Bad Bosses

BOOK ONE

Chapter one

Mia

This holiday is the culmination of years of saving, despite making enough money to keep me comfortable for a long time. Oh, don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I am a miser or penny pincher hoarding all that money to keep for rainy days.

I don’t have that luxury as it’s been up to me to raise two brothers from teens since my mom passed away six years ago and my dad split, apparently overwhelmed with grief and the thought of being a single father.

So yeah, six years, two of which involved getting Justin and Shaun through high school by the skin of my teeth and then convincing them both that college was not a negotiation but a must after what they’d put me through.

Not that it’s doing much good since both my brothers barely made it through that experience as well, proclaiming themselves heartily sick of school and grinning as if their barely passable grades were a favor they did me.

Both are currently in some Asian locale, probably sleeping on the beach and surfing by day, among other things. Ungrateful wretches, I think, smiling tenderly because no matter what they put me through or how much it’s cost me, both financially and personally, I adore them.

They’re all the family I have left, even if they forget I exist most of the time, only really remembering that I’m still alive when they need that wire transfer, or more often than not, my shock filled gasps when they regale me with tales of their adventures.

Secretly, though, I am thrilled, if a little envious because everything they’ve done, are doing or will do are things I’d planned myself as a senior in high school, just months before Mom finally let go and Dad stopped pretending to give a shit.

Six years I struggled and spent my time working for a cretin, a tyrant of massive proportions, being his on-call slave to the point that once I didn’t sleep for two days because I had so much work to do.

And no, I do not count the fact that it was ‘a paid vacation’, as my boss put it, since the truth is that’s what he lured me to China with, the promise of a few days of sightseeing, after I’d helped him seal up a practically sealed deal.

The reality was me running around non-stop while the poor translator fell asleep in the hotel lobby and then being told ‘regretfully’ that the trip was being cut short the minute the contracts were signed because Lucas was needed back at HQ to deal with a staffing crisis in one of his offices.

Vacation-and I still snort whenever I consider that word-cut short, I’d had to hightail it back to the West Coast with him and then proceeded to deal with said staffing matter so the wretch could go on a date with a certain Hollywood starlet who enjoyed showing her vagina ‘accidentally’ on very many, verrrrry many occasions while exiting a car.

I’d been two days without sleep, screwed up due to the time zone changes, and short tempered to the extreme when the dean called me to let me know Beavis and Butthead had been caught streaking through the girl’s dorms.

It took an inhuman effort not to lose my mind at that point, but I’d persevered, driven down and laid down the law to two very unrepentant men who struggled not to laugh the whole time I yelled at them, threatening them with bodily harm.

I can see the humor in it now, considering I’m five two to their six three, a piece, but by then I was living on energy drinks, coffee and malevolent rage towards Lucas Fabrizio.

Matter sorted, I’d returned to my apartment, fallen into bed fully clothed and been woken by my phone ringing what felt like only minutes later.

Lucas, demanding my presence, urgently. I thought, okay, shoot, I hope to God I didn’t space and screw something up in my exhaustion and hightailed it to his penthouse, shaking inside from a mixture of nerves and the need to sleep standing up.

The urgent matter turned out to be his girl toy, the vagina flashing psycho, going nuts and crying in a performance worthy of...something because the great and oh so powerfully attractive Mr. Fabrizio had not taken too well to her hinting at marriage.

Then I really did blow my top, monumentally and not because I was jealous that a man I’d been crushing on for six years had just ordered me to make the crying stop.

Not because I was vulnerable, hurt and offended that he thought so little of me that this was my role.

Nope. What really sent me over the edge was what he said after I’d mopped up the lip flasher, commiserated and suffered boogers in my hair and a soaked shirt...

I’ll cut the description short and just say that it took me no less than an hour to convince her that he wasn’t worth it and that she had so much more to look forward to than wasting herself on a man who only saw her as a sex object.

Turned her into a feminist in a big way, I’ll tell ya, at least it looks that way because she walked out of her apartment the next day without hair, looking scary crazy and proceeded to go on some healing trip to the Amazon where reports say she’s running around without a bra, living in a village without running water-

But whatever. After I got her ass out of his penthouse and ordered a cleaning service to clean up the damage from her tirade, the great big oaf had turned to me, smiled and asked me why all women couldn’t be as staid and level-headed as me.

Then, oh and this is what made me do it, these very words - ‘oh, Miss Carmichael, if only I was intelligent enough to be attracted to a spinster like yourself. Surely my life would be a lot simpler if I could look at a level-headed woman like you and want...’

He never did finish the statement, despite my need to hear the rest, I just smiled benignly as if he hadn’t insulted me beyond words and shrugged, asking me if I was ready to drive to the office.

Now, I was exhausted. At the end of my tether. Mortally wounded that he could look at me and see...a SPINSTER. Completely enraged at the thought that he just told me in his own superior, insensitive way that I was ugly!

And just plain...unhinged.

What happened after that was as effective a resignation as any that could ever be given. Ever. In history. The stuff of legends. Prosecutable. Glorious.

Maybe it was God given. Perhaps I just look at it that way today because I need to excuse my actions and convince myself that it was the right thing to do. Whatever the case, I insist that the paperweight was there, right beside my hand for a reason.

I also insist that I was momentarily blinded and blacked out-even if I can remember everything in exact detail, from the weight to the shape and feel of that glass boulder.

