Chapter 1

            It was a pristine Sunday afternoon on the streets of Manhattan, NY, and Sloan Cassidy was dangerously late for the first job interview she’d had in months. She was attempting to run as quickly as one could run during peak hours on a New York City street with four inch stelletos heels on. Her bright pink toes screamed in pain every time her high heeled feet collided with the uneven street bellow her but she didn’t have the time to care.  All she knew was that she needed to be at 106th and Broadway as quickly as humanely possible.  So she sucked it up and prayed that she was, at the very least, running in the right direction.

            Every once in a while she would slow her run to an awkward jog while attempting to ask strangers for directions. “106th and Broadway?!” She cried to her left.  “106th and Broadway?!” To her right.  “Am I getting warmer?” She beamed.  Nothing.  No response, no acknowledgement and the people who did bother to look her way were only doing so to throw her a quick scowl before continuing on.  With a small curse, Sloan hesitantly slowed to a stop.  She had no idea where she was.  It was her first twenty minutes in the city that was supposed to be her new home and she had absolutely no idea where she was.

            Panic began to soak up her bones.  If she missed this interview she wouldn’t have a job. The only reason she’d landed five minutes of this photographer’s time in the first place was because one of his friends had tried to pick her up in a bar the night before.  Somewhere in between her saying hello and wondering how to politely tell him to fuck off, he’d managed to pick up on the fact that she was unemployed and proceeded to offer her the job interview of a lifetime.

            Now frantic, Sloan threw her body in front of the next stranger on the sidewalk, a tall blonde man.  “Sir!” She yelped, throwing her hands out and sighing in relief when the man before her came to a brisk halt.  He considered her with calm blue eyes and she braced herself for whatever expletive he had on the tip of his tongue.  But instead, he smiled at her.  Sloan could have kissed him right there.  Holding up her purse, which was hanging halfway open, she lost it. “I’m so sorry to bother you.  Judging by that beautiful suit you’re wearing I’m sure you’ve got more important things to do than hold my hand right now but you’re the first smiling face I’ve seen all day and I desperately need to know where 106th and Broadway is.”

            The man continued to smile down at her, almost adoringly, and opened his mouth to answer.

            But Sloan wasn’t finished. “You see I have a job interview with a very important photographer.  A very important man, actually.  One of the most well respected in the business. I took a big chance coming here to NYC and if I miss this interview…” Her heart stopped at the very thought and she reached up to cover it, staring up at the nice man who was listening to her oh so patiently.  “If I miss this interview I will have to go back home to Georgia and tell my parents they were right.”  The words stole her breath and made her physically ill.

            The stranger gave Sloan another dazzling smile and didn’t miss the way she snuck a quick peak at his ring finger, nor the slouch in her shoulders when she saw the wedding band that adorned it.  “Well, you’re in luck, uh?…” He motioned to her with raised eyebrows.

            “Sloan!”  She gleamed.  “Sloan Cassidy. I’m sorry, how rude am I? Sloan Cassidy.”  She admonished herself while accepting his outstretched hand.

            “Jackon Harris.”  He nodded to her before releasing her hand and motioning to their right.

            Sloan followed his long arm and gasped in delight when her eyes caught sight of the numbers ‘106’ etched beautifully across the front of loft building right next to them. 

            “Welcome to 106th and Broadway, Sloan Cassidy. And welcome to New York.”  Jackson Harris winked at her and swept past so quickly that she didn’t even have time to thank him.  Or ask if he and his wife were happily married.

            Sloan watched him go, but only for a moment, before squealing in delight, much to the annoyance of the people walking past.  She was here, she wasn’t late, and as she straightened her lucky scarf she told herself that today was going to be a very good day. Her father always said that everything happened for a reason. If her stilletos hadn’t started drawing blood in the middle of her insane run, forcing her to stop, she would have probably breezed right by the building all together. She stared up at the apartments in awe--just the outside of the building was grand so she could hardly imagine the treasures that awaited inside.  Moments later, she found herself strutting past the doorman and into the gleaming swinging doors of the breathtaking loft apartments that rested on the corner 106th and Broadway.

The young man at the front desk gave her a bright smile. “Good morning, Miss.  How can I help you today?”

