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One of the guards uses a keycard to open the front door, ushering me in before closing and locking it behind me. I drop my stuff in the entryway and head to the kitchen to get a very much-needed drink. I also make a mental note to stash another bottle in my bag for when Alistair inevitably has me working until midnight again tomorrow, since he confiscated the one he spotted today.
Yes, I understand it’s not exactly the greatest to be drinking vodka out of a coffee cup in the middle of the afternoon at work. But, point of order, your honor. There are more than a few “extenuating circumstances” going on in my life right now.
The sound of Massimo grunting, a woman fake moaning, and flesh slapping flesh does and doesn’t surprise me. But I ignore it, making a beeline for the fridge and pouring myself a gigantic glass of Chardonnay. I take a hefty sip, then another, before topping it up and heading into the living room to face the inevitable.
I mean, it’s not like Massimo is fucking some other girl in our living room so that I don’t catch him.
Sure enough, he’s railing some poor brunette from behind on our living room floor when I step in. He looks up and grins savagely, his fingers digging into her hips as he starts to fuck her even harder.
I suppose you could call Massimo a classically handsome man. He’s got dark eyes and hair and tanned skin thanks to his Sicilian background. He’s no Marvel superhero actor, but he still keeps in extremely good shape.
But there’s just something I find so disgustingly unattractive about him that watching him fuck like this is literally nauseating to me. On top of that, the girls he aggressively screws like this are almost always hired professionals. It always ends up feeling like I’m watching someone get assaulted.
Massimo grunts, his hips slapping against the girl’s ass. She glances up in surprise, seeing me standing there.
“Oh, I didn’t know this was a couples thing?—”
“It’s not. She’s just watching,” Massimo mutters, not missing a beat.
The girl looks confused. “Okay. Well, it’s still extra if she’s?—”
“Shut. The. Fuck…” he snarls, fucking her even harder, until she winces. “Up.” He looks up at me, accusatory. “You’re late.”
I shrug, refusing to show my exhaustion or pain from the long hours. “I texted Rocco.”
“Is Rocco your fucking husband?”
I sigh, looking away and gulping my wine as Massimo plows into the woman on the floor.
“How was your day?”
“Peachy,” I mutter.
“Tomorrow,” Massimo grunts, “I need you to do something for me at Crown and Black.”
I frown, still looking away. “Do what?”
“There’s a file. I want it.”
I bark out a cold laugh. “There are about a million files at that office.”
Trust me. They’re all sitting in my cubicle.
“I don’t want…ugh, yeah, bitch,” he snarls at the escort. “I don’t want a million files, you dumb cow,” he grunts. “I want one specific file—goddammit, Eloise, look at me!”
I flinch at his brutal tone, finally dragging my eyes back to his. Massimo’s upper lip curls.
“My father did some business with Crown and Black, and they’re currently in possession of a copy of his will.”
My brows furrow. “You have your father’s will.”
I’ve seen it, several times. It’s the one giving Massimo complete control over the Carveli empire, as well as the entirety of his father’s fortune, even though the two of them had been at odds for years.
“Well, I want that copy,” he snarls, fucking into the girl as she winces. “And it’s somewhere secure in that office.”
I wrinkle my nose. “And you want me to take it?”
He glares at me. “Did I stutter, bitch?”