In any event, I did something along the lines of scream, hurl that paperweight at his retreating back and shriek the vilest things that have ever left my mouth.

To this day, I will testify that he incurred the broken arm not due to the paperweight actually hitting him but rather in his bid to dodge it when he was mid-turn in response to my screaming.

I do believe he tripped over the couch and broke his arm when he somersaulted over it and met the coffee table. And I do believe that it was completely un-sportsman-like when two of his six-hundred-pound body guards rushed in and tackled me to the floor.

I justify it all with the thought that I was hurt, too, and I concede that Lucas had every right to fire me on the spot, press charges against me and have me convicted of assault.

I was counting on it, actually, because at that point I had the eye-opening brain fart that if I went to prison I’d be free to sleep for more than five hours a night, be legally incapable of running after Justin and Shaun and somehow, somehow, forget the words he’d drawled, words that had shredded what was left of my feminine inner confidence.

It almost sent me hysterical when he peeked his head over the couch, frowned and asked, ‘Are you quite alright, Miss Carmichael?’

Do you know what it’s like to be floored, so speechless that even breathing is unmanageable? I do. Even worse, the dratted man then yelled at his security to stop mauling me, helped me up with his uninjured right arm and started tutting about my coffee consumption as if that was to blame for my hysteria.

Slack jawed, I let him lead me out of the building, into the car he’d called and then been taken to the hospital where he insisted they tend to me first while he held my hand, telling the doctor in a matter of fact way that I was suffering from the effects of too much coffee and not enough food, could he please talk to me about the dangers of an unhealthy diet.

By that point I was...

Well, there are no words and to this day I still can’t process that he’d reacted that way. What I can say is I came this close to stabbing him with a scalpel when I finally looked at him and thanked him for helping me.

He’d grinned, shrugged and then ordered me to attend to his medical forms so that they could cast his arm. After that we went into the office, me still firing on less than one full cylinder while he chirped and talked about the upcoming dinner he wanted me to organize.

It was as if nothing happened and I’d have totally snapped out of it and told him to kiss my lily white ass until the school called that very afternoon and asked me to make a donation to the upcoming sports rally in a show of good faith. In other words, pay up or Justin and Shaun can kiss college goodbye.

So I kept my job, stayed the course and pretended that nothing happened, mostly because I was so mortified by then that it was a blessing and also because when I called out to employment agencies, I discovered that Lucas had had me blacklisted.

I got it really fast. It was him or no one, unless I wanted to sling hash or sell my body to men with no dental hygiene and possible genital warts.

Not much of a choice and really, after that calmative the doctor had given me kicked in, I regained my senses enough to remember that I had no qualifications, that this job, as good as I am at it, was given to me by a man who took a gamble on me.

His exact words. On a daily basis. Especially when I eyed the letter opener on my desk a few weeks ago after he told me to buy his latest fling crotch-less panties and nipple jewelry.

I didn’t know those existed either!

Not until said sex toy accompanied me to an exclusive jeweler and demonstrated what it was. With her naked boobs. And nipples and-

But whatever.

That was just six months ago, in which time my brothers had managed to stay in and graduate college and are now touring the world, unwilling to be sensible and look for jobs.

Right now, I am sightseeing. On vacation. Free of all and any thoughts of men who need another paperweight attack, or outright killing. Right now, I am looking at gondolas, smelling food, watching Italians saunter around in stylish clothing with an air of complete and utter ease.

And it sucks! I am alone, I may be a little lost and terrified of going on the gondolas and I had a run in with a kid and his gelato that is evident from the state of my once white shirt.

And I’m crying. Haven’t I mentioned it yet? Well, I am, I think miserably, sniffing loud enough that the couple passing me pause and give me a horrified look.

Move along! You never seen a woman cry? I yell, hiccupping as I turn away to stare broodingly at the water again.

I wonder for the umpteenth time whether I should just jump in and let the toxins kill me because surely from the color of that water something will, although hopefully it’ll be quick, unlike the slow death I am suffering now, fooling myself that I am indeed on vacation in freaking Venice when in reality I got to hop on over here with the great Poobah himself and pretend that he’s ‘giving me a break’ instead of just out and out asking the slimy weasel what he wants now.

Sorry, signorina, you want for me to take you to other place?

I snap out of visions of drowning Lucas in the water to see a kindly looking man with grey hair smiling at me, punting his empty boat as if I should be at all happy to get on his death trap and by that I mean be the only loser on planet earth to come to this place and take a romantic gondola all on my own.

I am close to sneering and telling him to get his rickety barge out of my face when it hits me that my anger, the boatload I’m carrying around with me is manifesting in every single aspect of my life.

This is not me. I am the girl who smiles and advises the gondola guy to charge more when I discover that he has three kids and a baby on the way, or grandchild, as the case may be.

Unless my imagination is right and Italian men really are supernatural and procreate into their dotage...

But anyway, the point is that this is not me. I am not the girl who sneers at people. I am not mean or unkind, I mean I gave Mindi Delware a tampon one time even after she told the whole senior class I had sex with the crusty old janitor just for a laugh.

I don’t get mad. Hell, the last time I yelled at someone...

Let’s not go there.

Oh Jesus, I am turning into...him. It. My boss. The guy I despise and yet have sexual dreams about because obviously I’m a lunatic and there’s something irreparably wrong with my brain and...

