she said.
“You mean in the three minutes I’ve been here?”
“Yes.”
Great. There was already a test. I knew there was an answer she was looking for. I just didn’t know what it was.
“Everyone seems…” I trailed off, not sure how honest I should be.
“Say it,” she said.
“Terrified. Like deer in headlights.”
She sighed and tapped her pen on her desk. “We recently went through a… difficult transition.”
“Mmm,” I said, not ready to admit that I’d internet stalked her and her company.
“In the transition, we removed, lost, and replaced several key employees. The ones we removed were no longer the right… fit,” she decided, “for our values. They had become liabilities of sorts. Unfortunately, we also lost several valuable team members.”
There was a whole hell of a lot that she was dancing around about behind the public relations vocabulary.
“My husband took advantage of my generosity and abused his power here. I was aware of some of his… flaws. But I was not aware of just how inappropriate he’d become.” Her tone was steely and anger all but crackled off her. I hoped she got the guy’s balls in the divorce.
I stayed silent and forcibly choked down the kajillion questions I had.
“I was so focused on growing a brand, transitioning into digital-first, and enjoying the perks of being a powerful woman in an exciting industry that I didn’t look closely within my own family, my own company. Maybe I didn’t want to.”
“But it’s over now,” I guessed.
She nodded. “Years too late. So much damage could have been avoided. But the past is in the past. It has no bearing on the present and future. I brought my son on to take his father’s place and tasked him—perhaps unfairly—with cleaning up his father’s mess. As you saw last week, the strain is getting to him.”
I was busy wondering exactly what Dalessandra wasn’t saying when that last bit of information landed.
Oh, shit.
“Charming is your son?”
She looked bewildered. “Who did you think he was?”
“I thought he was your date. I told him you could do better than him,” I said.
Dalessandra laughed again.
Again, I heard the swivel of chairs from the other side of the glass.
“Dominic is my son.”
Maybe I could empathize just a tiny bit with the man being called in to clean up a family mess. But still, I wasn’t an asshole about my situation.
“So, why, on my first day as an admin, am I in your office?” I asked. I felt like I was missing a few very large, important puzzle pieces.
“Because my son owes you a job, and Russos always pay their debts.”
More mystery. The woman seemed like a vault of secrets.
“Okay,” I said, drawing out the word Linus-style.
Dalessandra leaned on her elbows. “And if by some chance you manage to take the temperature of our staff and find out if there’s something I can do to make our environment more stable…” She held up the palms of her hands. “Then I hope you’ll feel inclined to discuss it with me.”
And there was the ask.
A vague one.
I felt like we were communicating in code… and only one of us had the code… and the other one of us was me.
“I’ll do what I can?” It came out more like a question. But it was the answer my new boss was looking for.
“Good. If there’s anything you need, please tell me,” she said, picking up her reading glasses and sliding them on.
“I do have a few questions.”
She peered over the frames at me. “Yes?”
“Can Charm—your son fire me?” I asked.
Her smile was feline. “No. Dominic can’t fire you.”
“Okay, then. Do I have to be nice to him?”
She leaned back in her chair, considering. “I think you should have the relationship you feel most comfortable having with my son.”
7
Dominic
My mother’s assistants were glued to whatever was going on in her office and didn’t see me approach.
I muttered a greeting, startling the guy so badly he sloshed water down the front of his checkered shirt.
“Oh, Mr. Russo, your mother is in a meeting,” the less terrified assistant—Gina or Ginny—said, rising as I reached for the door handle.
My mother laughed at whoever was sitting across the desk from her.
I frowned. “Who’s in there?”
“Uh. Um. A new hire,” the damp assistant squeaked, patting himself dry with napkins.
I hadn’t heard Mom laugh like that in a long time.
They were standing now, and I decided it was as good a time as any to interrupt.
“Speak of the devil,” Mom said when I stepped into her office.
The other woman turned around. She