Chapter 2 - The Boss Everyone Feared Started Watching Me
By Friday, I had learned three things about Roman Vale.
First, he hated meetings longer than thirty minutes.
Second, he drank black coffee and forgot to eat when he was angry.
Third, every person in the building was terrified of him except me.
I wasn't trying to be brave.
I simply didn't understand why everyone acted like he was a natural disaster.
He was demanding, yes.
Cold, absolutely.
But he had never raised his voice at me.
On Friday morning, I walked into his office holding a coffee.
“You forgot breakfast again.”
He looked up.
“I didn't ask for coffee.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you bring it?”
“Because you're less frightening when you're caffeinated.”
He stared at me.
Then took the cup.
“Thank you.”
I sat down.
He noticed a small cut on my finger.
“What happened?”
“Paper.”
His expression changed.
“You cut yourself on paper?”
“It was an aggressive document.”
He almost smiled.
“You're strange.”
“So I've been told.”
He looked back at his laptop.
I sorted his schedule.
At 9:40, David came rushing in.
“Mr. Vale, the Chicago Port contract is missing.”
Roman's mood changed instantly.
“Who had it?”
“Victor's team.”
“Call Victor.”
David disappeared.
I looked down at my tablet.
“What's the problem?”
Roman's eyes lifted.
“Nothing you need to handle.”
“That usually means it's serious.”
“It is.”
“Then why am I not allowed to know?”
“Because assistants don't involve themselves in operational matters.”
I nodded.
“Understood.”
He returned to his screen.
Then I noticed the folder on the edge of his desk.
The same vendor names from the contract were on my calendar.
I looked at him.
“Do you want me to move your 11:00 meeting?”
“No.”
“You should.”
“Why?”
“Because the company you're meeting with is one of the vendors connected to the missing contract.”
Silence.
Roman stared at me.
“How do you know that?”
“You keep leaving your meeting notes on my desk.”
He looked toward the papers.
Then back at me.
“Who are you?”
“Your assistant.”
“No.”
His voice became lower.
“You're something else.”
I smiled.
“That's what everyone says when a woman notices things.”
He leaned back.
“Where did you learn to read financial schedules?”
“My father.”
“What did he do?”
“Accountant.”
“Where?”
“Several companies.”
“Which?”
“Why?”
His expression turned cold.
I realized I had touched a nerve.
“My father died when I was twenty.”
Roman looked away.
“I'm sorry.”
The sincerity surprised me.
“Thank you.”
He returned to his work.
Then his phone rang.
He answered.
“Vale.”
His face became expressionless.
He listened.
“Don't touch him.”
Pause.
“I said don't touch him.”
He hung up.
I stared at my tablet.
“Bad news?”
“Always.”
“Do I need to leave?”
“No.”
“Do I need to call security?”
“No.”
He stood and walked toward the windows.
I followed him with my eyes.
“You know,” I said, “you really should learn to say more than one word when people are worried.”
He turned.
“I don't want my employees worried.”
“They already are.”
He looked at me.
“Are you?”
I hesitated.
“No.”
That answer seemed to surprise him.
“Why?”
“Because if you wanted me hurt, I probably wouldn't be sitting here.”
He smiled.
“Good.”
“Also, I think you like me.”
His smile disappeared.
“You're very confident.”
“I have excellent instincts.”
“That's dangerous.”
“Probably.”
He returned to his desk.
That afternoon, Roman asked me to accompany him to a charity event.
“Why me?”
“My previous assistant resigned.”
“What happened?”
“She married my accountant.”
“Sounds romantic.”
“It wasn't.”
We arrived at a hotel ballroom.
I quickly learned that Roman's reputation extended well beyond Vale Holdings.
People watched him enter.
Some approached.
Others moved away.
One man in an expensive suit walked toward us.
“Roman.”
Roman's expression hardened.
“Grant.”
Grant looked at me.
“And who's this?”
“My assistant.”
Grant smiled.
“She doesn't look like she knows what she's working for.”
Roman stepped slightly in front of me.
“She works for me.”
The message was clear.
Do not touch.
Grant laughed.
“Of course.”
He walked away.
I whispered, “Who was that?”
“A problem.”
“Do I need to add him to a problem list?”
“Yes.”
I opened my phone.
“What category?”
“Permanent.”
I looked at him.
“You're joking.”
“No.”
I stared.
Then laughed because I was sure he was.
He wasn't.
Later that night, while Roman spoke with donors, I wandered toward the balcony.
The city glittered below.
A voice came from behind me.
“You should be careful.”
I turned.
Luca.
Roman's cousin.
I'd seen him several times in the office.
Unlike Roman, Luca smiled constantly.
He looked friendly.
Almost too friendly.
“Careful about what?”
“Roman.”
“Why?”
“He doesn't let people get close.”
I smiled.
“He hired me.”
“That's different.”
“Why?”
Luca shrugged.
“Because men like Roman eventually hurt people they care about.”
I didn't know what to say.
He smiled.
“I'm only warning you.”
Then he walked away.
I watched him disappear into the crowd.
Roman approached from behind.
“What did Luca want?”
“Nothing.”
His face changed.
“Emma.”
“He warned me about you.”
Roman's jaw tightened.
“What exactly?”
“That you hurt people you care about.”
Roman said nothing.
Then quietly asked, “Do you believe him?”
I looked at him.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you're standing here asking me.”
His expression softened.
For the rest of the evening, he barely let me out of his sight.
Two days later, I discovered why.
I was organizing old files when I found an envelope that had not been opened.
It was addressed to Roman.
The sender was the Chicago Police Department.
I hesitated before placing it on his desk.
He opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
A dead man.
Roman's face went completely blank.
I looked away.
“I'm sorry.”
He stood.
“Leave.”
I immediately stepped outside.
Five minutes later, he called me back.
“I owe you an explanation.”
I sat.
“The man in the photograph was my accountant.”
“Was?”
“He's dead.”
I swallowed.
“Was it an accident?”
“No.”
His eyes met mine.
“Someone is killing people connected to me.”
My heart sank.
“Because of you?”
“Because of something I possess.”
“What?”
“A ledger.”
I remembered Luca's warning.
Roman continued.
“It contains names, payments, accounts, favors.”
“Why would someone kill for it?”
“Because it can destroy half the city.”
I stared.
“And you have it?”
“No.”
“Then who does?”
Roman looked toward the window.
“I don't know.”
His phone rang.
He answered.
A few seconds later, he hung up.
“They found another body.”
My stomach twisted.
“Who?”
“My former lawyer.”
Roman looked directly at me.
“He had one thing in common with you.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“He worked for my company.”
I sat motionless.
Roman's voice became almost gentle.
“You're going home with security.”
“I can drive myself.”
“No.”
“I don't need—”
“This is not a request.”
Something in his face stopped me.
I nodded.
As I gathered my things, I saw a reflection in the office window.
A man standing across the street.
Watching the building.
Watching me.
And when I looked back at Roman, his eyes were already on the same window.
He knew.
May you like
Someone was watching us.
And for the first time, I realized my new job might have nothing to do with calendars.
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