Jacey wasn't sure how she survived the first day working for Luca Calcagni or the second or the third. He was a relentless taskmaster, driving her like a musher in the snow holding the reins to a team of northern race dogs. Except she was a lone dog pulling a very large sled. In the few days she’d worked at Genesis and Sons, she’d put some serious miles on the spare low-heeled pumps she'd tucked in her lower desk drawer. Luca certainly didn't hesitate to run her all over the building on his endless lists of errands.

There were mailroom runs, inventory checks, and impromptu dashes to the drafting tables to update him on the stages of each ongoing design project. Updates which most of the time could more easily have been made over the phone or by email.

Though pressed for time, she tried to turn all the tedious busy work into opportunities. She introduced herself to as many employees as possible and made an effort to learn their names, titles, job descriptions, and a something personal about each of them. By the end of her first week on the job, her reports back to Luca grew more specific in employee names and details.

She breezed off the elevator mid-day Friday, announcing as she headed to her desk, "Tineel on the Harbinger account says there will be a twenty-four-hour delay on their newest thirty-second spot package." It was a television marketing campaign. "One of the actresses called in sick to the first shoot."

Luca didn't glance up from his computer. "Why haven't they replaced her?"

"They tried. Harbinger won't budge on the casting. It's his granddaughter."

"He will when he sees the projected loss of revenue. Get him on the phone."

She turned away and rolled her eyes. It was time for her lunch break, and her stomach was protesting its emptiness. Playing cat and mouse with a temperamental restaurant chain owner could literally take hours.

It ended up taking two hours and forty-five minutes to connect the difficult-to-pin-down Mr. Harbinger with her equally difficult boss. While they were speaking, she forwarded her phone to voicemail and took the elevator downstairs without looking back. She knew if she caught Luca’s eye, he wouldn’t hesitate to send her on some other fool’s errand.

When she arrived at the employee lounge on the basement level, it was nearly three o'clock. The room was empty, which didn’t bother her at all. She welcomed the break from all humanity and noise.

She plopped her brown bag sandwich on the nearest table of the sunny room and went to fill her empty travel mug with ice and water. The lounge was set up diner style with chrome and glass tables, leather bar stools, old movie signs and posters, and a retro countertop displaying every beverage dispenser imaginable. Coffees, teas, soft drinks, flavored waters, juices, smoothies, and shakes.

She caught a whiff of the last coffee or latte someone had brewed, and it brought on a wave of sickness. She dashed for the Authorized Personnel Only restroom and slammed the door. Leaning over the sink, she gripped its sides and forced herself to draw in a few deep steady breaths. What is wrong with me?

She was sleeping at night again. Finally! It had taken an entire two months after Easton's death for her to do so. She had no doubt her newfound ability to sleep was due to utter exhaustion brought on by working for Luca Slave-Driving Calcagni. He hadn't been kidding about the no-coddling part of her work schedule.

What was strange about the return of her ability to sleep, though, was her simultaneous loss of appetite. She'd had trouble eating since the funeral, but she'd managed. Now, she had to forcibly choke down every bite. Nothing smelled or tasted right anymore. Probably something best discussed with a pastor or shrink, but she didn't have the time to spare a trip to go see one. Or the money. Maybe when her two-week trial was over and her benefits kicked in, she'd look into an evening or weekend appointment.

Jacey dampened a paper towel and dabbed at her temples, trying to lessen the nausea without ruining her makeup. It helped, and her breathing soon returned to normal. She dried her hands and stepped back inside the employee lounge.

Waverly was waiting for her, perched on one of the barstools at the table where her brown bag rested.

The woman had an uncanny way of popping up where least expected.

"Good afternoon, ma’am." She'd already learned it was impossible to avoid the woman. She had her finger in every pie at Genesis.

"You don't have to do this, you know."

"Do what, ma'am?" She unrolled her bag and took out her sandwich. She took a bite and labored to chew it.

"Working for Genesis won't bring your husband back."

Jacey choked and reached for her water, washing the bite down whole. "I'm not trying to."

Waverly waited until she sat down her cup to reach across the table and grasp her hands. "Look at me, Jacey Maddox."