No! I wail in horror, my mind racing as it hits upon the guy at the airport I shoved out of the way because he was taking too long and I had to get to the exit before-

That’s not the point! Focus, I yell at myself, my lip trembling when it becomes clear that...I’m becoming a female version of Mr. ‘oh why can’t I be sexually attracted to a troll like you’.

My wail stops passers-by and I only realize I scared the living hell out of the gondolier when he huffs and apologizes for bugging me before rowing away at a frantic pace.

Which makes me aware of the fact that I’m yelling ‘please Jesus, just take me now before the demon takes complete control’.

And let me just say that Italians are a squeamish people because the moment I stop and look around, it’s to see people running. Except one guy, but I soon realize why when he grins and opens his coat, flashing me his naked nuts and something I think should be a penis. Maybe.

And this is all happening, me resuming my wailing, man showing me his soiled fruit and veg, when I hear a drawl from behind and every single nightmare I have ever had in my life culminates into one unfathomable moment.

It’s while I’m crying, begging God to help me and save me from Satan himself that I hear that demon’s hiss and turn to see-

Have you been drinking coffee again? Mia! You know we decided that you should not ever imbibe in anything that contains caffeine. Scusibella... he prattles something off in Italian that I don’t even want to understand, to a blonde goddess that is so beautiful I pause mid rant and tilt my head, considering my options because, ya know, when he’s done with her I might consider changing my sexual orientation.

I mean she is smoking, smoking, chimney on fire hot and that’s not even the worst part! I don’t get to hate her because I am utterly convinced she’s an angel and hating an angel will send me to hell. If I manage to get a free pass on the homicidal daydreams I have of Lucas, of course. I hope.

I’m silent now as he blah, blah, blahs to my new crush-have I mentioned that my eyes won’t stray from her boobs, man, I wish God gave me boobs like that-before turning to me with a long-suffering sigh and looking heavenward.

As if he’s got a Goddamn thing to suffer about when the truth is that-

Why are you here? I bark suspiciously, a nasty thought occurring to me in that second when I drag my eyes off the angel and my brain starts chugging again.

Lucas smiles, one of those smiles that have had me thinking about dental records and evidence, and shrugs, introducing my wo-I mean the woman to me.

Mia Carmichael, I would like you to meet Adel.

Well see, even if I wanted to hate her, now I can’t, I love Adel. No wait! Why is he introducing me to another one of his floozies, I rage inside, instantly attempting to despise her, throw her a glare and not fling myself into the water all at the same time because the dratted man is smiling again. That smile.

Why me, God?

Hey, I mumble, giving her a chin nod while not looking at her in the hopes that the spell will be broken.

Hi.

Oh great, she’s nice. Just what I always wanted. And maybe while I’m waxing her junk, which is just as likely a request from Lucas as any I have heard thus far, I can ask her how to be this perfect, I think snidely, gritting my teeth.

I’m on vacation.

No preliminaries because as much as I want to like Adel-oh, why couldn’t her name just be Britney!-it’s occurring to me, slowly, insidiously, that I didn’t tell him where I was and I chose the opposite direction of the hotel he was going to lunch at and-oh God, did you always plan for me to be a murderer?

"Vacation of sorts," he argues, the emphasis on the last word setting off alarm bells in my head.

Nope. No. For real. Vacation for real! I yell, losing what little calm Jesus granted me when the insinuations become clear and my heart sinks. You said I had a week off. Off. No work. No making reservations or buying jewelry or dresses or any of the stuff you expect me to do above and beyond my actual job.

Lucas shrugs, making a hand gesture that imparts the sense that I’m quibbling about something that was implied and never really stated.

Eh, I never said that it would not entail some time away from the marvels of riding the gondolas by yourself. And really Mia, how sad that you are all alone, without company, he says sullenly, giving me a pitying look that Adel seconds.

Only her look is real pity which cuts me. Raw. To the point that I actually cringe and feel all ten shades of the humiliation on the Richter scale.

By choice? I say, hating that it comes out as a question, which the wretch immediately seizes on, his expression becoming calculating immediately.

Not possible, for who does not want to ride the gondolas with a lover and share in the joys of this magical place?

Me? I squeak, seeing myself in just that position, smiling and pointing out other lovers while in the arms of-

No! Nope. My blood sugar must have dipped drastically, I think, panicked because a certain set of dark eyes were staring back at me in the vision and just, no!

"But of course you! And why should you not want these things, Mia. You are after all a woman, yes?" He laughs, making it sound like he’s actually questioning my gender and not deriding me softly.

That boils my blood because let me tell you, I may not dress all sexy and girlie and I may not have all that much time to pay attention to whether or not my hair looks just so and yeah, okay, I may not always brush it perfectly or wear make-up and it’s possible that my work clothes are kinda boxy but that’s because I am always working.

Where is the time to go to the salon and have my nails done and shop and, you know, even if I did have the time, you try affording all that when you’re schooling and supporting two of the biggest money drainers on the planet.

My lip trembles slightly, from anger I am sure, and I sniffle at the picture he just painted of me, the unattractive twenty-four-year-old female looking like my late Aunt Graves-her real name I shit you not-and it hits me.

I’m an old lady! Me, the high school cheerleader who loved to party and have fun. The last six years have turned me into an old woman with gross hair, glasses that are huge and unfashionable because my other pair broke and I haven’t had time to replace them.

