Filthy Promises - A Mafia Romance

O

rporate headquarters alw

gned to make peasants like me feel exactly tha

it's very good

n't sweat stains forming under the armpits of my thrifted blazer. It's not even hot

ry easy task. Robots could do it. Monkeys could

ith less s

to myself, mimicking my best friend Natalie's v

when she isn't the one bein

rp objects so she doesn't accidentally get popped like a balloon and go whistling around the office. Therefore

es the thirtieth floor. Still

ughts has never, ever been a go

ir pulled into a messy bun. Dark circles under my eyes from

e had noticed

yone will e

t him. The l

rei Akopov, Russian immigr

boss's bos

ximately nine billion of

ly doesn't even know the marketing department e

ator slows to a stop a

I was fresh out of college, frothing at the mouth with desperation for any job

ndy, frigid with the promise of winter coming soon. My mout

strode int

Vincent would never sully his hands with the

omething in the ear of the Chief Marketing Officer who was cond

swift, brutal intera

ike she was about to shit her extremely expensive silk slacks. Her face was printer

of anyone who could do t

out was how insanely, impos

ever had to work hard to be good at absolutely everything. He was in a bl

y were black in a way I'd never seen someone's eyes be before. Like they weren

se the last thing he did before leaving the

onds, if that. Mi

ozen. Even if the building had been on fire, I

ifully, he

at is. Not gone fro

ted that s

years, they

V-Card Vincent, they call him. He's been through nine-tenths of the female staff. Unrepentant playboy. Takes "love

I tend to s

d at night, when the curtains are drawn and my apartment d

g a finger. To imagine him brushing a lock of stray hair out of my face and whispering,

the fireworks. Met

won't wait much longer to disgorge me, so I tiptoe out

l like Bambi's mom stepping into the open glade. As if a hunt

s. Walk up to the reception desk, tell his secretary-her name is Vanessa-that I sent you. Then ha

si

raight

etely...

is empty. Vanessa is a ghos

my voice echoing in

on the surface of Mars. No si

7:42 P.M. Most normal emp

in people-pleasing. A leftover trait from growing up fatherless and becoming Mom

n the hall. "Hello?" I cal

Vanessa, if she even exis

grumble. "J

uld just slip in and leave the folder on his desk? If he isn't there, no harm done. If

ingle chance that this could possibly b

my hand

I hea

right

n mid-air. Surely

uder this time.

h

,

ly what I t

on my heel, throw the files over my shoulder blindly, and GTFO before I get fired, rop

implanting themselves in the tasteful carpeting of the executive floo