She blew out a slow breath and dragged her gaze up to meet the elder woman's.

"I've watched you a solid week. I'll admit I had my suspicions about you when you came on board. I still do. But you've worked hard. Harder than I expected. And you've taken every punishment without complaint my grandsons saw fit to dole out. They're angry about their brother's death, you know, and they blame you."

"I blame me!" The words tore themselves from her chest and shattered on the table between them.

Waverly's eyes widened, and her gnarled grip tightened. "I see.” But her voice sounded puzzled. “Then consider this. My grandsons are good men, every one of them, but they are grieving their hearts out. We all are, and your presence isn’t helping. Every time they look at you and every time I look at you, it's like having a scab ripped off all over again."

Jacey closed her eyes to suppress the sting behind her lids. She felt the same way every time she looked at each of them. "I'm sorry. More sorry than words can express. I wish there was something I could do to make you believe me, but there’s not."

"Sure there is. If you are truly sorry, then leave. Leave this building, and never come back."

Her eyes flew open at the Waverly's vehemence. "I can't."

The grandmother sighed. "Of course you can. Unless,” Her lips thinned to a determined line. "Hear me well, child. If someone forced you to come here for the interview, or if someone is forcing you to stay and work for us—"

"No! I am here by my own choice. I swear it." She crossed her heart.

"That doesn't explain—"

"I am no spy, if that's what you're implying, Mrs. Calcagni. I have no hidden agenda. Well, not the ones you're worried about, anyway."

“Do tell. Then why are you here?"

It was way too early to admit the truth, but Waverly wasn’t exactly giving her much breathing room on the matter. “To atone,” she sighed.

At the elder woman's snort of disdain, Lacey shrugged. "I knew you wouldn’t believe me, and I don't blame you. If you don't mind, I'll just get back to eating my lunch."

"At least tell me what you're atoning for."

You're relentless, you know? Not unlike another family member of yours who reins from the top floor. Jacey rolled her neck around in a full circle to loosen a cramp. "I was the one who encouraged Easton to pursue his dream of racing. When you froze his assets and refused to fund his campaign, I purchased his first car. I paid to rebuild the engine. I lost count of the tires I replaced. Dozens. I realize that makes me completely and utterly responsible for . . . what happened next." Her voice broke.

Misery and dull acceptance flashed across the woman's face. "I suspected as much about the funding, but you didn't cause the crash, child.”

"No, but I'm the reason he was out there in the first place." It was a relief to vent her spleen to the matriarch of the family she'd wronged. She expected no rapid-fire forgiveness, but it felt good anyway.

"You could be saying these things merely to gain my sympathy." This was said through white lips.

Jacey tugged her hands from the woman's grasp, close to losing control and dissolving in a fit of weeping. She rolled up her sandwich and returned it to her bag. With her stomach churning so disturbingly, there was no way she would be able to force down another bite. It was the end of her half-hour break, anyway. "You can believe whatever you want. It won't change my decision to stay. I can't bring Easton back, but I will lend myself to Genesis for as long as you will have me here." Her voice shook. "It's what he would have wanted, I think. Everything considered."

The quiet sobbing on the other side of the table crushed something in her chest. She paused in the act of gathering her things, wishing there was something she could do to comfort her mother-in-law. Unfortunately, the only thing the woman wanted at the moment was for her to be gone.

Waverly struggled to compose herself. "Luca's not going to make things easy on you. You know that."

"Yes. I know." She headed for the door, paused, and returned to snatch up her travel mug of ice water.

"Oh, child!" There was a world of heartache in Waverly’s voice.

It echoed in Jacey's chest cavity throughout her entire elevator ride to the top floor.

When the elevator door slid open, Luca was lounged against the front of his desk, arms crossed. "You're late, Ms. Maddox. Again."

The second week of Jacey's trial at Genesis & Sons rumbled along at the same relentless pace as the first. It came with a gruesome workload and few breaks. It also came with an ever-more-critical boss who was impossible to please.

He greeted her on Friday morning by dumping a stack of folders in her arms the moment she stepped from the elevator. "The Pillmeyer account is threatening to jump ship to DRAW Corporation. I don't suppose you knew anything about this?"

