Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 65054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Sure enough, he sent me a strongly worded email later that day that no assistant should feel the right to publicly correct him. I quickly reminded him that no assistant would have to correct him if he wasn’t being such a pompous ass. That shut him up quickly. But the fact still remained that I would fire half my male staff to keep them from leering at her.
Seeing her pinned against the wall last night was the final straw. I would have killed Kevin if Rafe hadn’t been there. Worse, though, my first instinct wasn’t rage. When I walked in on them, before I realized Sofia was fighting him, I felt jealous. I wanted to be the man pressing her against the wall. I wanted to be the one sneaking off with her in the middle of an event.
That’s my worst sin of all. I can’t want her in that way. It’s not smart for either of us, least of all me. The only thing I can do is protect her when I can and try not to let my jealousy rear its ugly head. Not ever. Because if I give this thing life, it will completely consume me.
So, instead, I do the one thing I can do. I open up my email and shoot off a message to payroll. Sofia is due overtime after last night anyway. I just triple what I would normally pay. It’s an absurd amount of money, but I make the head of payroll sign off on it anyway.
7
SOFIA
I’m about to leave the office for the day when my banking app chimes. It’s my least favorite sound in the world. Nine times out of ten, it’s telling me my account is overdrafted and I’ve racked up another fee.
When I look at my phone, though, it isn’t an overdraft warning. There’s a deposit. An unusually large deposit. A “holy shit, that’s more money than I make most months” deposit. My first reaction is to assume there’s been an error.
I open the app and see it’s come from Vieri Holdings. I sigh, push away from my desk, and get up to knock on his door.
“Come in.” He calls, then smiles when he sees me.
“I have a problem,” I tell him bluntly.
“Another one?” he jokes.
I hand over my phone to him. “There’s been some kind of accounting error,” I say as he looks at the amount on my phone. “I can email payroll and CC you, but I wanted to make you aware first.”
His face doesn’t change. He doesn’t look surprised or angry that this has happened. When he hands my phone back, he’s the picture of neutrality.
“It wasn’t a mistake,” he says simply. “I authorized that this morning.”
My stomach drops. “Dominic, that’s way too much.”
“I told you I pay good overtime.” He says. “You earned it for last night. Do something fun with it. Or don’t. I don’t really care. It’s your money, so do whatever feels right.”
A small part of me wants to argue, but it really is a very small part. It’s the part screaming that this is hush money. He’s paying me not to quit, or not to tell anyone about Kevin Armand, or something. I can’t quite suss out the motive, but my gut says this is more than his standard overtime rate.
The much larger part of me is thinking about the cost of Dad’s blood pressure medication and all the debts he tries to hide from me. This bonus would make a huge dent in that. Who am I to turn it down?
“Thank you.” I nod, and turn to leave his office.
The subway ride home is long and crowded, and just for a second, I contemplate using some of the bonus to take an Uber home. It would be expensive as hell, though, especially in rush hour traffic.
When we finally reach Queens, I push my way out of the crowd and head for Dad’s garage. I want to tell him about the money and get him set up on a realistic payment plan with his debtors. Maybe they’ll take it as a down payment and give him a little room to breathe.
The street is already getting darker as I walk home, and there’s a stiff chill in the air. I wrap my sweater tighter around my body and push myself faster to get to the garage. Having all this money makes me feel exposed somehow, even though no one on the street could possibly know what’s in my bank account.
When the garage comes into view with the lights still on, I instantly feel better. It’s the feeling of coming home. As I step inside, my stress melts away, replaced by love for my dad.
“Hey, Pops,” I call out, finding him under the hood of the car.
He leans out and looks at me, a bright smile gracing his face. “There’s my best girl,” he beams. “I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.”