Suddenly, I know why Lucas looks at me and asks if I am a woman. I know why he called me unattractive in that casual, offhand way. What’s worse, I know that if left up to me, I’d probably never have seen it before I started wearing vein stockings and stuffing my bra to prevent sagging chafe.

I’m...old. I feel old and darn it, I don’t want to. I want to have my brown hair shimmering the way this chick’s is. I want to wear shorts with smooth legs because they’re waxed instead of jeans because I cut all the way up my calf shaving when Lucas called me the day before we were flying out, demanding I help him pack.

I want to wear a bikini and not have to worry about taking an eye out because the last time I had the strength to clean up my area was the last time I had cheer practice.

I don’t want to be the spinster secretary who has wet dreams about her boss and keeps trying to convince herself its hate sex.

Mia! Mia? See what I told you before, Adel? She’s been sneaking coffee again. The job it is to keep this one from the coffee... He sighs, making me blink from my stupor with a return of the anger I’ve been trying to push down.

Preeeeetty sure he’ll have me arrested if I assault him this time.

It’s not the coffee! It’s you. I hiss, going poker stiff in indignant fury. Two o’clock in the morning you wake me up to tell me you have a cold and need a doctor! Come over Mia, I need to talk to you and then I get there only to find that your housekeeper quit and you don’t know how to use the oven. Oh Mia, have you handled the HR crisis, oh and by the way go to Blooms and handpick the most expensive flower, let this one down easy. Oh Mia, have you seen my blue silk tie, I am sure it was not I who misplaced it. As if I wear your Goddamned ties! Oh Mia, by the way I know you haven’t slept more than five hours in the last six years but could I trouble you to get me another coffee, I had a late night, I yell through clenched teeth.

As if I wouldn’t personally know because I was right there with you taking minutes for a late night unscheduled meeting which I still had to complete paperwork on after you left the office. Coffee! You think my problem is coffee? Coffee keeps me running when you call me yet again. Coffee keeps me alive when my freaking brothers call from a prison in the freaking armpit of the world and need bail money to be wired. Coffee keeps me sane when I have to break up with your girlfriends and one of them starts stalking me and slashes my tires and I have to report it to the police.

My tirade feels wonderful, great, so freeing that its only when I wind down to breathe and possibly wipe my eyes that I notice him staring at me, not saying a word, that expression of his so un-nerving.

Soooo, you’re saying you need a nap before you drive Adel out to Florence?

Chapter two

Mia

This is ridiculous! I said it was a joke, Mia, a joke. Since when have you lost your sense of humor? Lucas asks indignantly while I shove clothes into my bag and he unpacks it just as quickly.

Around the time I had to take one of your girlfriends to that rehab facility to get over you, I mutter, packing even faster to get back to the clothes he keeps ripping from my suitcase.

Oh come now, you said you liked her.

Liked her? She sent me death threats for a month because she thought we were having a secret affair, something you laughed about because, and I quote ‘she really must need a psychiatrist if that’s what she’s thinking’.

Honestly, I am so over all this. After I lost my rag and screamed all that stuff at him, and he asked me that sardonic question, things didn’t go downhill, they plummeted.

Gone was the thought that I can’t quit because I need the only job I will ever have that pays well. Gone the reminder that my two hair-brained brothers might need help yet again. When...not if.

Every single reason I have ever given myself to keep going, despite the way I feel, just melted away when he had the audacity to try and laugh me through yet another job that he wanted me to do.

And no, it’s not just the whole overworked, weary to the bone aspect of my life, but rather the fact that when I started crying, he awkwardly patted and tried to hustle me back to his villa while also hurriedly talking to Adel in rapid fire Italian that I do distinctly suspect contained the words coffee and highly strung.

I think. Whatever. It’s just all too much and despite the fear and dread and just plain regret that keeps trying to overtake me, I am determined that I will not concede defeat, even if I have to pack until my hands go numb.

But honestly, it was ludicrous! You are my secretary. He tries to defend himself, yanking at the jeans I try to ram into the case.

Oh, so that precludes me from what, feelings? I screech, setting my teeth and trying to defog my glasses all while hanging onto the jeans for dear life.

My diatribe shocks him and he pauses, tilting his head at me with an air of what I can honestly describe as utter confusion. The man honestly, oh God I can’t believe I’m gonna say this, does not understand that he’s a hurtful pig.

My brain burps at this, just giving up and I drop the jeans, falling heavily onto the side of the bed, shoulders slumped as weariness hits me.

You don’t even get it do you? You’re mean Lucas. You’re so polite and civil with everyone else that sometimes it’s like seeing two completely different people.

But surely this cannot be true. I always treat you fairly and pay you well and-

Say things like ‘what do you think Maria would like, oh forget it Mia, you wouldn’t know’. I cut in, pursing my lips. "My personal favorite was when Jackson Frazer asked you if we’d be available for all and any follow up questions and you told him, laughingly, that I would be available at any time because I’m married to my job and not interested in men."

Because you are, he yells, spreading his hands in front of him.

No, that is not true. I never once implied that I am not interested in men, Lucas, just that I wasn’t interested in meaningless affairs, like you. Do you know Jackson kept trying to set me up with his sister for over a month because he assumed I was a lesbian? I grate, shuddering at the memory of giving in at one point and meeting Sarah.

She was great, really she was, but it creeped me out when she started talking about the viability of our eggs and whether I’d choose the sperm donor and carry the babies.

