CHAPTER 1

33 YEARS OLD.

ETHAN CAVALLIERI

Most people call me arrogant.

Some call me insufferable.

Few have the guts to look me in the eye.

And none of them are wrong.

I'm Ethan Cavallieri.

CEO of the largest cosmetics company in the United States.

Hero to the investors.

Villain to the employees.

But there's something most people don't know about me:

I despise extremes.

Too thin.

Too fat.

Bodies that fall outside the standard I consider ideal.

It isn't pretty.

It isn't politically correct.

But it's the truth.

And I've never bothered hiding it.

To me, discipline starts with the body.

If you can't even control that, how are you going to control the rest of your life?

And that's why, when my personal assistant — a woman who didn't fit the standard in the slightest — walked into the elevator crying and handed in her resignation, I wasn't surprised.

"Useless drama," I muttered, opening my schedule.

She couldn't take it.

None of them can.

The skinny ones cry.

The fat ones complain.

The average ones quit.

Nobody lasts working with me.

And honestly?

I prefer it that way.

Better to fire than to coexist with people who irritate me just by existing.

The door opened without warning.

Joseph walked in, the way he always did.

"Your assistant resigned," he said in a flat tone.

"Good. She was too emotional."

Joseph laughed with a hint of cynicism.

"Emotional? Ethan — you psychologically destroyed that woman."

I closed the folder slowly.

"Don't blame my standards for her body. I'm not going to be gentle with someone who doesn't take care of herself."

The silence hung heavy.

Joseph looked at me the way someone does when they're trying to understand you — and failing completely.

"You know your worldview is sick, right?"

"I call it standards."

Joseph ignored my comment and tossed a black folder onto my desk.

"I hired you a new assistant."

"Without my approval?"

"Without your nitpicking."

I sighed.

"I hope you at least brought someone presentable."

He smiled. The kind of smile I hated.

"Depends on what you consider presentable."

I opened the folder.

And saw her photo.

Aurora Collins.

Curves.

Thick thighs.

Full hips.

Ample chest.

Nothing — absolutely nothing — that met the standard I tolerated.

I frowned.

"You're kidding me."

"No. She's excellent. Experienced. Tough. And she left a clear message: 'If he tries to humiliate me, I'll give it right back.'"

I laughed.

I actually laughed.

"She said that? A woman of that... size?"

Joseph took a deep breath.

He fixed me with that disappointed older-brother stare.

"Yes. She said exactly that. And that's precisely why she's going to work with you."

I slammed the folder shut.

My irritation burned.

My pride throbbed.

And my patience evaporated.

"She won't last a week beside me," I declared.

Joseph shrugged.

"Or she will. And maybe she'll teach you something about life that you still haven't learned."

He walked out of the office.

And I sat there staring at that woman's photo.

That woman who didn't fit the standard.

That woman I would, under normal circumstances, ignore completely.

That woman who'd dared to say she'd stand her ground.

Aurora Collins.

An offense to my taste.

A challenge to my temper.

And, judging by her eyes in the photo...

a threat to my control.

This wasn't going to work out.

But it was going to be interesting.

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