Chapter Four
ROCCO HAD LEARNEDto be assertive from a young age. Cynical, even. Being yanked from the home of the one person who had seemed to care about him had chipped edges into him. They’d been sharpened into serrated peaks by the rest of life’s ups and downs—most especially by Otto Braun’s twisted determination to undercut Rocco’s hard-won success purely to strike at Silvio.
Rocco couldn’t help letting that get to him sometimes. He ran a multinational company that took on huge projects. He was constantly juggling priorities and was spread very thin. Of course, he would have moments where he was terse and unyielding, especially when an underling brought him bad news. Most especially when that news was once again a report that GPS had lost a bid to Vorstoben, the company he most hated to lose to.
And, yes, Rocco had been suffering acute sexual frustration for three years. He was very short on patience these days.
He wouldn’t have called himself grumpy, though.Grumpywas a word for old men who gathered outside cafés. The ones who had seen too much of the world and lost hope for a better future. Or, at least, had lost the ambition to fight for one.
Rocco still brimmed with drive and zest, so he took umbrage at the word when he overheard it, even if his employee wasn’tentirelywrong when he said, “Any boss who’s so grumpy he can’t even be polite should get himself laid, rather than take it out on us.”
Rocco paused outside the break-room door, then stepped into the open doorway and leaned his shoulder there. The twentysomethings holding coffee mugs all went slack-jawed with dread.
“Benedetto.” Rocco addressed the young buck who’d brought him the unpleasant news a few minutes ago and had taken the brunt of being the messenger of bad tidings, the one whose voice he had recognized remarking on his sex life and lack thereof. “Prepare a proposal that shows you have something to offer this company beyond opinions on what I should do with my personal time. Bring it to me Friday or don’t come back on Monday.”
“I—” Benedetto seemed to struggle to swallow. “I’m very sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. Impress me.” Then, because he wasn’t so grumpy he had lost all his manners, Rocco added facetiously, “Per favore.”
Twit.
Rocco walked away, not wondering when he’d last had sex because he recalled far too often the day hehadn’t.
Don’t, he reprimanded himself. He didn’t want to suffer an erection at his desk for hours and already knew he would if he let himself recall that day.
Dio, he wished he could forget it.
Maybe he would have, if he hadn’t seen Mira on a handful of occasions since.
Every single time, she’d looked through him rather than at him, always leaving the moment she spotted him.
While his entire body was eaten up by craving for her.
Why? Before he met her, he had never had a problem finding female company and enjoying it. Now, he measured every woman by the standard Mira had set. Were they bright-eyed with curiosity? Did they have a smile that felt like sunlight cracking through clouds? Were they wearing a facade of polished beauty that hid their ability to surrender to incendiary passion?
Get over it, he ordered himself for the thousandth time, yet still his mind churned through their conversation, trying to find the way he could have handled things better.
He always came back to the bald truth that he couldn’t betray Silvio. Everything he had, he owed to Silvio’s belief in him. He could never betray his friend.
So he had to forget about Mira.
Had to.
As Rocco walked past his assistant, she reminded him he had a one-o’clock.
“Who?” he demanded, trying to recall.
“A high-profile client with the Salerno office.” She shrugged an apology. “They want to renovate a villa, but insist on meeting with you first. No name, but I ran it by you yesterday.”
“Right.” He’d forgotten. It would be some movie star or tech bro from America trying to keep from being recognized. This happened occasionally. These spoiled celebrities didn’t appreciate that Rocco worked on developments far more complex than changing out taps and toilets, but a high-profile renovation was the bread and butter for local crews like the one in Salerno. For them, he would rock this client to sleep and tuck them into bed so they would sign the check and move things along.
He placed a call he was due to return and sat down at his desk. Grumpily.
Something had to change. It would serve him right if that insolent Benedetto told him the most beneficial thing he could do for this company was set up Rocco’s profile on a hookup app.
Rocco had his chair turned to the window that looked across the rooftops of Rome and was discussing project details with one of his most important business partners, when his office door opened and a woman’s voice said stridently, “I’m telling you, I am that client. He definitely wants to speak to me.”
The voice in his ear faded as a ring of disbelief replaced it. Rocco turned and watched Mira Braun push into his office.