She shot him an are-you-crazy look and accepted the folders. "I haven't worked for DRAW for over five years." She held out a foam cup to him.

"Not directly, no, but there are other ways of communicating with our competitors. What's this?" He stared at the cup in her hand.

"Coffee. For you."

He surveyed it like it was a scorpion ready to strike.

She bit her lower lip and deposited the stack of folders in the middle of her desk. What she wouldn't give for a simple good morning once in a while from the man, anything other than his constant harping and barking and not-so-thinly veiled insults. Or this morning’s persistence in presuming she was here to sabotage his precious company. Or poison him with a simple cup of coffee.

Perhaps a change of subject was in order.

"What's their beef against us?" She moved behind her desk to boot up her computer system and gave an inward sigh of defeat when he set the cup on his desk, its contents untouched.

"Apparently DRAW criticized their lineup of autumn blends." Pillmeyer Bakery & Brews offered danishes, pastries, muffins, petit fours, a small selection of hot breakfast items, and a much broader selection of coffees, lattes, and teas. "Said it was too predictable. That we aren't giving their account the attention it deserves."

"Their revenue streams say otherwise," she pointed out. "They've enjoyed above-average growth across their product lines for three straight years."

"They're giving us until our meeting at 2:00 this afternoon to come up with a quick marketing gimmick."

"A gimmick! Who's idea was that?" She chuckled at the ludicrous suggestion. “Pillmeyer's is too classy for gimmicks.”

His caramel gaze hardened. "Mine, Ms. Maddox. Something quick and easy to satisfy their need for attention without disturbing their solid revenue streams."

“Oh.” She bit her lip, wishing mightily that she’d kept her thoughts to herself. “Well, lay it on me, Mr. Calcagni. My typing fingers are all limbered up." She wiggled them playfully at him.

"I have a better idea, Ms. Maddox. You lay it on me."

She blinked at the snarl in his voice. Okay then. "What do you want?"

"The concept and a mock up of your idea by 1:00. Feel free to make full use of all Genesis resources." He yanked his chair out and took a seat. "Time to start earning your keep, or I'll have no reason to keep you on the payroll at the end of business today."

Start earning my keep? Start earning! Start? Outrage filled her mouth, tangy and bitter. She'd earned her pay at least fifty times over. They'd closed three new contracts together and expanded the scope of nearly a dozen more. And she was totally taking credit for Fleur, whether he ever recognized her contribution or not! Not to mention all she'd endured from his truly with the occasional crush, burn, or jab from Knox.

His insulting tone was more than she could take sitting. She shot to her feet and moved to stand in front of his desk, tamping down on her temper the best she could. "We've covered an incredible amount of ground in two weeks, Mr. Calcagni, and we're just getting started. There's no limit to what we might accomplish, given more time together."

He tipped his head against the back his chair, fixing his beautiful, hateful dark eyes on hers. "Believe me, Ms. Maddox, there are dozens of others interns waiting to take your place. Many of them with advanced degrees and far better ideas than yours."

He had a waiting list for his interns? How in all creation had she ever gotten hired, then? It made no sense. Unless — a fresh wave of nausea clenched her midsection — unless his whole offer of employment had been a setup from the beginning. A setup to watch her fail.

She absorbed the feeling of shell-shock in her chest without any change of expression, though it was difficult. She glanced away, shaking her head. "You're going to fire me no matter what I do today, aren’t you? That was your plan all along." It made sense. She should have expected no less. What didn’t make sense was her brain-numbing sense of disappointment. Any normal person would be turning cartwheels. Like a convict receiving an unexpected pardon and being set free. But not her. For no easily explainable reason, she wanted this job. Really wanted it.

"Save the theatrics, Ms. Maddox." He sounded bored. "We both knew this wasn't a partnership forged in heaven."

She'd never asked for a partnership, only a job. It was his choice to stick her in this particular role, and she'd done a decent job of it despite every roadblock he'd thrown in her path. Despite every pothole he'd dug overnight to trip her up the next morning. Despite every rug he'd ripped out from beneath her heels. "You're wrong," she snapped.

His brows rose to twin dark arches of hauteur. "Come again?"