            Sloan dropped her bag happily onto the tall desk. “Hello! I have a job interview with one of the residents here in in ten minutes. What a beautiful building, I bet the lofts are breathtaking, huh?”

The man behind the desk went to make a joke about how he lived in Bed Stuy so he wouldn’t know anything about it.

But Sloan wasn’t finished. “I’m so happy I was able to find this place, I was this close,” she held her fingers less than an inch apart, “to losing it.  So, yeah.” She sighed. “His name is Dean Delucia, my interviewer. Do you have to like buzz me up, like they do in the movies?”

Somewhere in the middle of her babbling, the man’s face had dropped, causing the too big sheriff-esque hat on his head to tilt into his eyes. “You have an interview with Dean Delucia?” He asked.  The tone of his voice implied that there was a very inappropriate response dancing on the tip of his tongue.

Sloan’s brown eyes grew large. “Yes.” She assured. “He’s expecting me.”

--

            Dean Delucia’s eyes popped open and he immediately cringed at the sun smashing through the floor to ceiling windows of his loft.  Kicking the blanket off of his legs, he checked his watch.  The moment he saw the time he groaned and collapsed back onto the pillow.  Ten hours, he had been asleep for ten hours. 

He reached up to place a hand over his eyes in an attempt to hide from the blinding sun and struggled to remember if he had anything to do today.  His tenth assistant had tearfully quit on him two days ago and he hated to admit how much he still needed her, even if she was an insufferable moron who didn’t know her nose from her ass, she had still been better than nothing.

On the bedside table his ancient cellphone chimed an annoying chime that he’d never had taken the time to learn how to change.  He lazily lifted it up… thirty seven missed calls.  Yep, he was pretty sure he’d forgotten something.

A knock on his door solidified it. He had definitely forgotten something. People didn’t knock on his door. Not ever.  He had an older brother who’d somehow gotten a copy of his key and had no qualms about letting himself right in and a mother who lived in Florida and rarely came to see him without notice.  He always met his clients downstairs and brought them up himself. Did he have a client today? He stared at the door in confusion as another knock shook the walls.

Eventually, he threw his strong legs over the edge of his bed and curled his toes against the cold wood floor before pushing himself to a stand.  He dragged his way to the door, dodging cameras, film, negatives and clothes scattered randomly across the floor.  A white string hung low from one end of his loft to the other and held photographs hanging down by clothespins.  One hit him in the face on the way to the door. Why had ten hours of sleep still not been enough?  He felt like he could easily do ten more. When Dean made it to the door and swung it open he was met with a smile so bright, so cheerful, that it immediately caused the frown on his face to deepen exponentially just to even the score. 

“Hi.” Sloan Cassidy willed herself to smile, even as the man before her caught her by complete surprise.  Where she’d been expecting an older, more seasoned photographer, here was a man that couldn’t have been much older than she herself.  He was gorgeous, she noticed, even as he gazed upon her with something that must have been confusion mixed with a little contempt. “My name is Sloan Cassidy. I have an interview here today. Are you… Dean?” She looked past him and into the expansive and messy loft, praying that he was a roommate or relative--maybe a model who was dressed as a bum for some weird photo shoot.  Dissapointed to find his loft empty, she reached up and clutched the strap of her purse in both hands. It was a weak move that screamed insecurity, but she needed something to hold onto at the moment. This couldn’t be her new boss, right?

A light blub went off in Dean’s head and his gaze went to the cellphone that still blinked at the other end of his loft.  Of course, his brother had set him up with a new assistant. They’d spoken about it the night before and Dean was grateful for the help, he just hadn’t expected it to be this little girl.

            Sloan watched him look away and took the time to admire his long, golden body, which was clad in a pair of wrinkled jeans and nothing else.  He had clearly just woken up, but that didn’t make his grey-blue eyes any less brilliant.  Even behind the thick mane of tousled black hair that had fallen into them, his eyes had a life of their own, eyes that knew things.  The man could have been a model himself, he had missed his calling.  When he turned back to her, eyebrows raised, Sloan swallowed back a gasp. Strong defined jaw, thick black eyebrows… even his full lips, which were turned down in a sleepy frown, were perfect.  She couldn’t work with this man.  She couldn’t even breathe in front of him.

