Normally, I would oblige her physical requests, but the unease that I feel today is mounting. I have a timeline to adhere to, and Lizzie isn’t part of that right now.
She goes to place her red-stained lips on my neck when I pull back, looking at the note in her hand. Anticipation takes hold of me, hoping it is the call back I have been waiting for.
Impatience increasing by the second, I bring my hand to her hand that holds the Post-it note. “What’s that?”
She moves her hand back slightly from mine, as if she is purposely toying with me.
“Oh, some girl called. Umm, let me see what I chicken-scratched here. Ah, yes, Sienna,” she says, smacking her lips obnoxiously with a wad of bubble gum. “She called an hour ago, I—”
“You, what?” I interrupt her. “Just forgot to do your job and tell me? I have told you this, Lizzie, you are not here just to get me off. You are here to work,” I roar, snatching the Post-it from her hand.
Shocked by my abruptness, she takes a deep breath. “That’s not how you were acting earlier today, Car.”
“Yea well, get used to it,” I seethe.
She goes back to chomping on the wad of gum in her mouth, as if she is suddenly oblivious to the anger coursing through my veins. “Carmine, calm down.” Lizzie has been around long enough to know that, while I try to stay as composed as possible, my anger creeps out more often than it should. She is unfazed by my antics and goes back to trying to undo my tie.
“Not now, Lizzie, I have work to do.” I pull away from her, readjusting my tie. I walk toward the large window that overlooks the crowded, smog-infested Manhattan streets below me.
Her heels click behind me as she follows me to the window, pressing her body against my back. “You sure you don’t need anything else, Car?” she asks flirtatiously.
“No, that is all. Take the rest of the day off,” I command. I have too much I need to get done today and her ravenous appetite will undoubtedly be a distraction I do not need.
“Really? Thanks, Car …” She keeps talking, but I tune her out.
Not paying attention to what she is still going on about, I begin to walk, gently nudging her in the direction of the door. “Ok, see you tomorrow,” I say as she walks through the threshold of the doorway. I don’t wait for a response from her as I slam the door shut.
I am so damn close to finally having the last surviving Ricci in my midst. Just the thought of Sienna Ricci in my office in place of where Lizzie just stood brings the blood rushing to my dick.
I go to pick up the phone at my desk when Lizzie knocks, letting herself back in.
Jesus Christ, this woman can’t take a fucking hint.
“Yes, Lizzie? What is it now? I thought I told you to take the rest of the day off?”
“Sorry, I was just about to gather my stuff when your dad called. He said that he is on his way up.”
“On his way up?” I growl.
This man’s timing is impeccable. My father’s favorite pastime is to continually get in my fucking way. He is under the delusion that his way is the best way. If that were true, then he wouldn’t need me here, taking over all that he couldn’t finish on his own.
“Yes, he called from the lobby. The doorman let him up.”
Unbelievable. I am surrounded by incompetence. I thought I made it crystal clear to my staff that despite my father’s previous ownership in the company, he can’t just barge in. The man is a lunatic, and untrustworthy. A sad thing to say about one’s father, sure; however, I can say much worse, all of which he has given me ample reasons for.
I rise from my desk, adjusting my suit jacket as I try to wrap my mind around what the fuck is so important that my father needs to barge in today, of all days. “Ok, that’s fine,” I say, dismissing Lizzie once more.
“Thanks, Car. You know, you can always call me if you need me for anything,” she says with desperately enticing eyes as she leaves the door open, heading back to her desk.
Tempting, but no. I have had my eyes set on a different prize. One that will change the course of Marked Inc. and my lifeforever.
However, I will now have to delay calling back our prospective hire until I can get my father out of here. He’d better make whatever he needs to tell me quick, because there’s no telling the anger I will unleash if he sets back my plans any more than he already has.
I hear the elevator ding from the hallway, followed by what sounds like a herd of livestock filtering in, as the distinct thud of heavy footsteps quickly approaches my office.
Disgust rattles me to my core as my father, Armando Moretti, comes strolling in with his two henchmen, who stay by the doorway as he stomps on past them.
My father is your typical, old-school Italian, from the slicked-back hair down to the pinky ring on his pudgy fucking finger. He runs things old-school, I run things new-school. My way has proven to be more effective, a fact he still cannot accept. Every time he enters a room, he acts like he owns it. Pathetic, really. Power is best executed in a swagger-filled silence. When you force it like my father does, it only highlights weakness, and in my father’s case, incompetence.
