All things considered, my first day of work wasn’t too bad.

As there hadn’t been much for me to do yet, Luz had let me go home early. I’d gotten the grand tour of the manor and met a couple dozen other staff members, ranging from maids and cooks to the head of North American marketing and a top geophysicist, but that was about it.

Several of the rooms in the mansion had been converted into offices, with the formal dining room acting as the command center. Luz hadn’t been kidding when she’d said they were in the process of making this the new headquarters, but she also made it clear that at least eighty percent of operations were still being held at the PersOil offices downtown.

“You’ll be splitting your time between here and the office,” she’d told me as we went about the tour. “There will be certain meetings that can’t be held at the manor for legal reasons, but Bakhtiar will need you to sit in on them and report back, even if he’s able to video conference. From what I heard from Gerald, Bakhtiar expects you to do it all and do it well.”

I had nodded in understanding then, but by that point, I was already a little overwhelmed. Not to mention that every time she brought up Gerald, I couldn’t help but think back to how she’d said he was on the verge of a breakdown after only three days of working for Mr. Bakhtiar. I was a pretty tough cookie but I definitely had my limits, and I worried that I was going to hit them sooner rather than later with this job.

Our tour had ended with Luz showing me my “office” on the second floor, which was nothing more than an oversized oak desk placed directly in front of the hall that led to the dimly-lit, very off-limits west wing. Apparently my job title wasn’t just assistant, but guard dog as well. But as it stood, the desk and Luz’s warning were the only things separating me from Khalid Bakhtiar.

For now, that was more than enough.

The day had concluded with Luz handing me a brand-new smartphone and instructions to keep it on me at all times.

“It probably won’t ring for the first few days,” she said, “but when it does, you better answer, no matter what time of day or night it is, or where you are. Understood?”

“Got it.”

After that, she’d sent me off, telling me to report back tomorrow at the same time so I could begin my crash-course with Gerald, someone I was almost as eager to meet as Mr. Bakhtiar.

I stopped to do some grocery shopping on my way home, picking up a few essentials and a bar of my father’s favorite chocolate, and let myself into the house a little after noon. Dad was sitting in his recliner and catching up on the news when I stepped inside, surprise written across his face when he realized it was me.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Hi,” he said, glancing at the time on the cable box before looking back at me, clearly confused by what I was doing home. “I thought you went to work.”

“I did, but they didn’t have much for me to do today, so they sent me home early.” I lifted the grocery bags so he could see what else I’d done. “I’m gonna go put this stuff away.”

I was in the middle of sticking things in the fridge when he shuffled into the kitchen a few minutes later. When his hand squeezed my shoulder, I glanced up, taking in his sad smile and apologetic eyes.

“I meant to tell you this morning that I hoped you had a good first day, but you were already gone by the time I made it downstairs.” He blew out a breath. “I’m sorry for how I reacted about you taking this job. I know you’re excited about it and I’m happy you’re finally finding your footing.”

A stab of guilt hit me in the gut, regretting how I had behaved before. I knew he was rightfully concerned about my safety, and I knew everything he’d said had been out of love for me, even if it felt like he was trying to hold me back.

“It’s okay, Dad, I know you were just looking out for me,” I admitted, placing my hand over his briefly before returning to the bags. “I get it. And to be honest, I’m pretty nervous to be working for this guy.”

Dad nodded but didn’t press me on why I was nervous, because not much of it had to do with Khalid Bakhtiar being a killer anymore, but the fact that it looked like I was going to be taking on a lot as his assistant.

“So, what’s he like?”

I grimaced before I could stop myself, thinking about all the secondhand information I’d learned today, but the fact remained that I couldn’t truly judge the man yet since I hadn’t even met him.

“I… don’t actually know,” I said, turning to face Dad. “I haven’t seen him.”

“You haven’t met your own boss yet?”

“Well, no.”

After drawing in a deep breath, I launched into the story of my very short first day as I finished putting the groceries away. I told him about Luz, about Mr. Bakhtiar’s house arrest, and the fact that someone named Gerald was currently filling the role of his assistant and not handling it very well.

When I was finished, ending by telling him he couldn’t share this information with anyone, Dad was the one grimacing. “Are you sure you want this job?”

