Page 91 of Craving Danger

As the elevator doors slide open, my heart pounds in my chest.

I don’t know what I’ll do if Samantha’s not here.

I walk down the hallway, and as her desk comes into view, I let out a sigh of relief.

Thank fuck.

“Morning, Samantha,” I say, my tone soft.

She doesn’t stop typing and keeps her eyes locked on the screen. “Morning, Mr. Vitale.”

Her features are tight, and from the dark circles beneath her eyes, it’s clear she didn’t get any rest last night either.

“Can you come to my office?”

She doesn’t stop working. “Is that a question or order, sir?”

“It’s a question.”

“Then the answer is no.”

I have to suppress the urge to drag her to my office and instead ask, “How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine, Mr. Vitale.”

The printer starts working, and Samantha gets up from her chair. Instead of giving me a wide berth, she pushes me out of the way and begins sorting the papers into piles.

I can feel the anger come off her in waves and brace myself for one hell of a day as I walk to my office.

Shrugging my jacket off, I drape it over the back of my chair. I take a seat at my desk, and reaching for the cup of coffee Samantha placed on my desk, I take a sip.

When I turn my computer on and open my emails, I notice from the timestamp on the first email that Samantha’s been at work since six thirty.

I let out a sigh as I pull both the cellphones out of my pocket, setting them on the desk.

There’s a knock at the door, and before I can answer, Samantha comes in.

She places a stack of documents on my desk. “I need you to sign everything before you leave the office.”

“I’m here for the whole day,” I inform her, keeping my tone gentle.

Her eyes lock on the two phones for a moment, then she swings around and walks out of the office.

A moment later, she returns with her cellphone in her hand, and I watch as she types a message.

The burner phone lights up, and taking hold of the device, I unlock the screen.

Samantha: My boss is an asshole.

I knew she would be upset, but it hurts watching her struggle to comprehend that I’m her mystery man.

MMM: Yeah? Do you want me to beat him up?

Her eyes flick to me, then she types again.

Samantha: If only that were possible. Turns out you’re an asshole as well. How stupid of me to think you’re one of the good ones.

MMM: I never claimed to be good.

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