Chapter One.

As soon as the elevator doors open, I step out into the hall and onto the office floor. At the reception, Julia greets me, and I wave her hand at him.

"Your cousin is in a meeting with a businessman so she told me that she left you some files on your desk."

Seat.

"This looks more like a parade of men in Rolex watches than a law firm," I say. She laughs and nods in my favor. Then she set up my bag and walked on. Thanks Julia.

"There is no why, darling!" She exclaims.

My office, which is one of the smallest in here, is two doors from the main entrance, while Chiara's is directly at the back. And since she has been in charge of being one of the best in this agency, she has everything going for her. Which doesn't bother me, on the contrary, I witnessed my cousin crying over the extensive exams and the intense cases where she was afraid of being wrong because she didn't want to be taken for an idiot. A simple colorada with a good body.

That wasn't her. She is not.

Chiara is one of the best in Rome, but she is also one of the best in the whole world. We grew up together until we moved to Boston with my parents for a few years and when I was nineteen, I came back. Italy is my city. My home is here with my family. And Chiara is also, that's why as soon as I returned, we became even more inseparable than before.

After I finished my masters in Business and Hotel Administration, she took me here, as her secretary. She needed urgent help and I did not have a steady job, so I accepted.

And now I am here after three years maintaining the order that she cannot keep with all the paperwork and files.

It takes me about an hour to get my things settled, while I finish my work. Being in this buffet is rewarding because no one seems to bother anyone. It is as if you enter a bubble and only you can be. Here it is exactly the same.

At nine in the morning, all inside their little bubble.

There are not too many people in this part of the building. Frank and Peter, lawyers with reputations for more than twenty years, I almost don't even remember their faces since due to their work and good reputation, they are in constant trips and meetings, So the ones that are more frequent, we are the two of us and, ah , Julia.

I take about five minutes to go to the kitchen we have. In it I prepare the coffee pot and recharge the coffee beans inside, while I begin to look for a cup in the lacena. This space is too big. Much bigger than my kitchen is in the apartment. Its black contrasts shine in their maximum splendor almost that I can see myself through them and the marble of the bar is perfectly polished; everything here is sophisticated and too glamorous.

It can intimidate you.

The coffee maker beeps that the drink is ready, so I hold the handle of the drink and pour the hot liquid into the ceramic mug.

The luscious aroma reaches my nostrils, making my stomach growl.

I think, being too honest, this is my best part of the day. And thinking about it, I prepare to go out turning around on my black heels.

I take a few steps to the reception room where customers must wait to be served when I hear murmurs accompanied by laughter. I want to be faster and get into my office, but in the attempt, I hit something hard. I groan as the mug slips from my hands causing me to explode on the black pottery into a thousand pieces.

I open my mouth not knowing what to say.

When I look up I find greenish eyes looking at me with amusement. He is a tall man, with a manly face and his features somewhat marked. His hair is a bit beaten giving him a fresher look. I do not know what to say.

I drop his eyes to his chest and realize I've stained his white shirt.

Shit.

"I'm sorry," I say then. I even seem to stutter. Oh, damn ... A thousand apologies. I hadn't seen you and ... What an idiot - I shake my head as I try to think of a quick solution. So I take some napkins that are on the small table in the center and try to remove most of the liquid.

He takes my wrists gently.

"Easy, easy," he says. He looks me in the eye and smiles sympathetically. I have another one in the car.

-Are you sure? Because I can fix it if not ...

-Sure. It's nothing ... Even though I'm envious, ”he admits with a small laugh. I look at him confused. He hurries: -, because she could at least have Italian coffee.

His comment takes me by surprise but he makes me laugh. I feel the relief run through my body. I thought he was going to send me to hell.

"It was hot." Are you sure you haven't burned yourself?

He takes a look down at it and then shakes his head.

"This little body is resistant to everything, honey," he says with a crooked smile. Then he winks at me. I laugh out loud. I'm sorry I didn't see you, I just came on the phone and ... I'm sorry. I spilled your coffee. I should have.

have seen you.

