Opening Move

My eyes burn from the glow of the bright light that refuses to leave me alone. Why must he infiltrate my safe space? He thinks I’m a dog he can train, but he’s going to find out just how wrong he is. I can’t control the twitch of my eye as I read the offending email for the umpteenth time. My fingers twitch to write exactly how I really feel about him. Truth isn’t swallowed easily by people who send demanding emails like this.

M s. Sinclair,

Attached you’ll find everything you need to employ Antonio Russo into a waste management position with a salary of $125,000 per year.

I want it done by noon.

— Giovanni Russo

Giovanni Russo, the dictator who became my boss thirteen minutes ago. I’ve yet to meet the man, but he has time to demand his brother be hired. Even worse, Mr. Russo only bought Herban because it was cheap.

There’s nothing worse than a micromanager who has no idea how the business works. It’s not the blind leading the blind; it’s the wanna be genius leading intellectuals to their doom.

Well, he can stick his brother and the fake job up his tight ass because I’m not doing it. Men like Giovanni Russo don’t scare me. Their titles mean nothing compared to their character.

No—men like that irritate me. They walk in with mandates, expecting everyone to bow before them with no show for what their leadership can do because they mistake ownership for omnipotence. But Herban isn’t some crumbling empire waiting for a savior. It’s a thriving company. And we take care of our own.

Sorry, Antonio Russo, you just aren’t what we need here—we deserve more.

I sigh.

The time for lamenting is over; I need coffee. I wipe my sweaty palms over my skirt and stand up tall, mouth dry. The smell of burnt coffee clings like sticky residue in the brightly lit break room. I grab my ceramic mug and begin the tedious process of making my special cafe mocha, fingers tapping against the wood countertop.

Cinnamon and nutmeg sweeten the sour smell of dirty bean water, creating an uncomfortable dichotomy, but I love it. It’s the fragrance of coming home after a long break. Others wait out the clock until they are free, but I dread every moment away from this place, these people. My people.

“Morning, Ginny. Making your super secret latte again, huh?”

The familiar thready voice comes from behind me. I turn to find our resident jokester and badass grandma, Janet Mills, hand on hip as she smiles cheerfully in my direction.

“Morning, Janet. You know it, girl. It’s a lifesaver against men and their ridiculous ways.”

“Oof, already? What did someone say something stupid and earn us another corporate hunger games?” She chuckles.

I shudder. That day was almost as horrific as this one is turning out to be, and I was the leader. How hard is it to keep your inside thoughts, inside?

“Not quite. It’s your new bestie. Mr. Russo wants me to do something that I find unethical and frankly, bullshit. So, I’ve decided to ignore his request. If he wants his brother here he can figure out the system himself.” I straighten back, lift my chin and let my voice boom out over the open space.

“I remember when Herb did that. Brought in all his golf buddies to be executives. I was so happy when you got hired. You put a stop to it without making a big scene.”

“Of course I did. I’d do anything for the people I care about. The difference between them is that Herb had some passion for environmental protection. Mr. Russo bought Herban because it was a cheap investment with good return. He doesn’t care about the people who work their asses off to get him that return.”

She places a gentle hand over my own on the countertop, patting it just like a grandma would.

“I know how much you care about us and the company. You’ve been with us for four years, and we’ve earned one of those ‘Best Places to Work’ awards for three of them. Your presence has truly made a difference here. So, know that I see you and the good you do every day with that small team of yours when I say this. I wouldn’t fight with that one, girlie. You don’t know the kind of man he is. Best to do as he says.”

“Puh-lease. He’s just another old man using his daddy’s money to buy yet another company that he’ll neglect in a week.”

“I don’t think that this one is like that. He seems very clear on what he envisions for the company. I heard him talking to someone before about expanding to new offices soon. Maybe you should give him a chance before making judgements.”

I may be projecting just a bit, but patterns repeat; like attracts like. What proof do I have that this Mr. Russo is any different? And what about his brother, Antonio? What kind of man wants something handed to him on a silver platter—a lazy one, that’s who.

“No. This proves it, Janet. His first day, and he’s already telling me to hire his brother before even saying hello. The man didn’t use one please or thank you, yet he can make demands that affect us, too.

“Mr. Russo doesn’t tolerate insubordination.”

“I’ll be fine. I just need to convince him of the error of his ways. Like Herb. Once I got him on board, he never went against me. He was a smart man. I’ll miss him.”

“Mr. Russo isn’t the type to follow someone else’s directions. He likes to give them instead.”

“That just proves my point further. Why should I respect a man like that? Or one who takes from someone who is qualified and could really use the job? No—I’ll respect them when they respect everyone here.”

My hand wraps tightly around the mug to keep from clapping. The steam above dies down while I breathe fire, just the thought of inequality sending me reeling. Bitterness coats my tongue, ruining the sweet creme in my cup. I watch the concoction swirl down the drain like the hope I had for a fresh start.

Janet turns pale as a corpse, staring at the empty space beyond me; trembling finger slowly rising to a point. My skin prickles with unease at the feel of being watched.

Slowly turning, I’m greeted by two Mediterranean gods, brown eyes staring back at me—rich like the most evocative chocolate; the other like a glass of brandy beside a fire. Thick heads of hair styled in a close crop and taper respectively, and naturally tan skin most would kill for.

They wear matching tailored black suits that scream affluence, muscles barely contained by the fabric. The tallest one looks to be a replica of the god Atlas. Broad, square shoulders nearly double the other man’s and a wide chest to match. He smirks like a child holding a big secret.

The man in front is nothing to scoff at either. Not as broad, but defined in a way that doesn’t convince me he’s not made of marble. His jaw is sharp enough to cut, with a sexy five o’clock shadow. Thighs that could squash a watermelon are held up by strong legs.

A familiar ache settles low as he assesses me with the calculated gaze of a predator. His stoic demeanor bleeds into the space, cooling everything within a ten mile radius, and I have the disturbing inclination to either bow at his feet or push him until he bows at mine. Both would be an honor and a tragedy. One perfectly sculpted brow arches in my direction, offsetting his otherwise expressionless face.

“Mrs. Mills, care to introduce me to this… disgruntled employee?”

Janet’s eyes go wide but she mutters a reply.

“Yes, sir. This is Ms. Ginny Sinclair, HR director.”

“Ms. Sinclair. I believe you were just discussing private email communications with someone who is not in human resources, is that correct?”

What the hell? Who is this prick to decide what I can or can’t share? He doesn’t own—. My conscience mimics The Scream . It’s him—Giovanni Russo, the new owner and my boss. And he just caught me talking shit to his assistant.

Ground swallow me up now.

“I believe I asked you a question, Ms. Sinclair. Did I just catch you discussing private information with another employee?”

I fix my stance, exuding all the confidence I don’t feel. I’ve never let fear control me. I may not make it to the end of the day, but at least I’ll go down swinging.

“Yes, Mr. Russo, you did.”

I don’t agree with his nepotism, and owner or not, I won’t pretend to. Sweat pools on my temple under his scrutinous gaze; the silence stretches on like a death bed confession.

“I believe this would be better discussed in private.” He says. “Let’s go.”

The second man, Antonio I presume, chuckles before falling into step with Mr. Russo. I trail behind, silently cursing my loquacious habits. We stop outside the door to my office, them looking to me to enter.

My hand hovers over the lever, calculating the risk of jumping out the window compared to what’s to come. Inviting Hades himself into my domain would be a fate worse than death, yet I can’t ignore the allure of the unknown, despite the tremble in my hand as I usher them across the threshold

What will happen once they get me alone?