Now that I’d said it all out loud and given myself a chance to process it, I wasn’t sure. Yes, this position could have been an amazing stepping stone in my career, but all I’d heard so far were negative things.

“I don’t know,” I confessed, “but I want to give it a shot. This could be the opportunity of a lifetime and I don’t want to pass it up just because I’m a little scared.”

Dad stayed silent for a long while, but eventually he nodded. “I might not like it, but I understand and I support you. Besides, you’re an adult, you can make your own choices. Don’t let my fear hold you back.”

Hearing that was a weight off my shoulders, tears of relief and gratitude springing to my eyes. “Thanks, Dad.”

“I’ve always got your back, Rosie-posie.” He was pulling me into his arms a moment later, squeezing tight before letting me go with a grin. “Now, since you have the rest of the day off, you can drive me to my dialysis appointment and then we can grab dinner to celebrate you getting a real job.”

I smiled back. “Sounds great.”

***

Despite my encouraging chat with Dad, my second day on the job didn’t start well.

“You’re late,” Luz pointed out as I pushed into Bakhtiar Manor that morning, glancing at her watch before settling an unamused stare on me.

She was right, I was about five minutes late despite having left my house over an hour and a half ago. Between normal rush hour traffic, construction on the Roosevelt Bridge, and an accident that had rendered Rock Creek Parkway nearly useless, it was amazing I wasn’t later than I was.

“I’m so sorry,” I blurted. “Traffic was awful.”

She shrugged, brushing off my excuses. “Leave earlier tomorrow.” She didn’t say it unkindly, but it was an important warning. “We don’t want you pissing off Bakhtiar by being late on a day he really needs you.”

I perked up at his name, smoothing out a wrinkle in my blazer. “Do I get to meet him today?”

“Nope.”

My spirits fell once again.

“But you do get to meet Gerald.”

That managed to revive my excitement. If I couldn’t meet my boss himself, the next best thing was the man who was currently helping run his life.

I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting, but the person I found leaning against my desk wasn’t it. He was definitely under thirty, barely five-foot-five with a portly belly, and had combed his hair to one side to hide a growing bald spot. He reminded me of one of the little cherub statues my grandma used to have on her front porch, except this one looked a little less angelic and a lot angrier at the world.

“There you are,” he exhaled in irritation as he pushed off the edge of the desk, motioning us to move faster. “I’ve got five thousand things to do today and I did not factor the two of you being late into any of it.”

Luz rolled her eyes as we approached, unaffected by his dramatics. “Rose, this is Gerald,” she introduced. “Gerald, this is Rose, your replacement.”

His grip was a little too tight as he shook my hand, vigorously pumping it up and down before dropping it.

“Can we get on with this then?” he prompted. “I’ve still got to do my job.”

Luz nudged me forward, officially handing me over. “By all means. Just bring her back to me in one piece when you’re done.”

After checking the time on his phone, Gerald took off back towards the staircase, descending the steps so quickly I could hardly keep up. At five-foot-eight, my legs were definitely longer than his, but jeez, the guy moved like the Road Runner, darting back and forth between people and rooms until we were somehow in the manor’s kitchen.

“At eight-fifteen every morning, I bring Mr. Bakhtiar a cup of tea and a selection of additives, like milk, sugar, and honey,” Gerald announced as he grabbed a kettle, filling it with what appeared to be specially filtered water. “You showing up late means he’s not going to be getting that tea until eight-twenty, which fucks everything up. You know what he did the last time I brought him his tea late?”

I shook my head, afraid of the answer.

“He just stared at me until I thought I was going to cry,” Gerald revealed, as if that was the worst punishment imaginable. He then put the kettle on the stove and flicked on the burner, whirling back to face me once it was done. “At least Rostami yells at me in Farsi and then wanders off, which I gotta say is much preferable to Bakhtiar’s creepy, dead-eyed glare. How are you at handling potent intimidation, Rose?”

I froze, not quite sure how to answer that. “Um, as well as anyone, I guess.”

“Well you better get real good at it, or else you’re not going to survive another day here.”

