When a drunken night out leads to Rose Delacour meeting the mysterious American Mafia Boss, Clecentine Huxley, she can't help but give in to her beauty and charms.
Young and carefree Rose Delacour didn't expect her night out at the bar to result in...
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Two months had passed and I don't think I had ever been so bored in my entire life. Not visiting friends or going to the cafe on weekends. Although I did sneak out once more this month to meet my friend, that's all the thrill I could get.
It was only Walter who knew about it, because I had informed him, who in turn didn't inform Clecentine only because I promised him this wasn't gonna happen again.
I turned on my heels and made a beeline for the door when the sprinklers turned themselves on spraying water all over the garden and I was positive that I was gonna get soaked if I didn't get away from that particular spot.
Picking up my pace to a slow jog I hopped inside and walked around. The boredom was practically killing me and I wondered where Clecentine was.
She was the only one whom I actually had proper conversations, the ones that included words and sentences unlike the barely-few-words I exchange with the people working here.
Walking absent mindedly I found myself in front of Clecentine's office.
It reminded of when I first saw her in there, how she told me not to use her name, not to go in there without her permission.
When something mischievous rang inside my head.
I decided to go inside. I could either find something interesting in there if I didn't get caught or if I did she would punish me like she did when she saw me sneaking past my bodyguards at midnight last week.
It was gonna be a win-win.
Wrapping my hands around the cold doorknob I discreetly opened the door, eyebrows raising when I came face to face with an empty room.
Hell yes!
I couldn't ignore the way I felt like Enola Holmes on a secret mission, which I was. I mean, I was sneaking into my mistress' office, who's a mafia boss, without her permission.
I was clearly not planning on stealing anything but merely looking around for anything that catches my eyes.
Her polished mahogany desk sat in front of the large window through which warm rays of sunlight peeked into the room, on top of which sat numerous files and documents, pens, all neatly arranged. There was a shelf filled with books which I doubt were novels. Two comfortable couches sat on one corner of the room.
I traced a hand on the desk looking at all the folders, pens, her chair, the transparent paperweight.
Deciding to leave when I heard soft, barely audible footsteps far away I tip toed back to my room, a ball of thrill settling in my stomach.
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