Chapter 1 - The Kiss That Should Have Ended My Career
Sophia Bennett was kissing Dante Moretti when the real Dante Moretti walked into the room.
Technically, she was kissing his poster.
That distinction did absolutely nothing to help her.
Seven feet of printed Dante stood beneath the crystal chandeliers of the Moretti Foundation exhibition hall, dressed in a black tuxedo and wearing the same severe expression Sophia had seen almost every morning for the last six months.
She had spent those six months pretending she did not notice him.
Pretending she did not notice the way conversations became quieter when Dante entered a room.
Pretending she did not notice the expensive black cars that arrived without schedules, or the men in tailored suits who called him Mr. Moretti with the careful respect people usually reserved for judges, presidents, and loaded weapons.
Most importantly, Sophia had pretended she did not notice his face.
That had been going surprisingly well.
Until tonight.
The gala was three days away, and Sophia had already worked twelve hours fixing place cards, negotiating with florists, rearranging donor displays and explaining to an event designer that ivory and pearl white were not, in fact, identical.
At eleven forty-seven that night, exhaustion had apparently destroyed the final functioning portion of her judgment.
She had stood in front of Dante’s promotional display.
Looked left.
Looked right.
Nobody.
Then she had murmured, “This is officially the stupidest thing I have ever done.”
And kissed the poster.
Just once.
At least that had been the plan.
Her eyes had closed.
Her palm had landed against the printed chest of Dante’s tuxedo.
And for one absurd second, Sophia Bennett—twenty-seven years old, professionally ambitious, stubbornly independent and normally capable of making responsible adult decisions—forgot she was an employee kissing a seven-foot photograph of her boss.
Then a man spoke behind her.
“Was that good enough?”
Sophia stopped breathing.
Her lips were less than an inch from the poster because, God help her, she had been considering another kiss.
She kept her eyes closed.
Maybe she had imagined the voice.
Maybe extreme fatigue caused auditory hallucinations.
Maybe the universe had finally decided she had suffered enough and would simply open the marble floor beneath her.
Nothing happened.
Sophia slowly turned around.
Dante Moretti stood ten feet away.
White dress shirt.
Black trousers.
No jacket.
Sleeves buttoned neatly at his wrists.
Arms crossed.
Dark hair perfectly controlled.
Dark eyes absolutely focused on her.
Sophia’s soul left her body.
“Mr. Moretti.”
His gaze moved to the poster.
Then to her hand.
Sophia looked down.
She was still touching printed Dante’s chest.
She jerked her hand away so quickly that she nearly dropped her folder.
“I can explain.”
Dante raised one eyebrow.
“Can you?”
Sophia looked around the enormous exhibition hall.
Empty tables.
Hundreds of candles waiting to be lit.
White roses.
City lights glowing beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows.
No witnesses.
Unfortunately, no rescue either.
“I was just…”
Dante waited.
Sophia swallowed.
“Checking it.”
A beat of silence.
“Checking it.”
“Yes.”
“With your mouth?”
Sophia closed her eyes.
There were moments when a person knew her life had divided cleanly into two sections.
Before this.
And after this.
“Not intentionally.”
Dante’s eyebrow rose slightly higher.
Sophia sighed.
“Fine. Obviously intentionally. But it made more sense approximately thirty seconds ago.”
Something changed around his mouth.
Not quite a smile.
That would have been shocking enough to require medical confirmation.
“I see.”
Sophia grabbed the black event folder from the nearby table.
“I should go.”
She started walking.
“Sophia.”
She stopped.
The embarrassment briefly disappeared.
He knew her name.
The realization shouldn't have mattered.
But it did.
The Moretti estate employed dozens of people. Administrative staff. Security. Accountants. Drivers. Kitchen staff. Foundation employees.
Sophia had always assumed she existed somewhere near the bottom of Dante’s awareness.
Apparently not.
She turned.
Dante had uncrossed his arms.
He walked toward her.
Not threateningly.
That almost made it worse.
He stopped close enough that she had to tilt her face upward.
She noticed things she had previously worked very hard not to notice.
The faint shadow of stubble along his jaw.
The tiny line between his eyebrows.
The clean scent of cedar and something darker.
Most unsettling was his expression.
The famous Moretti coldness was missing.
He looked amused.
And curious.
His eyes dropped briefly toward her lips.
Then lifted again.
“You never answered me.”
Sophia blinked.
“Answered what?”
Dante looked toward the poster.
Then back at her.
“Was it good enough?”
Heat climbed from Sophia’s neck directly into her face.
She should have apologized.
She should have preserved her employment.
Instead, some reckless little voice inside her apparently chose unemployment.
“Well…”
She glanced toward the poster.
“It didn’t kiss back.”
Silence.
Sophia’s eyes widened.
“Oh, God.”
She turned away.
“Good night, Mr. Moretti.”
She crossed the ballroom as quickly as dignity allowed.
Behind her came a sound that stopped her for half a second.
A laugh.
Low.
Quiet.
Real.
Sophia had never heard Dante Moretti laugh.
She refused to turn around.
She reached the double doors and disappeared into the corridor.
Only then did she press both hands against her burning face.
“Fantastic,” she whispered. “Absolutely fantastic.”
She was updating her résumé tomorrow.
Inside the exhibition hall, Dante remained beside the ridiculous promotional poster his public-relations team had insisted upon.
For several seconds, he stared at the doorway Sophia had disappeared through.
Then at the photograph.
His expression slowly changed.
Dante Moretti had spent most of his adult life surrounded by people who feared him, obeyed him or wanted something from him.
Sophia Bennett had kissed his poster, insulted its performance and run away.
He found that unexpectedly refreshing.
A man approached from the side entrance.
Luca Bellini, Dante’s longtime security chief, stopped several feet away.
“You wanted the updated security report?”
Dante continued looking toward the doors.
“In a minute.”
Luca followed his gaze.
“Something wrong?”
“No.”
Dante’s mouth curved almost imperceptibly.
“Something interesting.”
The next morning, Sophia arrived at work prepared to be fired.
Instead, at exactly nine twelve, her phone rang.
She answered cautiously.
“Sophia Bennett.”
A woman from Dante’s executive office spoke.
“Mr. Moretti would like to see you upstairs.”
Sophia stared at the phone.
“Why?”
A pause.
“I wasn’t told.”
The call ended.
Sophia slowly looked toward the elevators.
Perhaps Dante had simply preferred to fire people personally.
She collected her folder.
Entered the elevator.
Pressed the top floor.
And had absolutely no idea that the embarrassing kiss she desperately wanted to forget had just placed her directly in the middle of something far more dangerous than office humiliation.
Because someone else had been in the exhibition hall last night.
Someone neither Sophia nor Dante had noticed.
May you like
And that person had photographed everything.
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