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  “Would you like something to drink?” she asked the men. The coats were gaining weight by the minute in her arms. She heaved the weight higher in her arms and managed to hold the dead skins of animals. For the life of her she never understood the attraction to mink coats.

  Neither of the men answered.

  “Do you speak English?” she asked. She knew a little Italian but not much. “Parla inglese?” she asked.

  One of them looked away as if disinterested. But the other, he continued to stare directly at her. There was something almost flirtatious in his perusal of her. She could sense it.

  Kyra tried again. “Coffee? Water? Tea? Anything?”

  “They speak no English.” A thickly accented voice said from behind her. It sent a shiver of awareness up her spine. Kyra’s head slowly turned on her shoulder to the left and her eyes connected with the man she had hoped to see. How did he end up standing behind her? She wondered. Is he talking to me? Yes. Yes! He spoke to me. Mmm, he’s yummy. It was the first time she had heard him say a word. The sound of his voice filled her with nervous tummy flutters and warm arousal.

  Bette said his name was Renaldo. Tall, he had an impressive pair of shoulders filling out his pricy suit and trench coat. He looked to be Italian or Sicilian, maybe Spanish. Kyra was a respectable five-foot five and with heels she stood closer to five foot eight or nine. She had to tilt her head back a fraction when he stepped closer. This man had a dark olive tan to his skin that spoke clearly of his Mediterranean ancestry. Beautiful brown ambers in his eyes that smoldered as they stared down at her from under sharp black brows, chiseled cheeks, and a face that was dazzlingly masculine. He had short dark hair that lay in fine curls against his temples and around his ear.

  He was close to her.

  So close she felt a bit intoxicated by the rich spice of his cologne.

  “Ah, do you speak English?” she managed to ask.

  He arched a brow in response.

  He was dressed in a dark suit like the other two. He wore a black wool trench and leather gloves. His manner reminded her of the kind of guys you’d see tailing the President in the Secret Service.

  He returned his melting hot gaze to the men. And for a brief moment she was able to capture air into her lungs. Those eyes hardened and his lickable sculpted lips flattened into a thin line. He said something in Italian to them both. It was definitely a command not a question. The men nodded their heads and like robots they both turned and left. Again his attention swung back to her. “Your name, bella? Tell me.”

  “Key-rah,” she pronounced it for him with a smile. Kyra knew she was attractive. She had a figure that developed early. And a sense of fashion that always complimented her dark brown skin. She used to wear her hair in braided styles, but she had decided to wear a more natural curled afro look that showcased her wide long lashed brown eyes, high cheekbones, and full lips.

  His gaze travelled down her face to her breasts. It was a bold and suggestive move. Most women would find it rude. But he didn’t look like the type of man who would apologize for the offense. His pretty brown orbs flashed back up.

  “Mi chiamo Renaldo.” He gestured by putting his hand to his chest.

  “Nice to meet you, Renaldo,” she replied.

  “Coffee,” he said.

  “Huh?” she frowned, totally caught up by his sexy smile.

  “I’d like to have coffee,” he said. The manner in which he spoke indicated he struggled with his English. She savored how he took the time to pronounce each word for her.

  Kyra swallowed past the bolder in her throat. “Oh, coffee! Yes. Um, okay.” She turned and sashayed off down the hall. When she glanced back Renaldo had taken a seat in the receptionist area. He raked his hand back through the short dark waves of his hair, glanced up again, and he stared directly after her.

  At the age of twenty-three she’d had her share of boyfriends. Her sisters thought it was crazy of her to never stay with one guy for long, but she bored easily. She loved men, she loved dating, and she loved sex. In her culture women weren’t brazen with such hot desires, her mother, sisters and aunts all married young. But Kyra was different. She savored the new and exciting side of romance the most, not the mundane and routine.

