Page 375 of Valentino

My eyes linger on his back as sadness sets in.

I can’t do this anymore.

Every time I send one of his girls flowers or gifts, I die a little inside.

I’m thirty-two years old and for seven years I have hung off Gabriel Ferrara’s every word, waiting for him to notice me.

Waiting for even a scrap of his attention, for him to admit his undying love and sweep me off my feet.

But it’s never going to happen, is it?

He doesn’t see me like that, he is never going to see me like that.

I run through the rest of his day on autopilot, my mind off in another place, and I know that while he is away with Melissa this weekend, I will be at home wishing the time away until Monday so that I can see him again. So that I can be a personal assistant to his full and exciting life.

Pathetic.

“What are you waiting for?” he snaps.

I glance up, huh? Was he talking?

“I beg your pardon?” I ask.

He gestures toward his door, “Leave, I have work to do.”

“Oh… right.” I stand embarrassed, I walk toward the door.

“Gracie,” he calls, and I turn back to him.

“Yes.”

“Don’t wear that perfume again.”

I frown in confusion.

“I don’t like it.”

I bite my lip to hold my tongue and make my way out of his office. I take a seat at my desk, deflated.

He doesn’t like my perfume.

Well, fuck him!

I do, asshole, and I’m going to slather it all over myself tomorrow until he throws up.

I might even spray it in his eyes for added effect.

One by one, the office fills up and then like clockwork, right at nine, his office door opens, and he marches out like the king of the people.

Gabriel Ferrara in all his bossy glory.

“Maria,” he barks.

“Yes, sir,” she stammers.

“Why isn’t the advertising report in my email?”

“I… I…”