He Fired Six Secretaries in a Month

The residence at 1100 Lake Shore Drive did not look like the lair of a criminal warlord.

It occupied the top two floors of an art deco high-rise overlooking the black, churning waters of Lake Michigan. The floors were herringbone white oak; the walls were lined with original oil paintings from the Florentine Renaissance; and the floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the Chicago skyline glittering like crushed diamonds under the winter sky.

Chloe sat on the edge of an ivory linen sofa, clutching a mug of scalding peppermint tea that Lorenzo’s housekeeper, a severe Italian woman named Rosa, had thrust into her hands with a muttered prayer in Sicilian.

She had been given an oversized cashmere sweater belonging to Lorenzo—the cuffs swallowed her hands completely—and a pair of clean wool trousers that Rosa had pinned up at the hem with safety pins so she wouldn't trip over herself.

Lorenzo walked into the library, carrying a thick manila folder and a pair of reading glasses.

He had showered. His dark hair was still damp, slicked back from his high forehead, and he wore a dark charcoal turtleneck that accentuated the broad, dangerous lines of his shoulders.

He set the folder on the glass coffee table, sat down in the leather wingback chair opposite her, and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.

"You have no family in the state, Miss Bennett," Lorenzo said, opening the portfolio.

"Just my sister in Oregon," Chloe answered, taking a cautious sip of the tea, wincing as the heat hit her chapped lips. "She's a botanist. She thinks I work at a mid-level logistics firm that exports farm equipment."

"You do work at a logistics firm that exports farm equipment," Lorenzo noted dryly. "We simply handle specialized commodities on the return leg."

He pulled out a single sheet of heavy parchment, sliding it across the glass toward her.

Chloe squinted, pushing her glasses up her nose. "What's this?"

"A non-disclosure agreement with a comprehensive protective covenant," Lorenzo explained, handing her a new pink gel pen he had produced from his pocket. "Under this agreement, you are officially reassigned as my Executive Assistant of Strategic Compliance."

"That sounds like a title you made up ten minutes ago," Chloe said before she could stop her tongue.

Mateo, standing near the library entrance, let out a sharp, choked cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

Lorenzo’s gray eyes narrowed, but the lethal chill was missing. "The title comes with a base salary of one hundred and eighty thousand dollars, comprehensive medical and dental, a housing stipend, and twenty-four-hour private security detail provided by my personal vanguard."

Chloe’s mug stopped halfway to the table. She stared at the numbers printed on the paper.

"One hundred and eighty thousand?" she whispered. "Mr. Rossy, I spilled ice water on your underboss on Monday. I dropped an entire box of legal staples into your paper shredder on Tuesday. I am a walking workplace hazard."

"You found a wire that three federal technicians missed last week," Lorenzo replied, his voice dropping into a register that made the hair on her arms stand up. "And you caught an embezzlement scheme run by my own bloodline in twenty minutes with an upside-down invoice."