Page 2 of Claimed By the Ruthless King

But before I take another step, I need more coffee.

I slip out of the revolving doors, purse in hand, and charge across the street to the coffee shop.

“Phee,” says Sapphire, greeting me at the counter. “Surprise, surprise.”

“I need a double shot cappuccino, thank you so much,” I say, my card already hovering over the reader.

“I can smell coffee in your breath.”

“Shit, really?” I panic, curling my hands over my mouth, smelling my own breath. “I usually brush my teeth twice in the morning to avoid smelling like a coffee addict.”

Sapphire smirks across the counter, handing me a piece of gum. “Here. The last thing you need is Mr. Moretti smelling your breath as you hand in your resignation.” She narrows her eyes down on me. “You’re still doing that, right?”

“Of course. After two emergency bathroom trips yesterday, I’ve never been so sure about anything in my life.”

Sapphire raises her brows, grimacing. “Maybe you just have a high libido. Repressing the appetite won’t do you any favors, either.”

“Believe me, it does more favors than the alternative.”

“Which is…?”

“Shitting all over my career.”

“Like a woman having sex is such a crime,” says Sapphire, turning around to make coffee. She glances over her shoulder, keeping the conversation flowing. “Salvatore has fucked some of his employees in the past, right?”

“Yeah, in legal and HR,” I grumble. “Being his executive assistant is a completely different story. We work in the same office. I accompany him to meetings. We live on top of each other already.”

“You may as well go the full way,” says Sapphire as she hovers over the espresso machine.

“And reinforce the stereotypes everyone already holds against me?” I fold my arms over my chest. “No way.”

Sapphire seals the lid on the takeaway cup, handing it over. “Double-shot cappuccino, extra hot, so be extra careful.” She regards me across the counter, lines appearing between her brows. “Do you have another job lined up?”

“Not exactly,” I sigh. “Aunt Viv has opportunities at the art gallery, but staring at paintings all day has never been my forte.”

“What is your forte?” teases Sapphire, leaning over the counter. “Salvatore?”

“Saying his first name in isolation is way too informal.”

“And sleeping around with the HR department is formal?” questions Sapphire.

“Double-fucking-standards, I know, but this is his company,” I sigh, taking a sip of coffee. “I’m one single woman trying to navigate her way out of a quarter-life-crisis. Mr. Moretti plays unfair, but complaining about the gender gap and feeling sorry for myself won’t drag me out of this situation.” I curl my hands around the coffee cup, staring at Sapphire, my best friend since freshman year of college. “I’ll figure it out.”

“I’m sure you will. You always do.”

I offer her a smile, take my coffee, and leave.

Mr. Moretti’s glass-tipped building shines in the morning sunlight, turning everything gold. Staring up at the building always causes me to lose balance, making me feel small in comparison.

And maybe what makes it all worse is that Salvatore Moretti owns the rags to riches story so much that he may as well trademark it. He built his investment business from nothing, and turned it into one of the most successful businesses in New York.

I reenter the building, the revolving doors spitting me out into the lobby. Consulting the time on my watch, I realize I’m supposed to be meeting Mr. Moretti in ten minutes to discuss his schedule for today. Apparently, he might need to cancel some meetings because something more urgent has come up.

Surprise, surprise.

I spend half of my time rearranging meetings, ensuring nothing clashes in the schedule, because Mr. Moretti always has somewhere more important to be. I never know where he goes or what the business entails, but the jealous side of me will always assume he has a booty call.

I find my way to the correct meeting room, keys jingling on my lanyard as I unlock the door.