I’ll be there with your milkshake.”

“Thank you.” I hear Mr. Vitale’s door open and quickly say, “Talk to you later.”

Ending the call, I turn my attention to my boss as he places a dry cleaning slip on my desk.

“Leave at four to collect my suits. Take them to my house and make sure they’re hung neatly in the walk-in closet,” he orders.

Oooh, I get to see where he lives.

Yeah, I’m nosy like that, and I’m not ashamed to admit it.

“Yes, sir.”

He disappears back into the chamber of wrath, and I pick up the slip and tuck it into my handbag.

The rest of the day proceeds at an unbearable fast pace, and I don’t even get time to drink half of the milkshake Jenny brought earlier.

As I leave the office at four, I feel victorious because not once did Mr. Vitale reprimand me for anything.

I’m totally taking it as a win that he’s asked me to pick up his laundry. It means he’s learning to trust me.

It takes me an hour to collect his suits, and when I take the stairs up to the front door, I realize I don’t have a key to get into the house.

“Shit.” My teeth tug at my bottom lip, and hoping he has a housekeeper, I knock.

When the door opens, I’m met by a burly looking man. “Yes?”

“I’m Mr. Vitale’s assistant.” I nod at the garment bags that are draped over my arm. “He asked me to collect his dry cleaning.”

“Right.” The man steps to the side, and when his phone rings, he gestures for me to enter the house before taking the call.

I walk into a massive open space that’s all gleaming white tiles and luxurious.

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