“What in the ever-loving hell are you doing?” he asked, sounding livid even to himself.
“My phone . . .”
“Yeah. I know. And I would have retrieved it for you. You didn’t have to drape yourself all over me to get to it.”
“I didn’t.” God, her cheeks were flushed, her usually sleek hair was a mess, and two of her mother-of-pearl blouse buttons had come undone to reveal the pretty blue-lace edge of her bra. She looked like a woman who had just been soundly kissed, and because it aroused him to the point of pain, it brought his suspicious nature to bear.
“Are you coming on to me?” he hissed. “Wasn’t one night enough for you? If you want more than that, you need but say it. But don’t expect anything other than sex from me. Just because you’re Luc’s sister doesn’t automatically entitle you to more than that. Once we get this deal out of the way, we can fuck again if that’s what you want, but it will never be more than that. Entender? Understand?”
“Oh, I entender,” she said, her voice trembling slightly, making him wonder at the extreme emotion he could sense just beneath the surface. “I entender that you’re a smug, arrogant butthole who thinks the sun revolves around him. I don’t like you. But then I don’t have to like you; you’re just my boss. And while I may have had a moment’s weakness last night, it just makes me human. And trust me, one night was enough to last a lifetime. It was great, but I’m not looking for an encore.”
Cleo let her words sink in, knowing she had just kissed any future with this company good-bye. She allowed herself a moment’s regret before clearing her throat and pointing to the floor between his feet.
“Now, would you mind fetching my phone for me please, sir? I’d hate for you to get the wrong idea if I went fishing for it again.”
He kept his gaze level with hers, and the grim set of his mouth told her he wasn’t at all impressed with her. Well, to hell with him. His opinion mattered not at all.
“Just because we have shared some level of intimacy does not give you the right to speak to me so,” he said after a long and unnerving moment of silence. His voice teemed with barely restrained menace. “We are not contemporaries, we are not friends, and we are certainly not lovers.”
“No, we’re employee”-she touched her chest and then lifted the same hand to point at him-“and employer. You’re my boss, and as I very much doubt I’ll have a job after this anyway, I should probably voice my opinions now, while I have you here.”
“Why would you not have a job after this? You think I am so lacking in morals I would fire you because we spent a mutually pleasurable night together? That was last night, and we were done with work. In this car, right now, I am your employer, and I will be spoken to with respect.”
“Oh, does that mean I get to call you an arrogant butthole after hours?” She watched his face tighten and knew she was pushing every single danger button he possessed.
“What you call me in the privacy of your thoughts is of no concern to me. Just keep those thoughts to yourself.”
“So, you’re basically placing a gag order on me,” she clarified.
“If that is how you wish to perceive it, then so be it.”
He reached down to retrieve her phone-a clear indicator he considered the conversation closed-and glanced at the screen before handing it over.
“This isn’t exactly what I would call professional behavior,” he said, nodding down at the ridiculous pouting picture of her on the screen.
Embarrassed, she cast her eyes down, hating to feel so completely wrong-footed.
“It was meant to be ironic,” she attempted to explain even while she knew he would never understand the intended humor behind the picture.
“I trust you will conduct yourself appropriately at this meeting?”
Damn it. So much for trying to impress the man with her professionalism and ability to do the job. She tried her best to keep her reply humble.
“Yes, sir. I apologize if my earlier lack of professionalism caused you to think otherwise, sir,” she said in her best no-nonsense voice, although she couldn’t quite disguise the sarcasm dripping all over that last word. He raised his eyebrows, indicating he hadn’t missed the acerbity, then raked her body from top to toe with his gaze.
“You might want to run a comb through your hair,” he said, the words dripping with disdain. “Maybe reapply your lipstick while you’re at it. Oh, and I’m sure you’d like to adjust your skirt and button your blouse before we get there as well.”
Bastard.
She scooted back to her end of the seat and quickly straightened her skirt and fumblingly fixed her blouse, flushing a little when she noticed her bra was showing. A quick check of her hair and makeup confirmed the former was sticking up a bit and her lipstick was smudged at one corner of her mouth. Wait, how on earth had she managed to smudge her lipstick while trying to pick up her phone? Who did that? This day just got worse and worse and it wasn’t even eight o’clock yet. She reapplied it and quite pointedly turned her back on him to stare out the window.