Not that I was averse per se, just that I didn’t sufficiently hate all men enough thanks to Lucas’s example to want to be a lesbian. Then! Now I wish I’d had those fertility tests and allowed her to support me while I became the housewife to her corporate breadwinner.

Oh, just think right now I could be in the suburbs somewhere, telling myself I like boobs and strap ons. That would so be the life-

As if you would ever date Sarah. She’s way too authoritarian for you.

That’s not the point. And don’t insult her, she was nice, I mutter, making him laugh incredulously.

You went on a date?

I thought if I gave in and she met me that he’d stop but she liked me. I brag, shivering at the memory of her gold tooth and the severe looking bob style she seemed to favor.

Well obviously, Mia, you’re quite the conversationalist.

God help me if that’s the only compliment he can dredge up. Great, I’ll be sure to tell that to my cats in about five years. I snort, rolling my eyes.

We talked about tax all evening.

I refuse to discuss my eggs with this creep, refuse.

Scintillating.

Shut up. You probably only talk to your dates when you’re shuffling them out the door.

That hurts, Mia.

Yeah, well how do you think I feel when you refer to me as your little robot? I snarl, scowling deeply enough that he blushes.

It was a compliment on your work ethic.

Compliment? A real compliment would be yeah, Mia is the best secretary in the world because she puts up with my demanding ass and hasn’t, as yet, started eating her own hair or talking to blank walls. A compliment is actually supposed to flatter the recipient, I point out, sighing deeply because honestly, I can’t even get all that mad at the idiot if he’s clueless about his behavior.

He pauses, though, and after a minute of silent introspection, lowers himself into the chair in the corner of the opulent room with a groan.

This was not my intention. I was not trying to be insensitive.

And that right there is the problem, you don’t even try and yet you’re the biggest jerk I have ever met. Tell me, Lucas, do you really think I enjoy buying underwear for other women? Or jewelry? Or having women call my private line at home because you give them my number instead of yours to avoid the drama? Do you think I like having them yell at me or cry or beg me to give them tips about how to nail you down?

He colors deeply and gives me a small, innocent smile.

But you are so much better at it than I am, Mia, and you know just what to say.

Sure. That is true, something I can’t argue with but that doesn’t mean I live to spend two hours on the phone hearing about exactly what ‘dearest Luc’ can do with his tongue.

I haven’t had tongue in six years since my senior prom and it’s tragic when I have to live vicariously through a man whore.

Because I consider other people’s feelings, Lucas, I mutter, scrubbing at my head where a caffeine headache is starting to form.

Damn the man, he’s so right about my inability to properly process caffeine.

I do this. Do I not always send flowers and gems to soften the blow?

No, I send it to soften the blow and then wake up at three in the morning when my apartment door is being graffiti bombed by nutso number one thousand and fifty-two! And come on, admit it, you only do gifts to assuage your conscience.

But why should you think this? There is no guilt. I am always very honest with the women I see. I warn them from the outset that we will not have a committed relationship and that it will last a month at most.

He’s defending himself and I get it because he’s right, I have personally been present when he picks up a woman at a party-the pig-and lays it all out in big, bold print. No commitment.

He’s always been really clear about that no matter who he was seducing with those dark eyes and panty melting accent and the worst part is that I can’t blame a one of them for jumping at the chance even with his insistence that he wasn’t a long-term kind of guy. Hell, I myself would have fallen for the hope aspect and lied to myself to justify sleeping with him.

A long time ago, I assure myself, before I wised up, of course.

That doesn’t stop them from hoping, I point out in a hard voice, narrowing my eyes at him.

He shrugs with a serious lack of concern and blinks, letting me know how he feels about that.

Not my fault.

No, but technically if you didn’t go so hard core seducing them and lay it on so thick to get them in bed then maybe they’d have had the wherewithal to resist the temptation of trying to tame you and nail you down. You know, Lucas, it’s really hard to have a guy tell you how great you are and then make yourself understand why HE doesn’t find you great enough to keep after a night of sex.

Not that I would know. Nope, not me the girl who had a date three years ago and ended up leaving before dessert because Lucas needed me to fly to Spain with him immediately.

I would complain about that one vehemently if I hadn’t been on the verge of desperation when my date started talking about fantasy baseball.

I do not lay it on thick! I simply compliment where a compliment is due. What the hell is wrong with that? he storms, finally losing patience with me.

I’ve been expecting it, seeing as Lucas is not one to take criticism so easily. Quite frankly, I expected him to blow his fuse a while ago.

Nothing.

Exactly. There is nothing wrong with giving an honest compliment when you find a woman smart, attractive or good in bed.

I hesitate to point out that the last compliment I received just a week ago included being told I don’t need to wear that God-awful lipstick that incidentally was stain from a candy I ate and turned my lips blue.

At the time I took it as him saying I need no artificial help-me lying to myself again to stop from braining him with a stapler, of course-but it was really just him telling me I looked like shit. Sooo...

You’re right. I am wrong. Great, we’ve cleared that up, I say bracingly, rising to start packing again. Good talk.

What the hell are you doing?

Packing. What? You thought you’d distract me from my mission to leave, like I should have months ago, because you managed to prove how right you are again? I scoff, sucking at my teeth.

That stops him and I can almost see his brain working as he tries to process my questions and find an answer that won’t set me off. Like always. Well at least like it’s been for the last six months when I started realizing that being tactful with Lucas is a losing battle and that I should just say what I need to.