  With a well-intended sway to her hips she continued on. She hung the mink coats up in the closet and made sure they were aligned neatly. Kyra closed the door and peeked around the corner to see if he was still there. Silly? Yes, but she couldn’t help herself. And when her eyes met with his again she jumped back out of sight and smiled. Okay. The flirting was childish. The man just asked for a cup of coffee. How could she possibly find this one attractive? He had to be older, maybe early thirties, and she didn’t dare seduce any men over twenty-nine. Plus he had that alpha thing times one hundred going on, so she doubted he was the kind of man that liked games. Kyra pulled down the edges of her skirt and picked at her hair to make sure it had the right amount of fluff to it. She walked with poise to the break room.

  “Damn it! I forgot to ask him what he wanted in his coffee,” she said. She turned to go back, and then stopped herself. She’d look stupid. She’d fix him black coffee and bring him a few sugars and cream.

  Alicia and Cleo were at the sink talking when she entered the break room. She smiled and ventured over to the coffee maker. From her position she could see them and her own image in the reflective door of the microwave.

  “Did you see the Mafia princess when she strolled in?” Alicia asked Cleo.

  “I was in my office. Girl, stop. Did she bring the hit squad with her?” Cleo chuckled and sipped from her mug.

  “You mean hit men!” Alicia scoffed. “Yeah they marched in here like the Gestapo. Oh my goodness! You haven’t heard the latest drama in Mirabella’s life?”

  “No, tell me. Tell me,” Cleo whispered.

  Kyra stopped with the stirring of the coffee and listened intensely.

  “Mirabella now has a long lost twin. She’s here today. And I hear she married into the Mafia too. I swear Mirabella’s life is just one big episode of The Godfather!”

  “Wait? Are you serious? How the hell does a person have a long lost twin?” Cleo asked and then began to laugh.

  Alicia laughed. “How the hell does one marry a Mafia kingpin and push out three kids in three years? It’s a wonder this company hasn’t been raided by the Feds.”

  “Stop! Stop! I can’t!” Cleo laughed.

  Alicia continued. “Well I knew when Fabiana died the company would fall apart anyway.” Alicia snickered. Kyra had heard enough. She turned to leave.

  “Damn! Watch it, Kyra!” exclaimed Della who had somehow entered the break room and was now at the water dispenser.

  “Oh my gosh! I’m sorry,” Kyra said having splashed coffee on Della’s blouse. She gathered some napkins and passed them to her. “I’m so sorry,” Kyra said. She turned and cleaned up the spill.

  “Whatever!” Della snatched the napkins from her. “I need to get to the bathroom so this doesn’t stain.” She breezed out. Kyra looked over at Cleo and Alicia who were both staring at her. She nodded at the woman, refreshed a fresh cup of coffee, and hurried out. Mafia? This was the first she’d heard anyone drop the ‘M’ word in the company. Mr. Tate would flip if anyone were caught tossing that word around. The press spread enough ugly lies about the company. She saw on the news and read in her magazine that Mirabella Ellison had married a Sicilian businessman and that rumors said he was connected to crime. Mirabella was a recluse and rarely photographed or seen. No one in the company could validate or comment on her life choices.

  “Shit!” Kyra cussed. The coffee splashed out of the cup again and she slowed her walk. She had poured too much. “Shit, shit, shit!”

  When she returned to the front reception area she found Mr. Sexy where she left him. He looked up at her approach. The knot of anxiety in Kyra’s stomach tightened. Again his gaze travelled over her legs, hips, lingered at her breasts, and landed on her face.

  “Her
e you are. I’m sorry but I didn’t know if you wanted cream, sugar, or milk, or… uh, anything.”

  “Grazie, bella,” he accepted the paper cup with a smile. He set the cup on the coaster without spilling a drop.

  “No problemo,” she replied. His brow arched as if impressed. Kyra blushed. She turned and started towards her desk.

  “Kyra!” A shrill voice of a man yelped.

  In an instant her heart dropped. Kyra’s head turned and her nightmare quickly approached. “I called you. I called you twice last night. And this morning,” Cezar said. He was in the reception area. How the hell did he get past the doorman? That damn doorman was never on his job. She’d have to tell Mr. Tate about the slacker.

  “Not now, Cezar. This is my job,” she said through her clenched teeth. She glanced at Renaldo and to her dismay he was staring directly at them. She was mortified. Did he understand the scene? Maybe he didn’t speak English well enough to.