She wasn’t going to let him dampen her excitement of being here, and if this was all she got to see of the city, then she was damned well going to soak it in while she could. She heard him snort softly behind her but ignored it, willing him to go back to his oh-so-critical preparation. He only needed her here to take notes, write his correspondence, and do all the other menial crap that required little to no thinking.
She knew Donna, his executive assistant, had a very challenging and intellectually stimulating job-she handled projects, ran the office in his absence, and had all manner of other important and interesting duties. But Dante didn’t trust Cleo to do even a small percentage of what his precious Donna did, and she didn’t expect him to. She was nowhere near as qualified. He gave her the basic secretarial stuff to do while designating the more important tasks to other personal and executive assistants. The little he did entrust to her was always gone over by the man himself with a fine-tooth comb.
Naturally the other assistants were already swamped with their own regular duties and were starting to resent Cleo for not doing the job she was being so handsomely paid for. They knew Luc and Dante were friends because Cleo had foolishly mentioned it to one of the younger admin assistants in an aborted attempt to make friends. The woman had wasted no time spreading rumors that Cleo had been hired because of the relationship between the two men. Nobody would ever accuse Dante of nepotism to his face, of course, so Cleo bore the brunt of their hostility. After that, Cleo had been a lot pickier about whom she spoke to at work. Luckily there were a number of other people who didn’t give the rumors any credence. People like Florence, the lovely tea lady; Solomon, the cheerful company driver; Dante’s personal protection guys; and some of the junior staff members who didn’t get saddled with her extra work. Despite the short time she’d been working there, she had no shortage of new friends.
But the irony was that Cleo hadn’t for even a second realized the Dante Damaso of Damaso International, Inc., was the same “Dan” whose name Luc casually dropped into conversation on occasion. Luc and Dante had met in college and had become friends but were hardly the type of guys to invite each other to family gatherings, so Cleo had never had the opportunity to meet the man. She had also been way too involved with her own life and her dancing-too wrapped up in herself-to care about Lucius and his boring friends. So it had come as a shock to learn Luc’s “Dan” was the Dante Damaso of the renowned Damaso International chain of five-star hotels and resorts.
Only after Luc had gone all stern and disapproving big brother on her for using his relationship with Dante to get a job, did the penny drop. That’s when she’d understood that she’d probably gotten the job because she was Luc’s sister. A favor neither Luc nor Cleo had actually asked for. By that time it had been too late to back out, and Cleo had been determined to make the best of the chance she’d been given. Of course, if she had actually met Dante Damaso during the interview process, she may very well have told him to shove his job. But his minions had conducted the recorded interviews, and Dante had-supposedly-made his decision after watching the recordings.
Cleo didn’t know what she’d expected of Dante Damaso, but from the very first day he had made it clear he merely suffered her presence, and just half an hour into her first day-after asking her to make him a cup of coffee, photocopy some documents, send two e-mails (one of which she had messed up by leaving off a zero in a seriously huge number), and water his frickin’ ficus-he had sent her downstairs to a junior executive. Once there, the junior exec’s assistant had patronizingly ushered Cleo to a desk and instructed her to answer the phone if it rang, before the woman checked her makeup and swanned off with a breezy “Mr. Damaso needs me to assist him today.”
The memory still made Cleo seethe-four months later-and she clenched her teeth when she thought of how consistently after that first encounter the same thing had happened. She began every day in Damaso’s office suite, and after half an hour-during which she had the dubious privilege of making his coffee and watering that stupid ficus, or sometimes sending one of those loathsome little “Thanks for the sex” notes-she got shipped off to a different exec. Luckily the other executives had stopped giving her mundane tasks to do, and she’d started enjoying her daily little soirees away from the boss’s office. Still, the half hours in the mornings had become almost unbearable. Dante was scathing, brutally frank in his dismissal of her skills, and almost unbearably rude. He never greeted her, never used common courtesies like “please” and “thank you” when he spoke with her, and Cleo was convinced a smile would crack his perfect face.
Dante was still grimly focused on his iPad, and Cleo went back to greedily watching the passing scenery, trying to commit as much of it to memory as she could while longing to be out there exploring the wonderful mix of old and new. She loved the wooden buildings that looked as if they’d been around since the Middle Ages, tucked away down alleys and overshadowed by aggressively modern monolithic skyscrapers. Nothing escaped her attention, and she tried to file away the interesting bits, wanting to research and read up on buildings, museums, and shops that captured her interest. All of which helped keep her mind off Dante’s disturbing presence.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.