I wave my hand.

"Don't worry, I have more in the kitchen." Are you a Chiara client?

"Actually, my friend is." I just came to accompany him.

-Wow. Are they from Italy?

She shakes her head as she shoves her hands into her pants pocket.

-American people. And you? Are you a lawyer too?

"No, I have an MBA but for the moment, I work here," she explained. He nods, I look back at her shirt and purse my lips. I'm really, really sorry.

She laughs again and shrugs, dismissing it.

"You can pour me a cup of coffee to make up for it."

"Okay," I smile. Come this way.

I guide him to the living room where he had been a few minutes before and taking two more cups, I pour him one. As soon as I fill it I give it to him. The guy thanks me in a whisper.

I must admit that it is attractive. But somehow that doesn't get my attention, although I do like it a lot. He is friendly and personable.

Not many times this happens here.

Nor does it happen to me many times.

"So, are you Italian?" He asks.

Seat.

-I born here. Have you ever come other than this one?

-Not much. Twice, although the first was with my girlfriend.

A smile forms on my face. For some strange reason he made me the type in relation.

"Wow, that's great." Italy is a very romantic city, ”I point out as we both take a sip of the drink. I add: -. Did she like it?

"Yes, in fact, her parents come here a lot." They like the city, the people and I think somehow that has also fallen on me — he admits and laughs. We currently live in New York. My friend works in an architectural firm and I have been there with him for seven years. But being honest with you ... I like Europe better.

-I know. I've been in Boston for many years and although it was a great city, nothing compares to Italy. But ... New York, huh. Nothing bad.

he denies with the head.

"The city of tourists and movies," he says, rolling his eyes, although there is still amusement in his eyes.

Just when I'm going to answer that we both heard two other voices approach the reception. So, he goes out first and then I follow him, to meet my cousin and a blond man, taller than the dark-haired man. Chiara smiles when she sees me but this same she fades when she sees the guy's shirt.

-What the hell...?

The blonde guy turns on his heel facing me. His blue eyes are embedded in me in an intense way. There is no trace of emotion or feeling in them. Cold. Looking at it carefully, my body catches cold. A little bristling of skin. There is also no sympathy as, on the contrary, his friend has it. He seems tense from the posture of his shoulders although he shakes his head with a half smile at the other.

I meet Chiara's questioning gaze. She shrugged me off.

"Don't be scared, darling." I've run into her and accidentally spilled her coffee on me, ”Loan explains to my relative. She nods a little more relieved to see his answer. Although I feel bad for spoiling her breakfast.

"I'm fine," I say simply.

The red girl shakes her head and crossing her arms, she tells me:

"Sam, this is Max Well," she says, pointing to the blonde. He hardly looks at me, much less shake my hand. He stands there with his hands in the pockets of his black pants. My eyebrows knit together a bit, though I don't know why he bothers me when most of these guys are like this. He is president of Well Interprisses, a company ...

"From Architects, I know."

My cousin keeps the word in her mouth. I see out of the corner of my eye how the blonde gives a curious look to his friend, while he tilts his head slightly.

The dark-haired man shrugs.

"I'm glad you know, then." And this is Loan Miller. ”He points to the brunette. Accountant of the company as well.

"And my right hand," Max determines.

I don't know why the way he talks about him makes my jaw clench. There is something about him that I don't like. Maybe it's the self-centered way of him ... Of being. I shake my head. I'm talking nonsense. They all behave this way.

Why should I be surprised now?

At least I already know the brunette's name: Loan.

"It's nice to meet you, Sam," he says, shaking my hand.

"You better get to know each other more from now on," Chiara blurts out. She met his gaze and frowned. What is he talking about? She takes a deep breath and in one movement, she takes me out of the small group and takes me aside. She speaks before she can say anything: "I know you'll send me to hell for this, but ... You're going to New York."