Ruthless (The Calvettis of New York 2)

I clear my throat. “Mr. Garent?”

That turns him on his heel. A soft smile crosses his lips. The man is as handsome as he is distinguished.

He started the company when he was in his early twenties. Fifty years later, he stands at the helm of an international conglomerate that manages hundreds of subsidiaries.

“Isabella Calvetti.” He approaches me with open arms.

I go in for the hug because I’ve known Ivan since I was seventeen and an intern in the summer program that Garent hosted.

That internship turned into a part-time college job and ultimately, a full-time position after I graduated from NYU with dual degrees in economics and marketing.

I’ve worked my way up the ranks, finally landing this coveted position six months ago.

It’s not my end goal, but I love the work. I learn new things daily, and I can’t complain about my compensation package.

Ivan takes a step back, looking me over. “You look as lovely as ever. Tell me, how is life treating you?”

Other than that bump in the road on Friday night at Atlas 22 I can’t complain.

I’m determined to put that behind me. That’s why this morning I responded to the text message that Dale sent me last night asking if I’d be interested in having dinner with him tomorrow.

I accepted.

He’s good-looking, kind, and leaving town in a few days, so it won’t turn into anything more than a fun evening.

“Life is good.” I cross my arms over my chest. “How are you?”

“I’m alright.” His gaze drops.

Curiosity nips at me.

The last time I spoke with Duke was Friday before I left the office. He was excited about the weekend since he was planning on heading to Fire Island to visit with friends.

He would have let me know via text if he was going to be out of the office today. He should be here by now. His dad shouldn’t be here.

I clear my throat. “I’m surprised to see you. Duke didn’t mention that you’d be visiting New York.”

“It was a last minute decision. Duke didn’t have time to fill you in.” Ivan scratches his chin. “We need to talk.”

Fear bubbles inside of me. Duke and I are friends outside of the office. He once told me that if he ever had to fire me, he’d fly his dad in to handle it.

I can recite every line in my employment contract from memory.

I haven’t done anything wrong, other than a handful of lunches that ran a few minutes over. Duke always looks the other way when that happens because he’s often out of the office for two or three hours at a time for lunch.

“About?” I ask tentatively.

“Have a seat.” He gestures toward the two ornate leather chairs that sit in front of Duke’s massive desk.

My boss spared no expense when he had this space redecorated three months ago.

My desk sits outside this office. I was grateful when Duke didn’t ask his interior designer to extend his vision to my area. I prefer sleek minimalism to what’s going on in here.

Lowering myself into one of the chairs, I smooth the skirt of my dress.

Ivan rounds the desk and plops himself in Duke’s chair.

Throne is a better way to describe it. The seat is brown leather. The back and arms are crafted from what looks like gold.