            “Look.” Dean’s deep voice cut through the silence and he held out a hand to her. “Are you over twenty-one?” He asked, eyes travelling her body.  She was a tall, skinny thing, with little dips and curves in all the right places.  A long neck held a smiling, heart-shaped baby face. His eyes lingered on her neck before slowly rising back to her face, noticing her deep brown skin was completely flawless. “Are you over eighteen?” He asked, cocking his head forward dubiously.  Her eyes were so full of an innocent hope and even fear, betraying the smile on her face, that he found it difficult not to be curious. She was very beautiful but he would have put her at around sixteen years old, at best.

            “Yes.” Sloan answered, having heard both questions more than she’d cared for over the course of her life. “Yes and yes.” She beamed. “I’m twenty-three.”

            Dean was shocked and was about to ask for ID.

            But Sloan wasn’t finished. “I get that all the time.  If you saw a picture of my parents you would see why.  They haven’t aged a day since high school even though they’re both basically ancient. I’ve accepted the fact that I’m always going to look like a little girl but I can assure you that I’m not.  I have a Bachelor’s in Business Administration with a Marketing Concentration from Spelman University.  Graduated Magna Cum Laude so I can assure you I am very, very capable.”  She took a deep breath, wondering if she should sell herself a little more.

            She talked a lot.  That would be a problem.  Dean, however, was desperate.  He couldn’t deny that he needed help.  There was no way in the world that he could keep appointments, remember important dates or even live his life inside his wild mind without help.  “Look.” He started. “You talk too much…”

            Sloan’s eyes widened in offense and she opened her mouth to deny this, then slammed it shut.

            Dean continued, “But my brother recommended you.”

            “Your brother?! The guy I met at the bar last night said he was your friend, not your brother.  Why would he lie?” She jammed her eyes shut. Stop talking, Sloan.

            He ran a hand through his hair. “You’re hired.”

            Her entire body jolted in shock, “I am?!” When she saw him turning to walk away, she beamed, “Wait, is there—“

            Dean turned on his heels and stomped back to the door, holding his hand out. “Three things, right now.  If you cry on the job, you’re fired.  If you talk to the press, you’re fired. If you attempt to converse with me before ten am, you’re fired.  It is now,” he checked his watch, “nine fifty-five.  So we’re not talking right now.”

            Sloan hesitated, then shook her head no, wildly.

He held her gaze and took her silence as confirmation.  Turning away from her, he began shuffling around in the only coat that hung on the coat hanger next to the door.

She watched him shuffling through the pocket and took advantage of his moment of distraction by allowing her eyes to slowly fall to his bare chest.  She lingered on the tight peaks and valleys of his stomach, beautifully sculpted, all the way down to the strong v that dipped into his jeans which, by some miracle, were hanging onto his hips by a thread.  Sloan stared at the jeans, entranced.  How the hell were they staying on?! Did he have some very strategically placed double sided tape on those bad boys? Was he sure he wasn’t a model? She looked back up to his face.  He didn’t remind her of any male models she’d seen but he was just so well put together, from head to toe, and so unprofessional that she was having a hard time wrapping her head around the fact that this man would be her boss.  This had to be a joke.  The question burned in her brain, but she forced herself to keep quiet.

            Dean finally fished a black credit card out of his coat and held it out to her.

            A black card?! She was sure that Madonna and Jay Z were the only two people on the planet who had a black card.  Apparently her new boss did, as well. Sloan took the card slowly and cradled it in her hands like a baby. 

            Dean shook his head. “There’s a Starbucks downstairs.  I like my coffee first thing in the morning or I can’t function.”

Sloan fought not to cringe.  A coffee drinker.  His stock began to plummet.

“I like my coffee the way I like it. Period." Dean hoped she was listening, “Quadruple grande, half and half, extra dry toffee-nut cappuccino, no cinnamon.”

What the hell was he talking about? Sloan repeated him, robotically. “No cinnamon.”

“No cinnamon. Don’t fuck it up.” He turned away from her and began making his way back into the loft without another word.

