Entangled With The Dominant Mafia

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ma

; 35. Samanth

nal assistant for two weeks, and

man is im

ge to kick the printer. The stupid ma

wolf down an entire pi

nd I feel like whining like a puppy as I dart to my des

s,

s the c

ain for the fourth time, "The printer is giving erro

ilding! I want the contract on my desk in

tien

tration department for the past eight months, and un

You just need to get used to how Mr. Vitale

my gut instinct tells m

hose people who's never

ear. I should've known I was in trouble when I got promoted and

Vitale, but the few times our paths crossed, he always loo

always grumpy, and he loses his temper at the speed

partment's printer, which is still linked to

some relief before the doors slide open, and I rush toward the printer. I lose precious time when I have to si

a gym when you work

back into place. I've lost weight from all th

rd like a bullet, but my heart si

r

foot-five glory, his arms crossed over his broad ches

the papers out to him. "H

of his intense gaze in my gut. I swear, whenever thi

g people in the past, but Mr

how handsome he was, but the attraction died a quick death aft

dark gaze remains locked on me while he swip

mutters, "If you can't do something as simple as printing

his office, and the moment the door shuts behind him,

Andy, one of the IT gu

and gesture at the machine. "It won't print for me. I've checked everythin

ake a qui

fter typing for less than a minute,

rinter, so you shouldn'

ocument and shred it, seein

re we

tarts to ring, and I quickly p

line," Mr. Vitale ord

all goes through to voicemail, and as I leave a quick messag

I notice it's just

nk

Vitale's extensio

ble. I left a message for

a deep breath of air. My boss has zero

r with his usual grunt before I say, "It's five

e down, feeling a little burst of triu

tom drawer where I keep it, but as I rise from my chair, Mr

Wha

oiling in my stomach, I head into the office, oth

s overlooking Manhattan. He looks like a god, and his dre

s of how handsome the man is, but then he opens h

ins silent,

, he grumbles, "Mrs. Ross ass

frown furro

o say something

rns and levels me with an unforgiving look, in

me feel like I'm a petulant child who's being scolded by the headmaster. "I don't have ti

er on my computer," I explain, m

oyed as my personal assistant to make my life easi

my hands at my sides and say, "Yes, Mr. Vitale." I raise a

. "Your position i

h

is topic is not up for discussion as he mutters, "If you have a problem put

y, "I don't mind working late, but I'd appreciate it greatly if you would notif

live like a f

m to show me respect and give me sufficient notice, so I d

m losing his temper, but then he gives me a curt nod. "For the unforese

rs? The ma

and paperwork on his desk, he mutters, "Don't w

o pay off my credit card. The second-hand fridge I got when I moved to New York ga

to stay late t

, Mr. Vitale's eyes snap to m

ut behind me. My stomach rumbles, a re

tting pai

email folder, I see Mr. Vitale's already sent eight emails, and