Partly, I was hoping and praying he’d fire me and then I’d have justification to live on while selling myself on a corner downtown. Also, there was the real danger I faced of harming him, again, if I didn’t just get it all out in the moment. From thence was born Mia’s potty mouth and general enjoyment snarling at Lucas and sneering sanctimoniously.

He likes it though! At least he seems to find me amusing to the point that lately I think he really makes an effort to set me off. It’s weird but true.

Mia, I am right about the women and their motives and you know it, even if we haven’t addressed it today, as you do so many others. I make it clear what I will offer and they see dollar signs and diamonds. So I give it to them the only way I can; parting gifts. Is this the problem? Okay, fine I will no longer make you perform these tasks. Tina can see to it. He bargains, smiling as if he just solved world hunger.

That is not the point and not why I am leaving!

Why then? You work long hours, true, but I pay you more than a generous salary, including benefits that also cover your two very accident prone younger, adult brothers.

I wince at the reminder and consider just what will happen to one of them should I lose medical benefits for them. Oh well, they can’t climb mountains or get arrested with a limb missing.

And that is great and I appreciate it, Lucas, but the benefits no longer outweigh the cost I deal with every single day.

What cost? You stay in luxury hotels when we travel. You eat at the finest restaurants. I have even agreed to give you a clothing allowance, he says angrily, sweeping his gaze over me in an insulting manner.

You offered it because you said I dress like Mrs. Doubtfire! I accuse, shoving my bra into the case with a prayer that he didn’t see it.

It’s old and gross but it doesn’t hurt my boobs. Plus, it’s not as if I have any better seeing as I haven’t been shopping in, oh, half a decade.

You do! Am I to blame for your poor fashion? Honestly, Mia, you represent me, you are an extension of my company and you look like you’ve walked straight out of a governess school.

Fair. That statement is fair but to be fair to me, these are mama’s old clothes and all I had to wear when dad left us and I had to put a roof over us and feed the boys.

It’s not like I had a choice until just recently when college was taken off the budget. Or like I had time for all this fashion!

I look like I spent six years housing, feeding and educating two boys while also running around after you, wiping your ass, I charge, vibrating with offense. I look like a woman who hasn’t been to the salon in years and washes her hair with generic shampoo because it was that or tell my brothers to eat lean for the last four years.

And this is my fault? So now that you no longer have to support your brothers, my employment is surplus to requirements? he accuses making me feel crappy because that is exactly what it sounds like and nothing of what I have been trying to tell him.

The nasty case of crotch rash is trying to guilt me. And it’s working, I think miserably, blushing to my roots when he picks up the Wal-Mart panties my neighbor bought for me after seeing my laundry once.

Embarrassing.

This pair is covered in cherries, so apt I groan out loud and practically take his arm off snatching them to shove into the case, under everything.

That’s not the reason and you know it, you louse. You think I’m waltzing off to another job to sit pretty and enjoy life? That’s not even possible after you blacklisted me and threatened other employment agencies if they ever found me decent employment. Besides that, I don’t have any qualifications as you well know.

So why leave a perfectly good job?

Because you’re driving me crazy! I scream. You work me half to death and the sad thing is that isn’t even the problem. You see me as this...robot, this inanimate thing that just chugs, chugs, chugs away while you swan around enjoying life and the one time, the one time I think I have time to just stop, breathe and look around, you ruin it.

Don’t cry.

I’ve been saving for this trip for years. You think I enjoy packed lunches instead of eating out with my colleagues? No! but here I am and I was like, okay, I have money I didn’t spend on the flights or hotels so I’ll enjoy it and yet what was I doing today? Hiding from you because I knew you would change your mind and find me. Which is fine. Let’s be clear I expect for you to be trailing along making sure I earn every penny but what I do not expect-no matter how many times you keep doing it-is for you to insult me and laugh at my expense. Again, I mumble, whispering the last part because it hurts.

Mia-

I expect nothing, but you know, it doesn’t feel great to have the guy I’ve basically been office married to for what feels like eternity to keep reminding me of how stolid and reliable I am whilst also being perfect for this job because I am so unattractive. I have Goddamned feelings too.

That has him stilling and looking back at me with comprehension...I want to say horror but I don’t trust the cretin one bit. I do, however, enjoy the flush that hits his cheeks and the fidgety way he shoves his hands into his pockets while looking me up and down.

I never meant-

No, because I am not a female to you so why should you use that legendary Fabrizio charm to cater to my tender feelings?

Mia-

Look, whatever, okay. You’re right, I can’t afford to lose this job just in case one of my moron brothers decides to get caught smuggling oregano over the Mexican border. Damn my life. So just, forget it. I’ll drive Adel to wherever you want me to and then come back for whatever dinner thing you’ve already got up your sleeve, I say tiredly, shoving the case close with a huff.

Mia-

Save it, Fabrizio. Just don’t complain when Mrs. Doubtfire shows up looking a little worse for the wear seeing as I won’t have much time to get ready.

Lucas

What does she mean I insult her all the time? Of course, I do not. I relay constructive criticisms that are meant to help people when they don’t see what they should.

Mia has always looked frumpy and staid in those God-awful suits with her hair up in a bun that looks limp and messy, not at all attractive in the new style women employ to seem just out of bed.

And do I complain? Have I once reminded her of the company’s dress code or fired her for looking as if she hardly runs a comb through the stuff?