With that threat hanging in the air, Gerald returned to his task, grabbing an antique silver serving tray from one of the cabinets before finding a teapot. I watched carefully as he prepared everything, typing out notes in my new phone as to where to find all the necessary components. Soon enough I would be the one doing all of this, and I had a feeling that if I didn’t get it right I was going to be on track to getting fired within the first week.

Ten minutes later, I was following Gerald back upstairs, but this time he escorted us past my desk and into the wide hallway of the west wing. It seemed darker in this part of the house, colder even, and each closed door we passed only added to the ambiance of it being isolated from the rest of the world. We didn’t stop walking until we reached a set of double doors at the end of the hall, leading to what I could only imagine was Mr. Bakhtiar’s bedroom. I swallowed hard as Gerald balanced the tray in one hand and lifted the other to knock.

“You are never to enter this room without an invitation, understood?” He then set the tray down in front of the doors, backing away quickly. “You knock and then you get the hell outta here.”

And we did exactly that, swiftly moving back down the hall until we were at my desk. Gerald dropped into the high-backed chair behind it, taking a moment to sort through a few papers that were scattered on the edge.

Guess it’s not really my desk just yet.

“Normally this would be the part of the day when you’d go run errands, but I’ve already taken care of everything for today,” he said a moment later, returning his attention to me. “Once you officially take over, Bakhtiar will call or text you for anything he needs that you haven’t already picked up in advance, like his dry cleaning or his medication.”

I once again typed that into my notes, about to ask if Mr. Bakhtiar had a specific dry cleaner he liked, but the last part of what Gerald said had me lifting an eyebrow. “Medication?”

His eyes scanned the landing and the hallway to the east wing of the house before leaning in, placing his elbows on the desk as he lowered his voice. “Bakhtiar’s on some anti-anxiety meds—same kind as me, funnily enough, though he’s taking a much lower dose. Prison must have been a pretty traumatizing experience for him.”

I wasn’t surprised by that. I’d read an article on the prison conditions in Malikbahr for those convicted of serious crimes, and needless to say, they weren’t great. Even though Mr. Bakhtiar was close to the current ruler of the country—King Zayn al-Haydar, who was not only his former roommate from Oxford University, but his brother-in-law—he hadn’t gotten any special treatment.

In fact, it had probably made his sentence more difficult. He’d been locked up with terrorists and those convicted of treason, people who hated the al-Haydar family, and even though he himself wasn’t one of them, his connection to the royal family through his sister had made him a target. I hadn’t heard any specific stories about his time in prison, but if Gerald’s words and the medication were any indicator, it must have been bad.

“Anyway,” Gerald continued, voice still low. “They’re under a fake name at the pharmacy. We can’t have people finding out that our CEO isn’t completely mentally stable.” He rolled his eyes at that. “It’s bullshit, but that’s the corporate world. We’re not looking for the board of directors to find him unfit for the position, even though he can technically veto any decision they make to remove him. Perks of being a descendant of the company’s founder, I suppose.”

I thought it was bullshit as well, but I had a feeling Gerald didn’t give a damn about my opinion, so I merely nodded and carried on listening to the next part of his lesson.

“Other than the sensitive stuff, you can delegate a lot of tasks to the other staff. If you give a list to one of the chefs, they’ll pick up any grocery items Bakhtiar wants that week. Fair warning though, he’s on a real burger kick at the moment, so you might get sent out to whatever restaurant he’s craving one from. You drive, right?”

I nodded once more.

“Good. You can use one of the company cars parked outside whenever you need to go out for something during the day. Just ask Luz for the keys.” At that, he chuckled and shook his head, seeming to be fondly reminiscing about something. “I swear, I’d never driven anything better than a fifteen-year-old Honda Accord before I started working for Rostami, and now I throw a fit if I have to settle for anything less than a—”

Gerald’s sentence was cut short by a door being thrown open and violently hitting the wall, the sound echoing out towards us. He was on his feet a moment later, chair nearly toppling over as he leaped up, but I paid him little mind.

No, my attention was focused solely on the shirtless man stepping out of the shadows of the west wing and making his way towards us, breath leaving my lungs when I realized who it was.

Holy shit. It’s him.