“I will tell your friend, Eric, to pick you up at seven, then.”
“You mean, your employee, Eric?” I say, not hiding the annoyance in my voice creeping back in.
“Am I wrong? Is Mr. Mendez not your friend?”
I don’t know what this guy’s deal is. Eric worked for him before I did, and regardless of the status or level of my relationship with Eric, it is none of his damn business.
“Yes, we are friends, nothing more. That should be obvious.” Fuck, why did I say it like that?Sienna, stop, you don’t owe this man any explanations.
“The only thing that is obvious is your dislike for me. Don’t worry, in time, I trust you will understand why I am the way I am. In the meantime, let’s holster the metaphorical gun you have aimed at my cock and allow me to give you a proper tour of your office.”
He motions to the door, waiting for me to take the lead. I hesitate, momentarily. Trying to read this man is going to be a feat in and of itself. I really want to storm out the door and tell him to take this made-up position he is appointing me to and shove it. I don’t need him, but for some odd reason, he needs me, and that intrigues me enough to stay for now and find out why.
Carmine walks ahead of me, opening the door, startling Lizzie. She likely overheard our bizarre scuffle, judging by the look of jealousy that is smeared all over her face. I walk past her; I don’t have time for her petty bullshit. I’m a girls’ girl, and I refuse to engage in whatever nonsense she is thinking. If it’s Carmine she wants, she can have him.
An awkward silence forms as we make the short walk down the bright, glass-filled hallway. It has become instantly apparent that the only way we are able to speak to each other is through bickering. The fact that I am not already fired only shows me that he knows who I am and needs me here for whatever reason. I don’t know what version of Sienna Ricci he thinks he ordered, but it isn’t the woman he is getting, that’s for sure.
Finally, we reach our destination as Carmine opens the door and reveals my office. I step inside and nearly gasp. A chill instantly works down my spine. Who did he hire to put this office together? Unlike the modern vibe of the building, the feel of my office is reminiscent of the decor at The Sandy Claws. Rich wood built-in bookcases line the side wall behind an antique, baroque-style desk. A Mac computer rests on top of the desk, along with a sugar skull planter filled with deep purple and vibrant yellow florals.
“What do you think?” he asks, almost giddy.
I try to mask my genuine love for how unique the space is. “It’s nice,” I lie, intentionally holding in my excitement.
“It’s more than nice, not even the VPs of the company have an office that look as good as this, but that’s beside the point.” He sneers.
Clearly, I struck a nerve, because whatever temporary excitement Carmine felt in showing me my office is gone and the jerk is back. He seems disappointed with my answer, and truthfully, I am too. I want to express my gratitude for this beautiful office, but I have to maintain some sort of boundary between him and me. From the moment I have met him, I feel like we have been dancing on this line of no return. So, for now, I will lie to him, acting like I don’t give a shit about how nice it is.
“Well, thank you, then.”
He glosses over my thank you. “And since you think that I am some creep who hired you as office eye candy—”
I interrupt him. “Your words, not mine, but go on.”
His jaw tenses at my quip. “As I was saying, I have your first assignment on your desk. I also had the files transferred onto a flash drive, if you prefer to view everything on the computer versus the printout.”
I walk over to the desk and see a decent-sized folder. I open it and see a whole bunch of court documents and other random papers. I scan through the folder a bit more and see a mug shot.
“Ok, so, what am I looking at here?” I ask, still flipping through the documents.
“A high-profile client of ours has found himself in a bit of a jam, you can say, and we need to make it disappear. I first want you to read the details in the file, and then we can discuss with the client’s attorney how to put forth proper statements and proceed from there.”
“You got it.”
“Well, I will leave you to it, so you don’t think I have you here solely as eye candy,” he scoffs.
I snap my neck to him in disbelief at the weird mixture of emotions he brings out inside of me.
He leaves me with a smile that I swear haunts me. All that fighting him to let me work and now I can’t seem to redirect my brain to do so.
* * *
I spend the next few hours uninterrupted, sifting through the file Carmine prepared for me. There are a bunch of newspaper articles about a man named Jake Owens, who is wanted for tax evasion and a bunch of other white-collar crimes. The more I sift through the file, the more I am confused as to why I am looking at this. It doesn’t feel like something that should be taken care of by a public relations firm. It almost feels like something I should be handing to Nessa.
It’s then that I remember what Carmine said when he directed my attention to the file:“We need to make it disappear.”
Does he want me to lie and write something to clear this man of the crimes that he is being accused of?
A knock interrupts my train of thought as I look up from my desk.
