Page 82 of Craving Danger

I read the note stuck against my computer’s screen.

Sorry. There was just too much work. Gloria.

Pulling it off, I let out a sigh as I toss it in the trashcan. I place my handbag in the bottom drawer and switch on my computer before I put on the wireless earpiece and take the phone off voicemail.

Taking a seat at my desk, I check all the sticky notes and organize the work into piles.

By the looks of things, Gloria did nothing but eat candy at my desk.

When the phone rings, I quickly answer, “Mr. Vitale’s office, Samantha speaking.”

“The eagle has landed,” Charlotte, from reception whispers. “I repeat. The eagle has landed.”

The corner of my mouth lifts. “Thanks. I owe you.”

“Anytime.”

Ending the call, I get up and head to the kitchen. When I prepare Mr. Vitale’s coffee, my hands won’t stop trembling.

With every passing second, my heart beats faster, and my anxiety spikes.

Vitale Health is a legitimate company. I’m just the PA to the CEO. There’s no such thing as the mafia.

Damn, no matter how I try to convince myself, it’s not working.

I work for one of the heads of the Cosa Nostra. There’s no way to sugarcoat it.

When I reach for the box of cookies, I notice it’s almost finished and make a mental note to get more during lunch.

I arrange the coffee and two cookies on the tray and carry it to Mr. Vitale’s office. As always, I set it down on his desk, but when I turn around, it’s to see him stalking toward the office.

Crap. It’s too late to run to my desk.

He’s wearing a black suit and looks like he’s on a mission to kill someone. His eyes lock on me, and I feel the intensity in them burn right through me.

God help me.

“Morning, Miss Blakely,” he says, his tone clipped. “I trust you had a good vacation?”

“Morning, Mr. Vitale,” I reply, my voice sounding like I sucked on a helium balloon.

He walks to his desk and takes off his jacket. When he drapes it over the back of the chair, my eyes lock on the gun tucked into the waistband of his pants.

Jesus.

Did he always carry a gun?

“Do you need something?” he asks as he takes a seat at his desk.

“Ahhh…” I swallow hard. “Will you reconsider accepting my resignation?”

“No.” His eyes narrow, and it makes fear slither down my spine. “Let’s make a couple of things clear. One, you will not resign. Two, you will not mention who I am to anyone. Three, stop looking at me like you’re about to shit yourself. I said I won’t hurt you, and I’m a man of my word.”

I nod like a crazy person.

Too brave for my own good, I ask, “You say you won’t hurt me, so what will happen if I just leave?”

The look in his dark brown eyes tells me not to even try.

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