And now, here I was. Administrative assistant to one of the most prestigious businessmen in all of New York.

Holy mother of God, am I sweating?

As I casually glanced down to do a quick pit check, I noticed Gretchen staring at me.

“I’m sorry, what?” I said, heat burning my cheeks, as my stomach rolled with nervousness.

“Is there anything else you might need?”

“Oh, um… no?” I answered, insecurity woven in each hesitant word.

“Okay, well, I will leave you to get settled, and I’ll check back with you after lunch. I still have a few documents for you to complete, so I’ll bring those with me then.”

“Right.”

“Good luck,” she said, her eyes going soft.

It was the same expression I would give my mom before she went to the dreaded dentist.

Good Lord, what had I gotten myself into?

In a daze, I watched her walk away. Before her slender frame disappeared behind the adjacent door, using the keycode we’d discussed, she stopped and turned abruptly.

“Cara?” she said, her voice reminding me of the tone my mother had used when I was younger.

“Yes?” I answered, looking up at her from the leather chair I’d somehow fallen into.

“Breathe. You’ll do just fine.”

Nodding, I did as she’d suggested and hoped like hell she was right.

When I was the ripe old age of nine, I had gone to my parents and explained that I thought I was old enough to start earning a living. Being the understanding and nurturing parents they were, my mother and father had agreed and actually helped me find my first job.

Hamster caretaker.

Our neighbors had planned a trip to Worlds of Fun in Kansas City and sadly couldn’t bring their pet hamster, Pringles. For the total of five dollars, I had been employed to care for Pringles for that long week. I had been so excited –my very first job!

I’d quickly found out that having a job wasn’t nearly as exciting as I’d thought. Pringles had done little to nothing all day, and the most thrilling aspect of my job had been cleaning poop.

I’d retired after a week, and my career as a hamster caretaker had quickly ended.

This job though—working for Mr. Cavenaugh—was just as boring. Minus the poop, thankfully.

I spent the first hour reorganizing an already perfectly organized desk.

Total waste of my time.

I then proceeded to set up my email, or attempt to. It had already been done for me and I had one email waiting for me—a welcome message from Gretchen. After reading it several times, I moved on to staring at the door.

The one that had been closed since I arrived.

The one that led to him—the mysterious man I worked for.

So far, it had been hours, and he hadn’t made a sound, not even a peep.