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EMILY
“Emily, Mr. Vittorio wants to see you in his office. Now.”
The whispers begin immediately.
“Why her? I’ve been here ten years, and he’s never asked me up to his office.”
“Isn’t that the temp?”
“She only started this morning. What makes her so special?”
My supervisor looks at me eagerly. “Asked for you personally. Tell him I sent you at once like he wanted. Put in a good word for me, won’t you?” She tugs at my arm. “Please.”
She ushers me toward the executive elevator in the corridor. The doors slide open, swallowing me into a sleek, mirrored interior.
A moment later, I’m alone.
This is really happening. I get a chance to see him again.
Alessandro Vittorio. My obsession. My fantasy. My drug.
It’s insane. He’s forty to my nineteen. He’s a billionaire. I’m a penniless student with a donut fixation.
One day, I’ll be a child psychologist, maybe. If I ever qualify. Does that count as ambition? Drive? All the things a mature man like him is likely to care about.
I should stop torturing myself. He’s not going to suddenly propose marriage.
My mind goes back to the last time I saw him. Three months ago. My last day working in a wine shop that was about to go bust.
He’d come in once a week, had done for months. He’d ask me for recommendations. I’d offer him bottles that cost more than my annual salary.
Then the place went bust. I was out of a job, and he was gone from my life.
When I saw the temp position come up at Vittorio Enterprises in Manhattan, I knew it was fate. A chance to see him again. Or, at least to be in the same building as him.
I never dreamed that just one hour into my first day I’d be going to see him in person.
The elevator doors swing open. The 40th floor. I’m here.
“I can do this,” I mutter to myself. Directly opposite, there’s a frosted glass door. CEO is written across it in gold leaf.
I knock boldly, my heart pounding in my ears.
“Enter,” a deep rumbling voice calls from inside, sending a shiver down my spine.
It’s him. The man who’s given me more orgasms than I can count, all without lifting a finger to help. The man who still fills my dreams every single night. The Italian love god.
I step into an expansive, meticulously designed office. Immediately, the breathtaking view from the large, floor-to-ceiling windows captivates me, showcasing a panoramic vista of the city’s skyline.
To my right, a grand bookcase stretches from floor to ceiling, crafted from rich mahogany. It’s filled with leather-bound books.
A large, ornate desk dominates the center of the space, made of polished dark wood. Alessandro is behind it, looking every inch the mature businessman. I feel like a kid in front of the principal.
He doesn’t take his eyes off the computer in front of him. “Sit, dolcezza,” he says after a long silence, waving lazily at the chair next to me
I swear my panties melt. He does remember me. That’s the nickname he used to call me whenever he came into the wine shop.
