Chapter 1: The Most Expensive Contract in Chicago
Cassandra DuPont froze. The pristine, practiced smile on her face cracked into a million jagged pieces. She looked at Dominic, then back to Beatrice—who was still clutching a piece of paper soaked in cold coffee—as if she had utterly lost her hearing.
"Fire me?" Cassandra’s voice pitched higher, stripping away her usual runway elegance. "Dominic, you’ve lost your mind. I have been here for six months trying to get your son to adjust, and this... this bakery truck walks in and turns your foyer into a landfill!"
Dominic didn’t look at her. Not even a glance. Instead, he crouched down, his large, scarred hand moving with surprising gentleness as he unpried Leo’s tiny fingers from the hem of his trousers.
"Ten minutes," Dominic said. His voice was low, controlled, and so icy the temperature in the grand foyer seemed to plummet. "If you and your things are not past my gates in ten minutes, your luggage will be burned. And so will your career in Chicago."
Cassandra went entirely pale. She knew Dominic Romano didn’t make empty threats. Gathering what little pride she had left, she slammed her stiletto heels against the marble, throwing a venomous glare at Beatrice before storming up the grand staircase.
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by Beatrice’s erratic breathing.
Dominic stood up to his full height and turned to face her. His towering frame and broad shoulders completely eclipsed her light. His pitch-black eyes swept over the coffee stain on her fitted navy dress, lingered on her trembling, sticky hands, and finally fixed on her round, flushed face.
"What was your salary at the agency?" Dominic asked flatly.
"I... forty thousand a year, Mr. Romano," Beatrice stammered, wanting to dissolve into the floorboards.
"Starting today, your salary is twenty thousand a month," Dominic declared, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather. "Room and board included. A ten percent raise annually. Your only directive: Make my son smile."
Beatrice’s jaw dropped. "But... Mr. Romano, I just flooded your floor. I’m clumsy, I don’t know how to behave around expensive things, and I..." She looked down at her soft, curvy silhouette. "...I don’t exactly fit the profile of the people you hire."
Dominic took a step closer. The proximity brought the intoxicating scent of cedar, rich tobacco, and high-end cologne.
"I have hired three supermodels and five Ivy League child psychology graduates," Dominic said, tilting his head slightly to lock eyes with her. "Not a single one of them got Leo to make a sound in two years. You did it in two minutes. I don’t pay for ornaments, Miss Miller. I pay for results. Bring my son back to me."
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He glanced down at Leo, who was now sitting cross-legged on the floor, happily using the 'mac-and-cheese orange' crayon to draw a sloppy circle on the only clean sheet of paper Beatrice had left.
"Move in tomorrow," Dominic said, turning on his heel. "The housekeeper will handle this mess. Welcome to the Romano estate."
