Dante's PA was the definition of candy sweet. Unfortunately, she was also a ticking time bomb. Dante was such a tyrant, she spent the majority of the day running after him, taking orders, or sobbing softly in the restroom. Today was the fourth time Freya had found her doing that-on a Friday, of all days, a second before everyone in Seattle poured into fancy bars and hole-in-the-wall pubs to celebrate the weekend freedom-and Freya silently slid a box of tissues and a mini-box of chocolate bars into her stall. She'd been too scared to ask for Freya's help, and she didn't know how to broach the subject without making her feel weak. But that fourth time in the restroom broke Freya. To hell with her boss and his deep blue eyes, his pouty lips, dirty mouth, and personal trainer's body. There was