"I said you're wrong, Mr. Calcagni. Wrong, as is dead wrong about me. I bet that's something you don't hear very often, because people are too afraid to speak up around you. Well, I'm as right for this job as I was about Fleur, and I'm going to prove it."

"Are you now, Ms. Maddox?" He sounded amused now.

She planted her palms flat on his desk, bringing them eye-to-eye. "You're going to eat your words this afternoon in front of Mr. Pillmeyer. Correction. You're going to drink them."

His gaze flickered lower and returned to her face but not before she caught the glint of disappointment in his eyes.

She glanced down and flushed to realize she was giving him a better view of her cleavage than she intended. Oh, Lord, help me! It was an accident, not some ploy to wage a war of feminine wiles against him. She quickly straightened but remained where she was standing. No doubt he was thinking the worst of her right now.

Again.

She drew a deep breath and finished venting her spleen. “After our next appointment, you're going to change your mind about firing me."

“Your presentation isn’t going to write itself, Ms. Maddox. Tick tock." He smiled. Not a charmed smile or a conciliatory smile. Not even a challenging smile. It was one hundred percent smug — the leer of a man who had the power and position to annihilate her and knew it.

Her heart sank as the precariousness of her position skidded into place like a baseball player sliding across second base, dusty scraped knees and all. To Luca, the apprenticeship had never been about giving his sister-in-law a chance, about offering her a job, or testing her talents. He'd only intended to punish her. To crush her. To break her.

She spun away from his desk, glancing at her watch. Well, he didn’t quite hold all the cards in the deck. Yet. She still had a few connections and resources. Powerful ones. Ones that she preferred not to use for pride’s sake. Unfortunately, it looked like she was going to have to swallow a bit of said pride if she wanted to keep her job at Genesis & Sons. Which she did. Very much.

She sat at her desk, staring blindly at her screen for several minutes, tapping aimlessly on the keys and biding her time. When Luca stepped away for his 9:00 meeting, she would make her move. Until then, she had a holiday gimmick to develop.

She flipped through the pages of the Pillmeyer account, immersing herself in their tried-and-true autumn brews. Autumn Spice. Pumpkin Cheesecake. Cinnamon Apple Latte. Cinnamon and Waffles Latte. She picked up the first scent sample stick and slid it from its plastic casing. The cloying scent of cinnamon and apples was so strong it rendered her dizzy. Right. She slid it back inside its casing. Apparently, her olfactory senses weren't going to provide any inspiration today. She returned to studying the Pillmeyer list of flavors. Their autumn list provided a seamless flow into their winter one. Eggnog Latte. Peppermint Spice Latte. Mint and Fudge Mocha.

Her idea came out of nowhere in particular. It simply popped in her mind. She opened her email and shot an urgent message to their experimental division. Please tell me you have a bottle of Candy Corn syrup on hand.

One of the apprentices wrote back almost immediately. Sorry. Will anything else work? We have about everything other than Candy Corn. —Byron

No, she needed candy corn. If I bring you a bag of candy corn, can you mock up a bottle of syrup for me by noon today? We can engineer the real thing later.

His response flashed across her screen. Sure can, sweet stuff.

She sketched out her idea for the gimmick. It would be a Mystery Mix. Instead of the clear, tall-necked glass bottles they normally poured their syrups from, it would be encased in a dark-tinted bulbous container that resembled a magic potion with an enormous white question mark on the label. They could play it up as a Halloween prank. A drink-this-if-you-dare sort of thing and offer some sort of customer loyalty incentive for those who guessed the flavor. A coupon perhaps. They could do as many Mystery Mixes as Pillmeyer cared to invest in. Peanut Brittle. Carmel Apple. Roasted Marshmallow. She made a list of as many fall favorite flavors as she could think of.

Luca shifted in his chair, alerting her to his approaching departure. He rose and slung his blazer on, leaning forward to log off his system like he normally did.

“Wait!” she said quickly. She needed to distract him before he logged off his computer. Her plan was directly dependent on it.

His head swung in her direction.

She slipped out from behind her desk and hurried his way so swiftly, she didn’t see the pile of folders setting next to his desk. She tripped over them with a yelp of surprise and literally went flying in his direction.