Sloan had no idea what the man had just said, let alone what he wanted her to order.  A triple dollop of nuts, something or the other, dry? She ached to ask him to repeat it, but had a feeling that he wouldn’t look too kindly on that.  Plus, she still wasn’t even sure if she was allowed to talk, yet. Slowly turning on her heel she began to make her way towards to elevator.  Her heart pounded in her chest with the fear of making a mistake on her very first day. You’ll figure something out, her inner cheerleader chanted. 

            “And one more thing.” Dean turned on his heel and stalked back to the door.

            Sloan froze, turned and pitter-pattered back, her eyes big with eagerness, until she was again face to face with Dean.  They were standing closer this time than they had before.  She wondered if he noticed too, then held her breath when when his fingers grazed the delicate dip at the bottom of her neck, right between her collarbones.  Her skin burned where he touched her, and she attempted to make eye contact with him.  She gasped in disbelief when he suddenly took hold of the scarf hanging loosely at around her neck, her favorite scarf, and snatched it off of her.

            Dean’s eyes met hers as he held up the purple monstrosity. “No.”  He decalred.

“No?” Sloan’s heart fell.

He scrunched the scarf in his hand like a piece of trash before turning away from her and tossing it into a fireplace that wasn’t lit.  “No.” He called, over his shoulder. That damn scarf had been distracting him since the moment they’d met and he couldn’t wait to set it on fire. 

As he walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door, he couldn’t get the sight of her neck, naked and tense when he’d pulled off the scarf, out of his mind.  He had always been a neck man, and underneath that baby face of hers she had a flawless one.  He now wished he didn’t know that about her. He was sure that’d he’d said more to this girl today than he had to his last three assistants combined.  Something happening behind her eyes was so pure, so innocent, that he struggled to treat her with the same distain he did everyone else.  And now he’d seen her gorgeous neck, touched it…

He quietly cursed her for having such horrid taste in clothing, five minutes in her presense and he was already undressing her? Hadn’t she said she’d met his brother at some bar? He had a feeling his older sibling was after Sloan and wouldn’t look too kindly on what he’d just done.

 When the silence in his loft stretched on for a moment too long he stood tall and looked towards the, still open, door.  She was gone.  He hadn’t even heard her leave.

It was the least noise, he assumed, that girl would ever make.

--

Ten minutes later Sloan was stepping off of the elevator on Dean’s floor with a Starbucks cup in her hand.  She’d spent an unprecendented amount of time haggling with every barista in the Starbucks downstairs and effectively pissing off every customer waiting in line behind her in an attempt to find out just what the hell this man wanted to drink.  All of the baristas in the shop that morning said that “Dean’s guy”, the one who knew how to make his drink perfectly, was on vacation for the next two weeks.  Fantastic. None of them seemed willing to even attempt to make his drink.

“He’s very picky.” A pretty blonde barista had stated in a way that gave Sloan the impression she had more of a history with Dean than just his morning coffee order.

Finally, Sloan asked them to make her something close to what he usually got, and they’d done the best they could do.

The best they could do suddenly didn’t seem good enough. She clutched the drink in her hand and stared at his closed front door.  She took a deep breath before knocking, the hard steel brusing her hand.  Seconds later, it slid open, and she was frozen still at the sight of Dean before her.  He’d thrown on a pair of fitted black slacks and a black tshirt that seemed tailored to his body.  It was such a far cry from the whole-lotta-nothing he’d been wearing earilier that Sloan was motionless until he walked away from her.

She jolted back to reality and followed him in, grabbing the handle of his front door in an attempt to slide it closed.  The damn thing must have weighed more than she did because it wasn’t budging.  She leaned back, pulling in with every pound she had in her and groaned in frustration when it moved just half an inch.  Before she knew it Dean was behind her, pressing his chest to her back while taking the top of the handle in his hand and pulling it effortlessly shut. Sloan tripped over her feet at the unexpected help and stood tall as he latched it shut, his eyes never leaving hers.  She wordlessly held up his coffee and he took it, leveling her still with his powerful stare.

She adjusted her purse on her shoulder as they faced each other, her eyes narrowing to the fireplace over his shoulder.  She could see a hint of her poor purple scarf.  

