Page 3 of Craving Danger

Without turning to look at me, he grumbles, “Mrs. Ross assured me you’re a hard worker.”

A confused frown furrows my brow.

Am I supposed to say something or keep quiet?

Keeping his arms crossed over his chest, he turns and levels me with an unforgiving look, instantly making me feel apprehensive and nervous.

“I’ve given you two weeks to settle into the position.” His eyes narrow on me and it makes me feel like I’m a petulant child who’s being scolded by the headmaster. “I don’t have time to waste, so if I ask you for something, I expect the order to be carried out instantly.”

“Andy had to reinstall the printer on my computer,” I explain, my tone tight from all the tension.

“I won’t tolerate excuses,” he snaps. “You’re employed as my personal assistant to make my life easier. If a problem arises, I expect you to solve it.”

Resisting the urge to cross my arms over my chest, I fist my hands at my sides and say, “Yes, Mr. Vitale.” I raise an eyebrow at the insufferable man. “Will that be all, sir?”

He shakes his head. “Your position isn’t nine to five.”

What?

He nods in the direction of the door, his tone harsh and clearly stating this topic is not up for discussion as he mutters, “If you have a problem putting in extra hours, you’re more than welcome to hand in your resignation.”

Anger begins to bubble in my chest, but I keep my expression respectful as I say, “I don’t mind working late, but I’d appreciate it greatly if you would notify me in the morning so I can cancel any plans I might’ve made for the evening.”

Plans? Ha. I live like a freaking hermit.

Still, it’s not something he needs to know. I just want him to show me respect and give me sufficient notice, so I don’t get my hopes up I’ll get to leave the office at five.

Mr. Vitale’s features tighten, and it looks like he’s a moment away from losing his temper, but then he gives me a curt nod. “For the unforeseeable future, I expect you at the office from seven a.m. to seven p.m.”

Twelve hours? The man is insane!

Turning his attention to the stacks of folders and paperwork on his desk, he mutters, “Don’t worry. You’ll be compensated for the extra time.”

Hearing I’ll be paid overtime makes my anger lessen. I could use the extra funds to pay off my credit card. The second-hand fridge I got when I moved to New York gave up the ghost the past weekend, and I was forced to go into debt to buy a new one.

“Do you need me to stay late tonight?” I ask.

Letting out an impatient huff, Mr. Vitale’s eyes snap to mine. “Yes. Get back to work.”

Leaving his office, I pull the door shut behind me. My stomach rumbles, a reminder I haven’t eaten anything today.

You’re getting paid overtime.

I take a seat at my desk and switch on my computer. Opening my email folder, I see Mr. Vitale’s already sent eight emails, and I get back to work, determined to show him I’m a damn good PA.

Chapter 2

Franco

After ending the call with Salvador Castro, my contact for medical supplies, I get up from behind my desk. I grab my jacket, and while shrugging it on, I head to the door.

When I step out of my office, it’s to hear my PA’s stomach rumble.

“You can go home,” I mutter, and without another word, I stalk toward the elevators.

I hear her mumble something under her breath, and it has me stopping dead in my tracks. Glancing at the woman who’s been testing my patience for the past two weeks, I raise an eyebrow at her.

“Do you have something to say, Miss Blakely?”

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