No. I simply got over it by reminding myself that, though unqualified, she is the best secretary I have ever had and that I cannot fathom having some incompetent ninny replace her.

Surely, she understands that I value her the way she is and that I couldn’t cope without her invaluable service to myself and the company. She must. Why, I gave her a handsome bonus last Christmas and left her to have the whole day free without once calling her.

And I could have! I needed her on that day to help me arrange Mama’s move from Tuscany to the island retreat she prefers during the holiday season.

And here she is accusing me of...

It is not to be borne. Yes, she works hard but she has always been aware from the very beginning that the job would be demanding and I pay her easily double of what her position calls for as my thanks for all the work she does.

And yet, even as I assure myself of these facts, it is hard not to stop and recall some of my finer moments, such as the time I was late for a meeting and told her to hurry up and stop complaining about taking the stairs because surely it gave her much needed exercise.

The meaning is not what you think, or perhaps the way she understood it, as an insult. All I meant was that she sounded out of breath and needed to increase her stamina.

Am I not allowed to be concerned for her health, especially with the hours we both keep out of necessity? Yes, I am, so I refuse to feel guilty about a remark I made out of pure concern for her health.

As for the rest, I acknowledge that I am demanding but it will always be this way and has been since the day Mia walked into my office sweating bullets, pleading with me silently to give her a chance.

I, of course, had already run background checks on all of the applicants and was aware that she was the sole support to two sixteen-year-old boys and completely desperate for work.

There were a number of far more suitable candidates vying for the position, some from floors below mine who were already working in executive positions.

I do not mean to blow my own horn but nothing whatsoever in her resume hinted at the experience required and yet, I found myself unable to do anything about rejecting her application because I could not allow this poor young girl to suffer another moment of the considerable strain I could see she was under.

To her credit, she very quickly proved a capable and fast learner and in a week she had my schedule organized and became my right hand. I knew fairly quickly that I had found a gem in Mia, no matter the way she dressed or insisted on eating those tuna fish sandwiches at her desk, stinking up the outer office.

And in the last six years, I have overlooked many a flaw in favor of retaining a woman I know deep in my bones will never find an equal in my office.

I won’t lose her, no matter what happens or how she feels, so at this moment it is all down to keeping Mia happy without giving her too much freedom and the chance to stray from the well-ordered role she plays in my life.

So what should I do, I ask myself, sipping at the orange juice the housekeeper brought to my study. I could give her time off while here in Italy and allow her to go out and see the city but I don’t think I am comfortable with the thought of Mia wandering around alone, vulnerable and at the mercy of anyone who looks her way.

She is so little it would be nothing for some criminal element to harm her or, God forbid, one of the many enemies I have made is more than capable of trying to use her against me. They are all too well aware that she is indispensable to me and that I would do anything to protect her, something that she doesn’t know because I refuse to scare her by telling her that the security I placed on her in California intercepted a kidnapping attempt by a rival a few months ago.

Nor did I tell her because she would go crazy if she knew that I have her followed and watched constantly, just for safety and to clear my conscience when one of the many women I have slept with started stalking her.

I may not be an easy man and I may not always say the right thing but the one truth I have to keep close when Mia loses her adorable little temper with me is that I will always take care of her, no matter what.

Because, and I shudder to say this, she is my office wife, the only real wife I will ever have in actuality, and I value her as I have no other. No one speaks to me the way she does, in that derisive, sarcastic manner that I can never reply to because she either does it so sweetly it would take a monster to reprimand her, or she loses it so marvelously that I am afraid to so much as breathe.

My security still chuckles about the broken arm she gave me when she threw a paperweight at me - the new people I hired after firing the animals who attacked her, of course, no way was I employing thugs who would dare hurt Mia, for whatever reason.

The virago still insists that I broke my arm falling over the couch and coffee table. Let me tell you it never happened. That thing hit my arm dead on. Painfully. Whereby I stumbled and fell to my knees, never once traversing either couch or coffee table, as the still standing pieces of furniture will attest.

I still don’t know if I’m more shocked, amused or in awe of the absolute violence she presented to me that day but what I can say is that for the first time in years I was a little turned on by Mia.

Not much. She still looks ghastly in those rags she wears, and her figure is a little on the plumper side, but that fire. All that fire and passion she displayed showed me in no uncertain terms that she is indeed a woman. A fiery, frighteningly repressed woman.

Just the way I like her. Repressed because it means she can spend all her time with me, keeping me going. And yes, I understand that it may be unfair of me but it’s the only way I know to keep her safe and out of the clutches of immoral men who would only seek to use her. Just the way that idiot tried to when she went on a date three years ago.

I ran him, of course I did, and it infuriated me that he would dare go anywhere near her and try to implicate my Mia in corporate espionage. The nephew of the CEO of a rival of mine, he was set to seduce her and pin the blame on her if anything should come to bear.

He is currently enjoying mediocrity as a fry cook in one of the many cheap franchises across America. As is his uncle, aunt and father after I cleaned them out and taught them never to threaten one of mine again.

She still does not know and I refrained from pointing out to her that indeed I had not ruined what could have been a love match, nor had I sabotaged what could have been the future father of her unborn children.

That exaggeration made me laugh so hard I am grateful it was still in the days when Mia was pretending to be a sane individual with no homicidal tendencies.