“Don’t even think it.”  He grumbled, giving her the closest thing to a smile that he had all day.

Sloan met his eyes and stared at him when the corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly.  Was he smiling at her? Or did he have some sort of twitch?  She wasn’t sure.

Dean watched her face and wondered if she realized just how open she was.  Her emotions were constantly on her sleeve, he could practically see her thoughts.  As he brought the cigarette he’d lit a minute ago up to his lips and inhaled, he decided that he kind of liked her.  She was amusing, like a puppy who was still learning to walk.  She would do.

            Sloan didn’t have time to warn him before he blew a heavy cloud of smoke into her face.  She tried to turn her head away from the white wall of death but it was too late, it had already seeped into her nostrils and infiltrated her lungs.  She panicked when they closed up on her, forgetting everything that her parents and her doctor had ever told her when she foolishly tried to inhale too quickly.  Her lungs seized up on her and it was officially happening.

            Her first asthma attack since she was ten years old.  He was a smoker.  Any  attraction she’d previously had for him was dead and gone as she began to heave, the pain in her chest gripping her and causing her eyes to grow wide. Her hand dove into her purse, searching desperately for the inhaler that her parents had given her a week before she’d left Georgia.  She’d thought that they were being paranoid, and now had a new respect for their forsight.

            Dean stood with a cocked eyebrow as Sloan began to have what appeared to be some sort of psychotic break in front of him.  How was she already going insane? She certainly wouldn’t be the first assistant he’d driven to madness but he hadn’t even done anything to her yet.  He brought his hands up to her shoulders, one was still holding his coffee cup and the other his cigarette so he couldn’t hold onto her quite the way he suddenly wanted to.  When her pants and gasps grew deeper and more frantic realization hit him and his eyes widened at the cigarette in his hand, smoke billowing up right next to her.  Immediately, he threw it away and went back to her, taking the bag she was ruffling through and opening it wider so she could get a better look inside. He began to look himself for what he assumed was her inhaler. Her little body was now heaving so violently that she was forced to fall to the floor. 

            The cold wood felt good against Sloan’s legs and hands as her body grew increasingly hot.  Her eyes watered and she gripped her tshirt where her heart was, shutting her eyes and telling herself to calm down.  Calm down, Sloan.

            Dean sank down next to her and snatched her bag.  Enough is enough, he thought, dumping the contents of her purse all over the floor.  Make-up, pens and pencils, a pink wallet and a million other foreign objects spilled all over the wooden floor. Dean was annoyed, why the hell did she have so much crap? They both clamoured around the mess, slapping their hands all over the floor in search of the magical L shaped plastic contraption that would give Sloan her air back.

            She found it first, wrapping her hand hungrily around the inhaler and bringing it to her lips.  The first pump was like magic, as if she were taking her very first breath.  Two, three, four pumps followed and it was several minutes before her breathing was back to normal.

            The two of them remained seated on the floor for a long while with Sloan on her knees  and Dean kneeling  down on his heels with his elbows propping him up.  This wasn’t going to work.  He’d known it wasn’t going to work the second he realized that his cigarette had made this girl stop breathing.  She had just gotten her air back, though, so he didn’t have the heart to tell her right then.  He’d fire her in a couple of days, he decided.  At least then he’d have the time to look for someone else. He ran his hands through his hair and was the first to stand when he was sure she was okay.

            When Sloan saw him stand and rise she began gathering her things up from the floor frantically, explaining herself as she did. “I should have told you that I’m allergic to cigarette smoke.”  She laughed, softly.  “I can assure you that this will never happen again.  I haven’t had an asthma attack since I was ten years old.  I’m so embarrassed right now.”

            This isn’t going to work, Dean was unable to stop this thought in his mind as he watched the girl stumble to her feet and resume gripping her bag.  “You haven’t had an asthma attack since you were ten? Well I’ve been smoking since I was ten.”

            Sloan’s face curled in disgust.  “Really?”

            He wasn’t the type to get embarassed but the horror written so clearly across her face bothered him. 

