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He looked me over, eyeing my outfit. I couldn’t tell if he approved or not. Only that there was a fire in his eyes that lit me up in flames. “So why aren’t you doing that? This is a full-time job. You can’t possibly combine it with your studies.”
That had occurred to me. But with the options available, this seemed to be the best one. If I could do this for a few years, I might have enough saved to start my studies after. Or I moved back home and found work there. But I wasn’t ready yet to face home without my parents. All Adam’s fault. I really was in the mode to throttle him again. Bitterness piled inside me.
“Wealth doesn’t come easily to many people.” Sometimes my mouth was better kept shut. But I didn’t regret my words even if I felt my cheeks warming with embarrassment.
Armando entered after a knock. He placed the glass of water for me with lemons on the side and a soft Prego. For Mr Capizzi, he placed an espresso. All the time, I could feel the man across watching me with his heated eyes.
“Milan has much better schools for fashion. Why Boston?” he asked the moment Armando closed the door behind him.
“I am not a fan of Milan.” I lied as Milan had been my first option, but I gave it up for Adam and moved to Boston. “Boston seemed to be a good option to me.”
He raised his brows. “Milan is the best option.”
The arrogance of this man was cringeworthy. But somehow, he left my core wet and twisty. “Boston is the best option for me.”
His look said he didn’t agree. “So why would you move here if you don’t have the finances arranged yet? Can’t your parents fund your studies?”
I swallowed the metal wrecking ball in my throat. I should have prepared my stories more. I had to give him the truth if there was any chance of getting this job. The problem was, I didn’t want to mention Adam. For one, it would show my lack of judgment, and honestly, who would want their kid being looked after by someone with such infantile judgment? Second, a gambler, even if we had broken up, just screamed red flags. I gave him the truth I was comfortable with.
“My parents would have gladly paid for my education. Had they lived.” I dropped my voice to reduce the croak. But it only got worse. “They passed away last year in an accident.” I looked to a spot somewhere on his shoulder and blinked rapidly to hold back the tears.
Now I was going to mess up my mascara.
A few minutes of silence ticked away. At least it was not the customary I am sorry for your loss charade.
I focused on his clothes. He had an impeccable sense of style. He wore a light grey linen suit with a crisp, white shirt. No tie. The shirt was left tantalisingly open at his neck, showing a hint of dark chest hair. The only accessory on him was his watch, with a big round black head and dark brown leather bands. Something old. It wasn’t one bought recently in a store.
“How do I pronounce your name?”
That was a first. Not even an I am sorry?
I looked into his eyes again. Something was whirling a war in there. “Di-v-ja”
“Divja,” he repeated, but in his gruff voice, I heard my name differently, sexier. I clenched my legs. There was a warm wetness tickling down there. “Divya, may I ask what your roots are?”
I sat upright. I was proud of my roots. If he had a problem with it, he could go to hell, no matter how hot he was. “My father was Indian, and my mother was English.”
He stood up and walked over to the front of the desk. I could feel his eyes on me and looked up to see him standing close, pulling at the air around me. “Interesting,” he murmured, almost to himself.
ANTONIO
I was mesmerised by this beautiful creature in front of me. I had been, ever since I laid eyes on her, touching my books as if they were her lovers. She had the most beautiful, caramel-coloured skin, thanks to her mixed heritage. Her hair, in a soft hazelnut brown, bound into a bun, had my hands itching to loosen it up to find out what it would look like. Let loose. Her eyes weren’t dark brown like most of the Indians I knew. No. Hers were lighter, with specks of green in them. So unusual that a man could drown in her eyes if he looked too long. Which is why I let mine drift through her body. Her skin, her eyes, her breasts in just the right size … not too small, but not too big, either. Perfect in proportion to the rest of her body. I would say it was a B cup. They would fit nicely into my palms. I wondered what coloured nipples she was hiding under her white shirt … dark brown? Pink?
I didn’t remember anymore why I had moved closer to her. I drew my gaze away and walked back to sit behind my desk. I needed to check something on her CV and hide my hard-on.
She was young. Twenty-five. I checked her CV. Nearly ten years younger than me. Not that it was of any importance. Perfect age to look after Cora. She would be fit enough to run behind her when she started to crawl and walk. It made me imagine what else she would be fit enough to do.
But there were gaps in her story. The way she fidgeted in her tight skirt told me there was more to her than she let on. I was sure it was something petty. I would have to get my team to do a background check on her. This was a standard procedure, but this time, I was curious what they would uncover. It would take some time, of course. But I was a very patient man. I was willing to wait and find out what this gorgeous beauty was hiding from me.
Still, something nabbed at my patience. Now that she had stepped inside my home, I didn’t want to let go of her. She was going to be good for Cora, and it was not like we had had so many options.
I should remember to ask Isabella from which agency Divya had come.
Divya, I rolled her name around in my head. It burned my tongue like a drip of Amaro.
The right thing to do would be to wait. To find someone within Cosa Nostra.
“Divya, I would like you to do a trial day. Today, if you don’t mind. We can see how Cora adapts to you, and if all goes well at the end of the day, the job is yours.”
