New York Billionaires Series

“Yep, I just need to send this email off to Clive. He’s up my ass about the Stanton project, wants all the details… I don’t even know why,” he grumbles. “I’m reporting to Sharon on this case. But I’ll be a few minutes late for lunch.”

Quentin groans beside me, but it’s not as dramatic as it would’ve been a week ago. Call me Sherlock, but I’m on to something here. “We don’t mind waiting,” I tell Toby. “Isn’t that right, Quentin?”

He shoots me another withering stare. I grin gladly back at him.

But then his gaze drifts over my shoulder, eyes widening. It’s the classic oh shit look.

Eleanor’s voice falls like a scythe. “Frederica. Do you have a moment?”

“Of course,” I say, pushing from the desk. “In your office?”

“Yes.” Not waiting for me, she turns on her high heel.

I grab my notebook and pen. “Go ahead and have lunch without me, boys.”

Quentin groans. “Unlikely. At this pace, my stomach will devour itself, and you two will be responsible for my death.”

“In that case,” Toby responds, fingers typing furiously, “I suggest you start working on your eulogy.”

I leave them to their bickering and head into Eleanor’s office, closing the glass door behind me. She gestures to the chair in her office and looks over at me from the edge of steel-rimmed glasses. She rarely wears them, but when she does, she goes from ice-cold raptor to intimidating librarian.

“Excellent job on the pitch the other day.”

The unexpected praise makes me smile. “Thank you.”

“The clients were impressed, and I’ve sent word along to my superiors about how important your contribution was.”

“Thank you for that,” I say. “That was very thoughtful.”

She holds up a finger. “Not thoughtful. I was being fair. And if I hadn’t been, you would have been in the right to ask me to do so.”

I nod. “Okay, noted.”

“To tell you the truth, Freddie, you’ve surpassed my expectations during your time here already.”

“I appreciate that.”

She gives me a thoughtful look. “This is a bit unusual, but I recognize an ambitious woman when I see one. A position has become available, one we need filled soon.”

Her words set off a storm of excitement. “This sounds interesting.”

She gives me a rare smile. “Yes, one could say so. One of the international consultants at our Milan office will go on eight-month-long maternity leave. We need to replace her for that time… and when I saw the email, I of course thought of you.”

My stomach squeezes into a tight fist. “You did?”Text content © NôvelDrama.Org.

“You speak Italian. Now, it is uncommon to hire a junior trainee like this, but I think there’s some real potential here. This would be a full-time, fixed position, and after your eight months there, I can promise you the company will want to retain you. Either in Italy or back here at headquarters.”

“This is incredibly kind of you.”

She raises a finger, but there’s a smile in her eyes. “Not kind,” she says. “Remember, just like I wasn’t being thoughtful before.”

“Right, I’ll remember,” I say, smiling. “I’m glad you see the potential in me.”

“That’s better,” she says. “I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t want to ensure the company keeps you. So, if I have your permission, I’m going to recommend you to HR and the Milan office immediately.”

My throat dries.

Milan. Italy. Eight months. A full-time job and a salary that’s higher than what a trainee makes. A more permanent foot into this company and a chance to live in Italy.

The giant, man-shaped but is like a dagger inside of me. Tristan.

I have to talk to him about it.

I have to think about it.

“Can I have until Monday?” I ask.

Eleanor’s eyebrows rise, but not in dismay. “Absolutely. Very wise, to take some time to think about your options.”

“Yes, I want to do a bit more reading about Milan. But I won’t keep you waiting longer than that.”

“I appreciate it.” She stands, and so do I, surprised when she extends me a hand. Like we’ve concluded an informal interview, which I suppose in a way, we have. “Good to see another strong woman joining Exciteur.”

Her words reach right inside and twist the innermost core of me. Everything I want, everything I’ve dreamed about, is within reach. And I’m not sure which of the two options I should choose.

“Thank you,” I say. It feels like a lie. “I appreciate it.”

The offer churns inside me for the rest of the day. Everything inside me is leaning toward no, that I can’t give up what I’ve just started with Tristan. But saying no to an opportunity because of a man feels like a betrayal of everything I’ve worked so hard for. My MBA. My grandfather. My family who believes in me. Myself, for working long hours.

My head and my heart, torn. It’s so cliché it would have been funny if it wasn’t my life. If it wasn’t real.

Tristan smiles at me when I arrive at his apartment for dinner with him and Joshua. He’s leaning against the wall in his hallway, hands in his pockets, the top buttons of his shirt undone. No suit jacket. Casual, masculine elegance, power in the frames of his shoulders.

A soft welcome in his eyes.

“Hi,” he says. “How was the elevator ride?”

He always remembers. “It went surprisingly well. I haven’t forgotten that it’s your elevator, so it never malfunctions.”

“That’s right,” he says, eyes warming.

“Something smells delicious.” Oregano and garlic float like divine essence through the air. “What’s for dinner?”

“Marianne is making lasagna.”

“Do you like lasagna?” Joshua’s voice echoes into the hallway a second before he appears, rounding the corner in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt with a safari-themed print on it. Another place they’ve visited?

The giant smile on his face makes me smile in return. “I love lasagna,” I tell him. “With lots and lots of cheese on it.”