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“Hi. This is Arietta,” I say into the receiver.
“Arietta, it’s Bonnie at reception. There’s a woman here who’d like to see Mr. Calvetti.”
This was bound to happen. Although Modica Wealth Management’s website doesn’t list the floor our offices are on, it does list the building’s address. I knew a woman would show up eventually looking for The Dick.
Drawing in a deep breath, I level my tone. “Bonnie, please tell her that Mr. Calvetti is busy at the moment. If she’d like to call and leave a message, I’ll be happy to help her.”
“Hold please,” Bonnie directs me.
The soft sound of jazz music floats over the line as Bonnie passes my message to one of my boss’s former lovers.
The music fades as the call reconnects. “She says he’ll want to see her.”
Of course she’s saying that. He probably whispered sweet nothings in her ear while he was drilling his cock into her. Or maybe he’s a dirty talker.
I close my eyes, willing that thought to go away.
“Her name is...” Bonnie’s voice fades.
It doesn’t matter what her name is. Mr. Calvetti will not want to see her. He’d probably sneak out one of the windows in his office and crawl down the exterior of the building to avoid seeing any woman he’s fucked.
Picturing that in my mind’s eye, I hold in a laugh.
“Clarice Blanchard.”
I press the receiver closer to my ear. “Repeat that please, Bonnie.”
With my heart pounding in my chest, she does. “It’s Clarice Blanchard. She doesn’t have an appointment with Mr. Calvetti, but she’s wondering if he has time to see her now.”
“Yes,” I say without hesitation. “Send her up.”
Chapter 23
Dominick
Arietta’s clothing may be as ill-fitting as ever today, but it’s charming. The entire outfit makes no sense, yet on her, it’s a ray of sunshine.
A ray of sunshine?
What the actual fuck is wrong with me?
I’d attribute it to jetlag, but the flight from Boston to New York City is too short to have any lasting impact on me.
A knock at my door steals my thoughts from my assistant’s wardrobe choices.
“Come in,” I call out since Judd is on the other side of the door.
I’ve been waiting for him for well over an hour. We’re scheduled to meet to talk about the next step we need to take to get face time with Clarice Blanchard. That has to happen soon if we want to stay in the running to handle her fortune.
My door flies open. “Mr. Calvetti. Oh, sir. Oh my god.”
I dart to my feet when I get a glimpse of the expression on Arietta’s face. It’s a mix of confusion and horror. “What is it?”
She jerks a thumb over her shoulder. “She’s here, sir. Did you know she was coming?”
Fill-in-the-blank is a game I’ve never conquered, so I roll my hand in the air looking for another clue. “Who?”
I suspect it’s a woman I’ve bedded recently. This has happened in the past. It was before Arietta’s time when a woman dressed in nothing but a black trench coat and sky high heels showed up on this floor.
She tossed the coat aside and strolled completely nude up the corridor that leads to my office.
She deserved a standing ovation for her courage but a failing grade on the execution. She tripped before she reached the threshold of my office and broke her wrist.
I took her to the hospital to have it set in a cast before I took her home.
Nothing happened between us that night, or ever again, for that matter. She didn’t just suffer an injury. She was dealt a blow to her ego.
I was honest on the drive to the hospital when I repeated what I’d told her two nights prior. I wasn’t interested in more. I would never be interested in more with her or anyone else.
“Her,” Arietta stresses the word. “It’s her, sir.”
Buttoning my suit jacket, I glance at Arietta again. “You’re going to need to be more specific.”
Her gaze travels my face. “Clarice Blanchard is here. She’s on her way up right now to see you.”
Jesus Christ.
“Here? Now?” I repeat for fear that I’m not hearing her correctly.
“Arietta’s gaze darts over her shoulder. “She’ll be here any second.”
I should call Judd to join me in greeting Clarice, but if she’s looking for me, I’ll handle this with all the skill I’ve earned over the years.
“Do you need me to do anything?” Arietta asks before she exhales. “Should I do something?”
“Take a deep breath,” I instruct her in a soft tone. “We’ve got this. I’ve got this.”
She nods. “I know you do, sir. You always do.”
That’s debatable.
My gaze drifts past Arietta to the woman walking down the corridor toward us. Clarice Blanchard is a master of staying out of public view. I’ve never seen an image of her, yet she’s exactly as I’ve pictured her.
Her blonde hair is cut into a stylish bob. Her eyes are laser focused on me. As she nears, her blood red lips part into a soft smile. “There you are.”
