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Contrary to what Natalie had expected, or secretly hoped, Michael had reacted to the news in the worst possible way, and had told her what he thought of the future prospects of his offspring by giving her the name of an excellent abortion clinic, offering to pay for the termination. He’d even said she could have the week off, and had grinned and clearly expected her to show her gratefulness by yipping with joy and throwing her arms around his neck and showering him with kisses.

Instead, she’d spent the entire weekend crying her eyes out, and now, two weeks later, she was still crying.

The fact that her brother Luke chose this exact moment to show up on her doorstep and foist his obnoxious personality on her, only added to her distress.

Loud noises emanating from Michael’s office tore her away from her musings on the terrible fate that had befallen her, and for a moment her hand hovered over the phone, ready to call security.

Howard White, the well-known designer andenfant terrible of the fashion world, had had his run-ins with Michael before, but today sounded worse than usual.

“How dare you!” the eccentric fashion icon screamed. “You, sir, are a louse, a nitwit, a parasite, sucking the blood of the real talent: me! And you dare to criticize me? Me?!”

Natalie’s hand relaxed. She really couldn’t imagine Howard actually getting physical with Michael, who was a full head taller than he was, twenty-five years younger, and had about thirty pounds on the man, all hard-packed muscle, as she knew from personal experience.

Suddenly the door to the CEO’s office swung open and a furious Howard stormed out. He was dressed in one of his own creations: a colorful kaftan hemmed with gold thread. His assistant Sebastian Lipskey was also with him. Neither of the men offered her a single glance as they passed her desk. Then they were gone. And good riddance, too, as far as Natalie was concerned.

Michael appeared at the door, his smoothly shaven face working as he watched the departure of the fashion mogul. He gave Natalie a pointed look, and grunted,“My office, Miss Ferrara. Now!”

And once again Natalie found herself scurrying into the CEO’s office. Only this time probably not for a quick session of hot nookie.

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Tom Mitchell, who sat two desks behind Natalie, watched the secretary’s hurried entry into Madison’s inner realm. Unlike the CEO, he had noticed Natalie’s red eyes and her tears, no matter how hard she tried to hide them under a thick layer of makeup. Clearly the girl was in trouble, and even though the source of her trouble was unknown to Tom, Natalie’s visible distress weighed heavily on him.

For Tom had some trouble of his own to deal with, namely his unrequited affections for the golden-haired secretary, which had been plaguing him from the moment he’d started work at Advantage three years ago. All this time he’d been admiring the lovely young woman from afar, knowing she would never be his.

It had been made clear to him from day one to whom Natalie’s affections in fact belonged: her affair with the big boss wasn’t exactly a big secret. And many was the time he’d seen her sneak into his office, the blinds being pulled, the door being locked, and certain sounds emanating from the office that were more appropriate in a nature documentary than in the offices of a prominent CEO.

Then again, Michael Madison, as far as Tom had been able to ascertain, ticked all the boxes of your classic industry chieftain: he was brash, overconfident, narcissistic, uber-ambitious, and had a wandering eye and ditto hands.

But even though this affair had pretty much sunk Natalie’s stock amongst her fellow staffers, it hadn’t put a dent in Tom’s secret affections. That young man’s heart had belonged to Natalie from the moment he first laid eyes on her, and as far as he was concerned, would always remain that way, now and forever.

But since no one likes to wait for now or even forever, he decided to put pen to paper—or rather fingers to keyboard—and pour his heart out in a message to Hampton Cove’s favorite agony column. And so he began: ‘Dear Gabi…’

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Three rows behind Tom, Doris Booth sat silently fuming as she stared at the gift Michael had left on her desk that morning. It was a copy of Strunk& White’sElements of Style. The perfect gift for anyone struggling with the basic tenets of grammar and spelling.

As the main publicist forGlimmer, language was Doris’s forte. It was her secret weapon and her proudest possession both. And now here this horrible man had basically told her she couldn’t spell?

In the immortal words of Howard White: how dare he! And as her mouth closed with the clicking sound of her perfect white teeth, in one smooth movement she dumped the precious little tome into her wastepaper basket, and picked up her phone to call the HR department.

If Michael Madison wanted a fight, he got one!

CHAPTER 2

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