Page 17 of Safe Word

‘Why are you so attached to that piece of junk? I could get you a new one. Better one, even. Or the exact same model, but, you know, functional.’

I was already shaking my head before he even finished. ‘This one makes the best coffee. I want it fixed.’

He groaned, rubbing his temples. ‘You’re impossible.’

I cocked an eyebrow. ‘And you’re annoying. Are we done for the day?’

He opened his mouth to reply, but a sharp knock on the door cut him off. The sound wasn’t the hesitant rapping of someone unsure of their welcome.

Vinnie froze, his hand still on the door handle as he peered out, then turned to me with a grin so wide and stupid I instantly knew something was up. The gold chain beneath his T-shirt slipped into view, and he tucked it in with a sly, ‘Oh yeah. We’ve got another one.’

‘What?’ I snapped, already weary.

He winked as he cleared his throat and cracked the door open.

‘Buongiorno,’ he said, his Italian smooth as silk, dialling up the charm several notches like he always did around beautiful women. It helped that he was fluent, his accent flawless because he’d been raised by Italian parents.

‘Good afternoon,’ came the American accent of a feminine voice, low and calm but with just enough warmth to make my interest spark. ‘Am I too late? I know I’m a little behind.’

‘No, no! Don’t worry,’ Vinnie said, practically purring as he swung the door open wider and stepped aside. He glanced back at me, beaming like he’d just gift-wrapped my next breakdown.

The woman walked in as I repositioned myself in the chair.

Her gait radiated effortless confidence, her tailored grey suit crisp and professional. Everything about her spoke of control, from the clean lines of her attire to the way she carried herself. But it was her bright eyes that caught me – sensible, firm, assessing me as much as I was her. There was no hesitation, no faltering step. She wasn’t here to impress; she was here to prove something.

I’ve been around women. Too many. My body count was… well, let’s just say thank fuck for bi-monthly screenings. At least my restraint had a conscience when my dick didn’t.

And this one? Just another eager blonde. Clean suit, tight smile, eyes full of whatever she thought I wanted to see – textbook applicant. I’d met her type on a daily basis – ambition perfumed over insecurity, hoping their passion would outweigh their lack of talent and knowledge.

Pretentious? Maybe. But at my age, I’d had my fill of reality.

Maybe she thought quoting my early work would earn her a seat like that woman from last week. Or was it three weeks ago?

Too bad I wasn’t in the mood to be anyone’s fantasy.

I had no idea if she could write a sentence worth reading, but in that moment, I was scrambling to give a damn.

She said her name, but I was too fed up with my morning to even catch it.

‘Please sit,’ Vinnie drew the chair closest to her, his grin widening like he was watching a damn sitcom.

Luckily, I had been running on autopilot since disaster number three, so I lobbed the first question without effort: ‘What are your qualifications?’

Vinnie grimaced at my clinical tone, taking a step back. And I decided to make an effort to dial down my exasperation.

She started talking – smooth voice, professional – but I wasn’t really listening. Not because she wasn’t clear, but because my brain was still tangled in the haze of contracts, caffeine withdrawal, and a thousand unfinished things. To top it off, that blank Chapter Fifteen open on the monitor glared daggers at me, reminding me why she was here.

Honestly, she was beautiful – like most Mediterranean women. But I didn’t care if she was fluent in six languages or wrote erotica in fucking Morse code – I just needed the day to end.

I didn’t hear a fucking word she had said. Her words blended into the background until her sharp gaze fixed on me, jolting me out of my thoughts. My focus had wandered – too obviously, it seemed – and her ice-cold glare cut through the room with an authority I wasn’t used to – mirroring Vinnie’s. She wasn’t here to charm or flirt. She was here for the job, and something about that steel in her demeanour stirred both respect and curiosity.

I adjusted in my chair, clearing my throat to buy myself a moment to wrestle my thoughts back into line.

Focus, Cain.

I looked towards the small gift bag she was holding, and the books peeking out from it. Something about the way she handled it – firm but casual, as though it carried weight she was familiar with – had me wondering what it was that she cherished inside.

Without waiting for an invitation, she reached inside, pulled out a small stack of papers and placed it on the desk.