Total pages in book: 18
Estimated words: 15909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 80(@200wpm)___ 64(@250wpm)___ 53(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 15909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 80(@200wpm)___ 64(@250wpm)___ 53(@300wpm)
I get out of bed and use the bathroom, taking a quick shower before slipping into the black silk nightgown I found in the top drawer of the dresser last night. It's just a bit too short, but it's comfortable, and it'll do for the time being. I pad barefoot out into the hall, trying to find the kitchen.
Instead, I find a note taped to the outside of my bedroom door. Just like the note that came with the roses, it's written in Dante's elegant, yet arrogant handwriting, and it contains a demand, not a request.
Meet me in the dining room for breakfast once you're up.
-Dante
The fact that he doesn't bother with any sort of pleasantries doesn't surprise me in the slightest. Dante seems to be a man who knows what he wants and is used to getting it, and I suppose that should make me happy that he wants me.
But what exactly does he want?
The penthouse is just as luxurious in the daylight, and I take my time looking around as I make my way to the dining room. I push the door open and see Dante already sitting at the head of the table. He's wearing a white button-up shirt and black slacks, but his feet are bare, and his dark hair is rumpled. There's a carafe of coffee and two cups in front of him, and he's working on his laptop, looking up when I enter. The heat in his eyes immediately makes me regret wearing the nightgown to breakfast, but my only other option was the equally short dress from dinner. At least this covers a tiny bit more skin.
"Good morning," he says, gesturing to the empty chair to his right. "Sit down."
I obey, pulling out the chair, watching him as he pours a cup of coffee and hands it to me. "How did you sleep?"
"Alright." I sip the coffee, sighing happily as the hot liquid hits my tongue. "Did any of my things arrive? I'd like to have actual clothes..."
"Everything is on the ground floor. I didn't want to wake you. I'll have it all brought up now that you're awake."
I nod, not knowing what to say. Dante closes the laptop, sliding it to the side so that there's nothing between us. "There are a few ground rules we need to go over before you start your work as my assistant. First, no lying."
I blink at him, confused. "What do you mean?"
"No lying. If I ask you something, you answer me honestly. That goes for everything—questions, opinions, whatever. I don't care if it embarrasses you or offends me. If I want to know something, I expect a truthful answer."
"And if I don't give you one?"
"Then the contract is broken and your father's debt will still be due," he says flatly. As he speaks, a man in a chef's coat comes in and deposits a few platters of steaming food on the table. I notice he is very careful not to look in my direction.
"Fine. No lying."
"Good." Dante nods, smiling. "Next, no secrets. If anything happens, good or bad, I want to know about it. If you have a question, ask. I'm an open book."
That doesn't sound as terrible as the lying rule, so I nod again, taking another sip of coffee.
"Lastly, you obey me in all things. Everything I ask, you do it. If you have concerns, I'll hear them out, but you follow my orders. You're here for a reason, and the sooner you accept that, the better. It'll be easier on you."
My stomach turns over as I stare at him, wondering what, exactly, I've gotten myself into. All I'd wanted was to save my father, and now I've given myself over to this man for the next three months. The idea of giving myself over completely, letting go of any control I might have over the situation, makes me feel dizzy.
"You said there were some ground rules we needed to discuss," I say carefully. "Does that mean there will be more rules later?”
"Yes. But we'll get to that later as our relationship evolves. Eat, Isla. We've got a busy day ahead."
I want to protest, to demand answers, but my stomach growls as if on cue, and Dante pushes a plate of bacon in my direction before filling my coffee cup. "Go ahead. Dig in."
"You don't have to—"
"I take care of what is mine," he interrupts, his voice smooth. My pulse jumps, and for a second, I think about arguing my autonomy, but then I remember the contract.
Plus, something tells me there is no reason to even try and argue with Dante.
We both eat plates full of bacon, eggs, and toast. When he moves, his shirt stretches across his muscled chest. His arms are just as toned, the sleeves of the shirt pulled tight around his biceps as he picks up his glass of orange juice. His tongue darts out to lick a drop of juice off his lip. I can't help but wonder what it would be like to kiss them, and the thought makes me blush.