“I see that you’re a game designer,” Olivia said, looking at his file. “But you’ve made a good decision. If you can keep your job for the duration of the contract, anyone in the industry will hire you on the spot.”
Nate blinked.
Probably correctly interpreting his confusion, Olivia smiled crookedly. “Mr. Ferrara has a… certain reputation in the industry. If you manage to keep the job of his PA for half a year, you’ll prove yourself extremely adaptable in high-stress situations. It will be the best possible recommendation to any prospective employer.”
Wow.
Nate laughed. “That doesn’t exactly sound very reassuring.”
“My mom always says ‘forewarned is forearmed,’” Olivia said. “Sign here.”
Nate signed the contract, trying not to feel like he’d just sold his soul to the devil.
“Good luck,” Olivia said. There was a sympathetic, pitying glint in her eyes, which wasn’t reassuring, either.
Nate smiled weakly. “Is he really that bad?”
She just winced and said nothing for a moment before glancing around. “Mr. Ferrara is… difficult to please. I’ll be honest with you: his assistants don’t stay long. You’re his sixth PA this year. And after what happened to Mr. Caldwell, Mr. Ferrara’s workload is insane, which means his PA’s workload is insane, too. You’ll have to travel all the time between Rutledge Enterprises and the two offices of the Caldwell Group. It isn’t going to be easy. And that’s without taking the boss’s difficult character into account.”
Nate chuckled. “If that’s your idea of a pep talk, it kind of sucks.”
Olivia gave him a rueful smile. She seemed to hesitate before lowering her voice and saying, “It’s not that he tries to be difficult. I think he just can’t help it. He was raised like that.”
“He was raised to be a dick?” Nate said doubtfully.
A chuckle tore out of her throat. She glanced around again before murmuring, “Don’t let his flawless English fool you. He isn’t American. He was raised differently, and his mentality isn’t always politically correct, if you get what I mean.”
Nate’s eyebrows drew together. “Isn’t he from Europe?” He didn’t subscribe to the notion that the US was more progressive than the rest of the world.
“He is from Italy,” Olivia said, giving him a look. “From Sicily.”
Nate blinked, utterly confused, before realizing what she must have been hinting at. “Are you actually implying he’s part of the Mafia?” he whispered, a laugh bubbling up in his throat. This couldn’t possibly be real.
Olivia winced. “No,” she said, looking like she already regretted bringing it up. “But there are strong rumors that his family is. They’re a very powerful clan—people say they have been practically ruling southern Italy for hundreds of years. So you can probably guess how he grew up. He’s used to everyone doing as he says—he takes it for granted and sometimes can get carried away.”
Nate stared at her. Great. So not only was his boss possibly a member of the Mafia, he also didn’t understand the concept of “no.” “Must have been nice to be born with a silver spoon in your mouth.”
Olivia shook her head and lowered her voice again. “He’s estranged from his family. He moved to the US over a decade ago, and he didn’t have much to his name. Everything he has now… He owes everything only to himself and his hard work, not his family.”
“You can’t know that,” Nate said skeptically. “They could be helping him.”
Pursing her lips, she shook her head. “His family completely cut him off. No one knows why. But they flat-out refused to pay ransom when Mr. Ferrara was kidnapped a decade ago. It made the news, don’t you remember that? He was barely alive by the time he was saved by FBI agents.”
Nate shrugged. Now that he thought of it, he vaguely remembered that story, but he hadn’t exactly cared about it as a pre-teen. “It doesn’t excuse his attitude,” he muttered.
“He’s a fantastic businessman, just…”
“Just not a good boss,” Nate finished for her.
Olivia grimaced a little. “He’s… a difficult one.” She smiled at him. “It’ll be fine. Just a word of advice: don’t expect him to have a politically correct mentality. He demands absolute obedience. He expects you to jump when he says jump. Just do everything he says, and you should be fine.”
“That’s very reassuring,” Nate said with a chuckle. “But thanks for the warning. I appreciate it, really.”
Blushing, she smiled, looking slightly confused. “I’m not even sure why I told you all of that.”
Nate grinned. “It’s my face. I’ve been told I have a very trustworthy face.”
He really had been told that, numerous times. People he barely knew often ended up telling him their life stories and problems, whether Nate wanted them or not. He wasn’t even sure why. He had the typical all-American good looks: he was a blue-eyed blond, with a firm jaw and nice smile. He knew he was attractive, but there were more attractive guys out there. His ex-girlfriend had once told him he had a “disgustingly kind” face. When he had laughed and said he had no idea what she meant, Silvia smirked and told him that he had the kind of face that made people want to own him, just to have his kindness around—or to corrupt him.