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He’s due to arrive in five.
“It’s the best thing.” She runs a tongue over her bottom lip.
Christ. She’s so fucking beautiful.
I push that thought away because there’s something I need to say before she walks out my apartment door. Something I didn’t have the self-control to say earlier because my need for her swallowed everything in its path.
I reach forward to cradle her face in my hands. “I want you to know how much tonight meant to me.”
“To me too,” she says softly. “And last night too.”
If I had known that she’d never gotten off with a man before, I would have taken my time. I sure as hell wouldn’t have pushed her against a door to ride my hand to her release.
“I feel like I’ve been missing out. I had no idea sex could feel this good.” Her head shakes, causing her glasses to inch down her nose.
Before she can slide them back into place, I do it for her by grabbing the frame and adjusting them.
She rewards me with a smile. “Thank you.”
A faint chime fills the air from the phone in the pocket of my jeans. I don’t have to look at it to know. The damn driver can wait. I’m not ready to let her go yet.
Arietta glances at my face when the phone chimes again. “He’s here, isn’t he? I should go. I want to check in on Sinclair and Dudley, and then I need some sleep.”
I nod. “I’ll walk you down.”
“I can get there on my own.” She perches on her tiptoes to press a kiss to my mouth. “This was the best night of my life, Dominick.”
I grab her arms to hold her in place so I can deepen the kiss. “Mine too.”
“I’ll see you in the morning, boss.”
“In the morning, beautiful,” I whisper before I take another kiss. “Sleep well.”
“You too.” She pats my chest. “Dream about me?”
I’ll do everything in my power to make that happen every night for the rest of my life.
I open the apartment door. “Goodnight, Arietta.”
“Goodnight,” she says in barely more than a whisper before she walks away.
Chapter 47
Arietta
“I’m looking for Dominick.”
I glance up from my computer at the sound of an unfamiliar man’s voice. He’s older, around the same age as Louis Calvetti, I think, but he’s dressed much differently than Dominick’s dad usually is.
This man is wearing an expensive suit and tie. His gray hair is cut with precision. He’s very well put together on the outside, but something is going on inside of him.
A layer of sweat is peppering his forehead, and he’s fidgeting from one foot to the other.
“He’s at a breakfast meeting.” I glance at the clock in the corner of my laptop screen. “I don’t expect him back for at least another two hours. Can I help you?”
“What’s your name?”
“Arietta,” I answer without hesitation.
“Brooks Middlestat.” He shoves a hand at me.
I take it. Shaking it firmly, I recognize his name from our client records and from Bronwyn’s story about the day he signed with Modica. “It’s nice to meet you, sir.”
That draws a smile to his lips. “I really need to speak with Dominick. He usually answers whenever I call his cell, but he’s not picking up.”
He silenced it because he’s having breakfast with a potential new client worth almost as much as Clarice. Orson Borgon called Dominick at the break of dawn and told him he had thirty minutes to get to a restaurant on the Upper East Side if he wanted a shot at managing his portfolio.
Dominick called me on his way to the meeting. As rushed as he was, he was calm and in control. He told me what a great time he had last night with me before he even mentioned the meeting.
“I’m sorry, sir, but he can’t be disturbed.” I push back to stand. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
He looks me over, taking in the green plaid dress and white cardigan I’m wearing. “I don’t think so. His cousin, Nash, isn’t around either. I usually turn to him when Dominick is busy.”
“Can I get you anything?” I offer. “The coffee in the break room isn’t fantastic, but there’s a café down the street that I really like.”
He takes a step closer to my desk. “Has Dominick told you about our lunch meetings?”
I try and piece together exactly what he means. There is more going on here than a man who wants to see his wealth manager.
“The urge is strong right now,” he goes on, “I’m dying to play a hand.”
I nod because I’ve heard those words before. It’s not verbatim what my dad said, but the message behind them was the same.
Addiction.
My dad bet on the horses at the racetrack a few miles from our house. He did that weekly until I was fourteen, and he hit rock bottom.