  “I know it’s your job,” Cezar whispered. “I was worried about you. I left several messages, Kyra. Are you okay?”

  “Oh good grief!” she grabbed him by the hand and marched him down the hall to the nearest conference room. She shoved him inside and closed the door. “What the hell were you thinking? Coming here? Are you trying to get me fired?”

  Cezar paced. He was a fairly attractive guy. He towered over her. He was what most would refer to as lanky. Very lean with long arms and legs. He wore glasses and instead of a mustache, he had a bit of hair on his chin. She had been drawn to the preppy type since her first year in college and race never mattered. Cezar was from Romania, and had moved to America when he was eleven. They had fun for a while but she tired of his constant hovering and decided to cut him loose. She should have done it properly and called him to end it. But Kyra mostly avoided the messy hassles of breaking relationships off. Her method was to just stop calling until the person got the message.

  “I can’t deal with your hot and cold shit, Kyra! One minute we’re hanging out and the next you disappear. A phone call, something. Anything!” he ranted.

  “You want me to do this now? Fine! I’ll do it now. We had a good time and now it’s done. I want to break up!”

  “No,” he said as if shocked.

  “Yes. I’m not dating you anymore. I’ve decided. It’s over. I need to focus on my career. I’m sorry.”

  “Kyra, let’s talk about this some more. You’re rushing into this decision. I think…”

  “It’s over! We aren’t anything anymore. Done! Over! Finished!”

  Cezar’s eyes stretched behind the lens of his glasses. He doubled back. “Just like that? You’re breaking up with me?”

  “Yes!” Kyra raised her hands in praise. “Thank you lord. At last he gets it!”

  He stepped to her. “You know what, Kyra, you can’t just toss people away like garbage. Karma is a bitch and so are you!” he stormed out. Kyra rolled her eyes. She almost went after him to call him a few names herself. But why bother? The matter was settled. They had a few dates and some good sex and it was over. She had no room for love or romance in her life. Between trying to climb the corporate ladder here and working on her shoe line with Jamie out of her flat, her calendar was booked. Kyra composed herself before she braved a step out the door.

  When she returned to the receptionist area her eyes immediately sought Renaldo. To her dismay he wasn’t seated out front any longer. She looked around for him and didn’t see him anywhere. The eye-candy was gone.

  Kyra walked back around the cubicle and sat down, she scooted her chair under her desk, and propped her face in her hand. The reception area was quiet and vacant as always. It was times like this she found it hardest to stay awake.

  Chapter Two

  Cinderella Gets an Invite to The Ball

  Lunch was a bust.

  Alicia Stevens ordered Kyra to print and fax close to one hundred contracts. She missed her scheduled lunch hour. She was forced to leave the office to grab something at a quarter to one. The delay guaranteed long lines at the lunch truck. Kyra however couldn’t go without her usual sausage dog and grape soda. She was a slave to junk food. As she started up the busy Manhattan sidewalk in her flashy but uncomfortable high-heels, the wind whipped her coat open and warned her to turn back. She bundled up. She glanced to the right and paused.

  The man named Renaldo was on the sidewalk. He was speaking to the two robots that either worked for him or with him. Kyra kept going, but she glanced back several times. Renaldo never looked her way. She got in line and after a fifteen minute wait bought her sausage and soda. She nibbled on her sausage dog and dodged people passing her on the sidewalk before she started back. To her surprise the men were still where she passed them earlier. It was odd. Who stood out on the sidewalk in New York chatting on one of the coldest days in the city? The men nodded to whatever Renaldo was saying. The doors to the office building opened and Renaldo was the first to make sure he held it, because again George the doorman was slipping on his job. The Battaglia women in their long fur coats strolled out with Mr. Tate. The Sicilian beauty named Catalina gave Mr. Tate a cheek kiss and then eased into the car. The other woman said a few words and then entered the car next. Kyra, realizing what time it was, started to fast walk. She only had a thirty-minute lunch. The two bodyguards were in the front of the car with the ladies in the back. Renaldo however got into a black SUV behind them and they all drove away.

