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Chapter Eleven

ADRIANO

TWO WEEKS.

It's been two weeks since I fired Shayla.

And those two weeks have been hell.

The East Coast Financial Conference buzzes around me, a monotonous hum of corporate jargon and networking. I've given my keynote speech on corporate litigation strategies, shaken the necessary hands, made the expected small talk.

And felt nothing. Nothing but a hollowness that seems to grow by the day.

Everyone at the office walks on eggshells around me. Three associates have requested transfers. My new executive assistant—I can't even remember her name, dammit—lasted four days before quitting in tears. The replacement is competent, efficient, and completely forgettable.

None of them are Shayla.

"Adriano."

I turn to find my father approaching, champagne flute in hand. Pietro Kontides still commands attention at sixty-five, his silver hair and tailored suit projecting an image of success and vitality.

"Father."

"You look like hell," he remarks.

Pietro actually sounds gleeful when saying this.

"Is it because you're starting to realize you were an ass for firing the best legal secretary in the world?"

What the—

Pietro looks at me in surprise. "Everyone in our world knows, son. Do younotknow how many have attempted but failed to steal your secretary from you?"

And for him to know this...

I stare at him in disbelief. "You were one of them, weren't you?"

My father grins shamelessly. "I had to try."

I don't smile back. This is Pietro's problem all along. He just doesn't have any boundaries.

Pietro sighs. "You're always too serious."

"And you're never serious enough."