Gunnar

QUINNEntering my apartment, I made sure that my double locks were on. When my father told me he would be getting me an apartment I had not expected said apartment to be in the Bronx. However, I had to play the part of a struggling teenager trying to get a job. Unlike other teens, I wasn't working in a coffee shop as a barista or a book store — a place I'd much rather be. No, I was the overachieving eighteen-year-old trying to pull off being the personal assistant to one of the biggest dickheads in the history of dickheads.My dad truly did have everything planned out for the day of my interview. He paid every person attending to leave, which left me as the only option to be chosen. Gunnar wasn't all too happy with that. My interview went to shit as well. It was one thing practicing in front of my father and a completely different thing when in front of Gunnar Astor. He wasn't only a brooding, arrogant, billionaire CEO but

QUINNQ. That was what I requested everyone to call me. They attempted to call me Daniella but I was never responsive when they did. I still wasn't used to the name. They even tried calling me Danny which made me cringe. It reminded me too much of my brother. So, I told them to call me Q - since my last name was meant to be Quinzel. Father did one thing right. Q was something I actually responded to since my brother had called me that since birth."Q, you can't let him use you as his verbal punching bag or as a literal one. I swear, if he touches a single hair on your body he's a dead man," my brother made a sound at the back of his throat that sounded awfully similar to a growl. His protective instincts always controlled him, "what if that mug had hit you? What would you have done?"I looked at my twenty-eight-year-old brother on the screen of my laptop, thinking over his question. He looked a lot like our f

GUNNARA woman who hadn't raised her voice or spoken out of line to me during her two months of working here somehow managed to tell me off and storm out of my office, leaving me flabbergasted. The day she came for her interview was the day I knew I would hate the stupid girl. Because she was exactly that, a girl. An eighteen-year-old girl, fresh out of high school who wanted to be my PA. And as luck would have it, no one else wanted the position so I had no choice but to hire her.Two months down the line and she was still here. Besides Katie, she was the only girl that lasted this long. Everyone else quit in a matter of days, maybe two weeks at most. I had a temper, that wasn't unknown to anyone. Taking out my anger on the first person I saw was generally the way I dealt with that temper. And the first person I usually saw was always my assistant who all happened to be girls that could not handle me.I thou

QUINNI wiggled my way into the skirt of the white two-piece I chose to wear. The top was a sleeveless turtle neck, embellished with silver lace appliqués. Only a sliver of my tummy showed before the skirt started with its flowy chiffon material that was set in layers. A short skirt lay under so no one could see the world down there. This was the perfect dress for me and I was glad that Delphine had already kept it aside for me, predicting that I would hate the dress my mom chose.Delphine had even chosen the perfect mask. It was pearl white with silver and gold designs and covered most of the top half of my face, only leaving my stunning blue eyes and pouty pink lips on display. That worked in my favor since word of me being at the ball got around very quickly. Everyone wanted to see the face of Theo Harper's daughter. They wanted to see how I looked to criticize me in the next freaking issue of PEOPLE magazine. I so desper

QUINN Squaring my shoulders, I waited for the elevator to ding open on my floor. I returned to my apartment Sunday morning, ignoring everyone at home since they refused to give me the answers I was looking for. That was a given though. They wouldn't be straight with me because I wasn't privy to their little secret. Or, by the looks of it, not so little secret. The elevator doors finally parted and I inhaled sharply. For this to work, I needed to pretend as if I knew nothing about the brawl that took place Saturday night. If I slipped up, the devil would figure out that there was something amiss with me. We didn't need that. Facing his wrath was something I wanted to postpone as long as possible — or until I got the answers I was looking for. I strode with my head held high, my handbag in one hand and a tray with two coffees in the other. My mind kept replaying the events of that night, wondering how I c