  There went her eye-candy. Kyra tossed the empty sausage dog wrapper into the trash and hurried back to the building. Theodore Tate glanced up at her approach. He held the door.

  “Ah, sorry, Mr. Tate, I had a late lunch because—”

  “Kyra, do you have plans this evening?” Mr. Tate asked.

  It was the first time he actually asked her a personal question. Mostly he barked orders at her, and rarely evoked her Christian name. She glanced over to him a bit surprised. “Ah, no.”

  “You sure?” he asked as they walked toward the elevator. His tone seemed more like an accusation than a question.

  “Plans? Me? Yes I’m sure,” she said, and her heart raced. Was this man going to ask her out? She prayed not. Maybe he heard about Cezar’s abrupt appearance in the office. With Mr. Tate she didn’t know what he was thinking or meaning until it was too late.

  “Good to hear,” he said.

  “It is?”

  “Yes. I want you to go and find Cleo. Have her fit you for a dress. We have an event tonight and I… I need back up.” Mr. Tate informed her.

  “Excuse me, sir? Back up?” she asked.

  The elevator doors closed. Back up was not the same as a date. It was far from it. Exactly what did he expect of her?

  Theodore Tate sighed. “Mirabella is refusing to meet with me. She’s considering closing the New York office.” Mr. Tate ran his hand nervously back over his hair. He couldn’t look at her when he spoke. Something was wrong. “Tonight the executive team and I are hosting a dinner for Catalina and Mirabella’s sister, Marietta. I’ve got to convince them to keep me on board with this move. I need you to stay close to the women. Listen to them. See if you can learn anything about what they are thinking… about me.”

  “But why me?” she asked.

  They stepped off the elevator. Mr. Tate paused. He gave her a long look over. “Catalina is a very perceptive woman. She has worked with everyone in this office and… well I can’t trust the people in this office to be loyal to me.”

  “And you trust me?” Kyra asked.

  “You’re sharp, kid. I see you want to get involved with the fashion business. You’re hungry. You remind me of Mirabella when she first started in this business. Look, kid, things are changing fast. I’m offering you an opportunity here. I just need you to come to the party, mix and mingle. Listen to people. Help me get a read on these folks to see who is on my side and who is not. Do this for me. I’ll make things happen for you.”

  Kyra smiled. “Okay. I can try.”

  “Good.” He walked over t
o the door and held it open. Beneath Kyra’s cool façade she felt her nerves jitter in response. This was it. Mr. Tate had finally seen her ambition and recognized it. This could be her moment to shine. All she needed to do now was turn this opportunity around to her advantage.

  “Thank you, Mr. Tate.”

  He tipped his head at her and strolled off. Kyra started toward her receptionist desk when Cleo Dillard happened to be walking past with her junior assistant.

  “Cleo!” Mr. Tate said and doubled back. “A word, please.”

  “Yes, Teddy?” Cleo snipped. Few women in the office were bold enough to reference the pet name ‘Teddy or Teddy Bear’ and get away with it. Cleo was blonde, leggy, busty, and rumored to have spent some time on her knees with Mr. Tate’s dick down her throat. So it wasn’t surprising that she would toss it out to him casually.

  “Kyra will be attending the event tonight as my guest. I want you to fit her with one of the originals in the showroom. Make sure she is appropriate for dinner at the Waldorf.”

  Cleo’s gaze shifted to her. She gave her a look of pure outrage. As if Kyra in a Mirabella design was blasphemous. Mr. Tate walked off without another word.

  “So you’re on the menu now?” Cleo asked.

  “Excuse me?” Kyra responded.

  “Oh please. His guest? Really? From secretary to the token Nubian plaything in a nanosecond? Good flexing of your jaws should get you a corner office,” Cleo snipped.

  “You should know,” Kyra addressed her with a smile. “From what I hear around the office they call you lock-jaw.” Kyra crossed her arms and glared directly at Cleo. She took a lot of shit off of the women in the office. But not today. Today she had the upper hand.

  Cleo’s junior assistant tried to hide her smile. Cleo however face turned red as a tomato. “Hmpf!” she stormed off.