Besides his unappealing looks, he was a shark and had he not been I would have objected anyway because as plain as Mia is, she can do much better than that troll.

If I allow her, that is. Don’t criticize me. I adore Mia and I honestly could not survive without her by my side, something Mama constantly chuckles about while telling me Mia is too good for me.

She may be right and yet I don’t care. I found her, I am keeping her. I just need to figure out a way to do that without letting on how much I need her.

In case you’re wondering about the rest of it, like sabotaging her to other employment firms or agencies and refusing her a reference, I don’t care. Is it scrupulous? No. Will that change my mind? No. No one will pay her or treat her the way I do, like family, and no one will protect her and provide security, even if that security happens to violate her rights and privacy.

It’s an ‘ends justify the means’ situation and as long as she is safe and unharmed I don’t care.

Oh, there you are! Where is Mia? That dear darling girl needs to get out more and I have come to save her from your slaving clutches.

I grin as Mama floats in on a cloud of Chanel and silken finery, her youthful looks belying her fifty years thanks to her diet, sunscreen and what Papa calls her daily vitamins.

Do not ask, I refuse to go there in any fashion.

She is driving Adel to the helicopter that will take her home before a business dinner tonight, I drawl, chuckling at the fury I know she will come back with.

So what, I manufactured the whole drive and, in fact, arranged for Adel to be driven to the helicopter. I needed an excuse to have Mia safe and, for me, that did not include wandering the streets completely open to harm.

And, of course, I could not justify following her all day, Adel was becoming suspicious and quite unreasonable about Mia having the right to privacy and off time.

Hence her return home instead of accompanying me to dinner tonight as I had planned, intending to give Mia the night off to enjoy with Mama and my sisters who would have come to see her.

Now, she is, of course, accompanying me because...I want her to. End of story.

Oh Lucas, my son, you drive that poor girl insane and off her feet with work. She deserves a holiday and a chance to spread her wings and maybe find passion and romance.

The thought is abhorrent to me and so startling I bark an automatic denial and clench my jaw.

She is not ready for any of that, Mama, and besides, Mia is far too sensible to think that she is cut out for a holiday romance. Surely you would not wish her to be hurt by the conmen and outright Lotharios who will come after her.

Mama sighs and shakes her head, hiding an eye roll I do not miss but do not comment on, not when her mouth compresses so firmly and her golden eyes go hot.

Listen to yourself, Lucas Fabrizio! Conmen and Lotharios indeed. As if our darling Mia were only capable of attracting the bad element. She is a beautiful young woman with a good head and the need for something in her life. Surely you would not deny her the chance to be happy.

She is already happy with her life, Mama, or have you forgotten that I ensure her family is well cared for and she is guarded. What more do you want?

What more! Have you heard yourself young man? Do you honestly think that after sacrificing years of her life to raise and then school those young men that she is not deserving of a chance to spread her wings? Now that her brothers have cast off on their own, it is the perfect time for Mia to meet people and have fun. This is why your sister has invited a young man of her acquaintance to join us for dinner tomorrow night. I think Mia would be perfect for him, she says firmly, nodding despite my head shaking.

No. I will not allow this. What will happen? Either he will only use her as a one-night stand before we return back to California or she will... I trail off, not willing to consider the alternative.

Thinking of my well-ordered, comfortable life without Mia there to stand by me is impossible and a fate I will not consider. No, to do so would be like telling my mama that the first woman I ever slept with was a friend of hers who had a lot of knowledge and taught me how to truly please women.

Unthinkable.

Truthfully, I would rather confess to that than to ever contemplate giving Mia up. She is...mine, it is the only way I can think of to explain how I feel.

She starts my day, every day no matter what, and she is usually the last voice I hear, whether I call her or we say goodnight in one of the many hotels we frequent while travelling.

For God’s sake, I know her monthly cycle at this point and arrange all travel accordingly to make her more comfortable. She is simply...mine, I think dazedly, the import of those words causing me to still and consider just what a big deal this realization is. Yes, perhaps she is not exactly the sort of woman I would go for right off the bat, but what Mia lacks in sheer pulling power, she most certainly makes up for in all other areas.

She is smart and capable, trustworthy to an inhuman degree and I really do trust her, with my life - when she is not angry, of course, or anywhere near paperweights, or letter openers.

She is kind, loyal to those she loves, steadfast in her love for others and most importantly, I know that if she should ever love a man she would never veer from her commitment, a quality that put me off marriage years ago, contrary to the stellar example my parents set for us.

In short, my little Mia is the perfect woman to be my wife and as the thought solidifies, I feel a wicked grin curve my lips. Yes, most definitely, I think, considering the steps that would need to be taken to achieve this after the spectacularly bad start I have made for myself over the last six years.

She thinks me arrogant, insensitive and ruthless, all true and qualities I am proud of but perhaps not in this instance when the goal is to get the girl, not disgust her to the point she tries to do me bodily harm.

Hmmm. This is a problem, one I do not have a ready solution for but one that I know will take time, patience and above all else the very real art of a seduction that I may not be entirely capable of.

The real challenge here is not how to seduce a woman but rather how to seduce a woman who already knows me too well to seduce and really, how to convince her that all these traits she most despises are actually adorable little quirks of my personality that she loves.

Mama?

Yes, my son? she asks on a long-suffering sigh, my wheedling tone no doubt alerting her to the fact that I am up to something.

"Do you think it possible that I borrow the island for a few weeks?