My Cheating Ex Thought He Got Away With It — Until My Accidental Text To A Crime Boss Ruined Him
Part 2
The next morning, I woke up with a pounding headache and swollen eyes.
The reality of the breakup hit me all over again.
It settled like a heavy stone in my stomach.
I dragged myself out of bed and fed my dog.
I forced myself to get dressed for work.
Heartbreak or not, the event agency did not pause for my personal tragedies.
The first strange thing happened when I went to get my morning coffee.
I always stopped at a little independent cafe on the corner of my street.
But today, the cafe was completely closed.
The windows were suddenly papered over with thick brown butcher paper.
A pristine white sign hung on the door that read, Closed for private acquisition.
Two men in dark, tailored suits were standing outside smoking cigarettes.
They were not construction workers or real estate agents.
They had the thick, heavy builds of nightclub bouncers.
When I walked past, their eyes tracked me with a cold, unsettling intensity.
I hurried to the subway, shivering despite the mild autumn air.
By noon, I was buried in floral arrangements for a corporate gala.
I was desperately trying to keep my mind off Tyler and his betrayal.
My boss, Patricia, popped her head into my cubicle.
She looked flustered and overly excited.
Heather, drop the Sullivan account right now.
I need you in the main conference room immediately.
Why?
I asked, wiping yellow lily pollen off my black slacks.
I am way behind on the seating charts.
We have a massive walk-in client, Patricia interrupted, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper.
A serious high roller.
He bypassed the receptionist, walked straight into my office, and dropped a retainer check on my desk that covers our operating costs for the next three years.
He says he wants to plan a private charity function.
But he specifically asked for you to be the lead coordinator.
I frowned, entirely bewildered by this information.
Me?
I am junior staff.
I do not even have my name listed on the company website.
I do not care, Patricia hissed, practically pulling me out of my desk chair.
Do not mess this up for us.
I smoothed down my blouse and walked into the glass-walled conference room.
The man standing by the window had his back to me, looking out over the skyline.
He was tall, well over six feet, wearing a charcoal suit that clearly cost more than my entire car.
His shoulders were broad, his posture rigid and commanding.
Mr.
Vargas, Patricia cooed, suddenly sounding like a breathless teenager.
This is Heather Davis.
She will be handling your account personally.
The man turned around, and the air in the room seemed to instantly evaporate.
He was breathtakingly handsome, but in a harsh, terrifying way.
He had high cheekbones, a sharp jawline, and eyes as dark and cold as obsidian.
He did not look like a charity benefactor.
He looked like an apex predator assessing its prey.
Leave us, he said to Patricia.
His voice was a deep, gravelly baritone that left no room for argument or negotiation.
Patricia nodded furiously and practically sprinted out of the room.
She closed the heavy glass door securely behind her.
I stood there, clutching my clipboard, trying to maintain a professional smile.
It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr.
Vargas.
What kind of event are we looking at planning today?
He did not answer my question.
He walked slowly around the mahogany conference table.
His dark eyes analyzed every single inch of me.
He stopped just a few feet away, invading my personal space just enough to make my heart race.
He reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket.
He pulled out a cracked, familiar-looking iPhone.
It was my work phone.
It was the exact same phone I had left sitting on my coffee table that morning inside my locked apartment.
My blood ran entirely cold.
The clipboard slipped from my numb fingers, clattering loudly against the floor.
You have a very interesting way of sending threats, Heather, Dominic Vargas said softly.
I was trapped in a glass room with a man who could erase my existence with a single word, so how was I going to survive the deadliest mistake of my life?