Her eyes had suddenly grown big and frantic.  She knew how attached a smoker was to his cigarettes and knew that, in the grand scheme of things she didn’t stand a chance. “Am I… fired?” The word tasted bitter on her tongue.

He couldn’t very well fire a girl who had just damn near died on the floor of his apartment.  Plus, the more he thought about it the more he realized that he really didn’t have the time or the energy to look for an assistant himself. “I guess…”  He looked away from her.  “I guess I could smoke on the patio whenever you’re here.” He hated the thought. The models wouldn’t like it, in fact they would hate it, but he wasn’t going to fire her just yet. Not when he didn’t have a back up.

“Thank you.”  Sloan beamed, doing a tiny little hop. “Thank you.  I promise you I will do everything I can to never subject you to that, again. I know it’s scary.”

It had been scary, but he didn’t need her apology. Dean was about to tell her that he was the one that was sorry.

But Sloan wasn’t finished. “I had a close friend in the third grade who was there when I had one of the worst asthma attacks of my life and it scared her so much that her parents had to come pick her up early from school.  The next day she told me that she didn’t want to be friends anymore. That was when I went home to my parents and told them that my lungs were ruining my life.” She bit her lip when she saw the look on his face. She was talking too much.

Dean sighed deeply, wondering how the hell he’d find the heart to fire this girl as he lifted the Starbucks cup that was still in his hand.  He brought it to his lips and took a sip.  A second later, he spit it out once, twice and a third time until he was blowing spit and air.  It was as if the taste of the coffee was stuck on his lips and when his tongue darted out to clean them, his face curled in disgust and he stared at the cup in his hand in shock. “What the fuck?” 

Sloan’s entire body jolted.  Oh no.

“What the fuck is this?”  He turned away from her and threw the cup with all his might, watching it smash against the wall and splatter coffee all over the place, a few drops even dampened the edges of a few pictures that hung down which only infuriated him more.  The empty cup hit the floor and rolled towards them, stopping inches away from Dean’s cigarette, which was still lit and had started a small fire on his wood floor.

“Shit!”  He ran over the the flame and stomped it out.  As smoke billowed up from the dead flames, leaving a large black scar on his flawless wood floors fury filled him. His coffee was wrong, his floor was charred to a crisp and a girl who he wasn’t even sure was legal to drink had almost croaked on his kitchen floor.

“I…” Sloan opened her mouth to apologize, but couldn’t find the words. “I…”

“This isn’t going to work.”  Dean shook his head. 

“No.”  Sloan’s heart raced. “No. Please.  I’ll go back down there and have them re-make it.”

“No.”  He walked up to her and took her arm in his hand, pulling her towards the door. Amidst her protests he slid the door open and led her out into the hallway before stepping back into the apartment.  “It’s not going to be a good fit, Sloan. I’m sorry.” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d apologized to anyone, and that was when he knew he was making the right decision.  He’d hardly recognized himself all day, not since the first moment he’d opened his front door to her smiling face.

Sloan was stunned and looked away from him when tears stung her eyes.

He told himself to close the door, but didn’t.

She looked back to him only when the tears in her eyes had subsided, and told herself to breathe.  “So I guess my lungs are still ruining my life, huh?” She held her hands out and slapped them back down  to her sides.

He faltered.  “This has nothing to do with the cigarettes.”

 “Okay.  Sure.  Like you’re going to stop smoking for some girl you’ve never met?  Some girl who can’t even get your hazelnut latte made right?” She wondered why she was bothering and turned away from him.  She’d just have to go back home to Georgia with her tail between her legs. “Just forget it.”  She whispered, hurrying towards the elevators before he could see the tears in her eyes.

--

The man behind the desk of the loft buildings on 106th and Broadway looked up from his book when the elevator dinged.  The young girl who’d had an interview earlier than morning was making her way through the lobby for the second time that day.  Assuming she had gotten Dean’s morning coffee wrong as his new assistants often did, he watched as she raced out of the elevator.  When she passed him she didn’t greet him with the smile that seemed to be glued to her pretty face but instead with embarassed tears in her eyes.  She looked away from him in shame and hurried by. He watched her go with a shake of his head.  Another casualty of Dean Delucia.  It was too bad, too, she’d been a nice kid.